Got a witness who says you shoved someone at that court. Your word against his. Still, Jallen remained silent. Not so tough without daddy around to protect you, huh? Grayson leaned closer.
Where is he anyway? On some secret mission? Or maybe he just doesn't care enough to show up? Jaylen looked directly into Grayson's eyes. Are you charging me with something, sir?
Or is this just more harassment? Grayson's phone rang before he could respond. He checked it, frowned, and stepped out of the room. In the hallway, Sergeant Wallace waited with a grave expression. What the hell are you doing, Grayson?
This kid's mother is raising hell in the lobby, threatening lawyers and media. And she's right. You're under investigation for the shed incident. You shouldn't be anywhere near this case. The kid was involved in a disturbance.
I was responding to a call. What call? There's nothing in dispatch about any disturbance at DEO, the basketball court. Grayson faltered. I received information from a confidential source..
Wallace snapped. This ends now. The kid goes home with his mother and you you're suspended. Effective immediately. Turn in your badge and gun.
You can't do that. This isn't about the kid. There's something going on with the father. Something big. I'm telling you, Isaiah King isn't who he claims to be.
Wallace's expression changed subtly. All the more reason to back off, Grayson. Trust me on this. You're in waters too deep for swimming. As they argued, a strange quiet fell over the station.
The usual chatter of radios and phones seemed to dim. Officers at their desks straightened almost imperceptibly. Eyes shifted toward the entrance. Through the front doors walked a man of average, height with a military straight posture. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a simple gray t-shirt.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about his appearance, but something in the way he moved, deliberate, aware, controlled, commanded attention. Isaiah King had arrived. Isaiah King moved through the police station with the quiet confidence of someone completely at home in hostile territory. He didn't rush, didn't raise his voice, didn't make unnecessary movements. His eyes, the same piercing gaze that had unsettled Grayson in the photograph, scanned the room, missing nothing.
Angela saw him first, relief washing over her face. Their eyes met briefly before Isaiah approached the front desk. "I'm here for my son, Jallen King," he stated, his voice deep and calm. The desk sergeant stared for a moment before finding his voice. "Sir, I'll need to see some ID."
Isaiah reached slowly into his back pocket and produced his wallet. From it, he extracted not a standard driver's license, but a military ID with distinctive red markings along the border. The sergeant's eyes widened as he examined it. "One moment, sir," he said, suddenly respectful. "I'll get the sergeant."