Matthew twisted his neck to look at the rookie, Lawson, who was watching from the sidewalk. "Officer, please. There is a 14-year-old boy whose chest is open right now. If I am not there in 10 minutes, the donor heart will suffer irreversible ischemic damage, and that boy will die. Do you understand me?
He will die." Lawson shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Cobb. "Hey, Cobb, maybe we should—" "Shut up, Lawson," Cobb snapped. He finished the pat down and yanked Matthew's arms behind his back. The terrifying metallic click click of handcuffs echoed in the rain.
Cold steel bit into Matthew's wrists. Matthew couldn't believe it. He was being arrested. "What are you doing? I haven't committed a crime.
You are killing a child." You're being detained for suspicion of grand theft auto, reckless driving, and failure to comply," Cobb said with a smug, patronizing draw. "Anybody can buy a pair of scrubs, pal. You think I haven't heard every excuse in the book? 'I'm a doctor.
My wife's in labor.' You people always have a story." You people. The words hung in the damp air, heavy and toxic. It was the confirmation of everything Matthew had suspected from the moment the lights flashed.
This wasn't about traffic safety. This was about power, prejudice, and Cobb's absolute refusal to believe that the black man standing before him was a highly respected surgeon driving his own car. Matthew's phone began to vibrate violently in his front jacket pocket. It buzzed with the frantic, continuous rhythm of a hospital emergency line. "That's the hospital," Matthew said, his voice trembling with desperation.
"Answer it. Put it on speaker. Please let them tell you. Cobb reached into Matthew's pocket and pulled out the latest model smartphone. The screen was lit up brightly in the dark.
The caller ID flashed. Brighton Memorial, OR 4, urgent. For a split second, Matthew saw a flicker of hesitation in Cobb's eyes. The glaring reality of the screen challenged the narrative the officer had constructed in his head. But Cobb's ego was a fragile, dangerous thing.
Admitting he was wrong now meant losing face in front of his rookie partner. It meant acknowledging he had just brutalized a prominent citizen. Cobb sneered, his thumb swiping across the screen, but he didn't answer it. He declined the call. The buzzing stopped, Matthew let out a raw, guttural shout.
"No! What is wrong with you?" "Phone's evidence," Cobb said smoothly, slipping the device into his own heavy utility pocket. He grabbed Matthew by the back of his jacket and shoved him toward the police cruiser. "Get in the back."
"I am the chief of pediatric surgery!" Matthew roared, thrashing against Cobb's grip, fighting not to attack the man, but to simply make him understand. "The patient is Leo Hayes. Does that name mean anything to you?" Leo Hayes."