Mercer unclipped his steel handcuffs from his belt. The double-locking ratchet mechanism clicked sharply in the quiet corridor.
"I'm done taking orders from a kid playing dress-up," Mercer growled.
Rebecca stepped forward again, her voice sharp with panic. "Daniel, stop!"
"Back off, Rebecca!" Mercer bellowed.
He lunged forward, grabbing Malcolm's left wrist.
Malcolm did not fight back. He kept his arm relaxed, refusing to offer the slightest physical resistance that could later be manipulated into a charge of resisting arrest or assault on an officer.
The cold steel cuff clamped down hard against Malcolm's skin.
A female clerk near the records office let out a sharp gasp, covering her mouth with both hands.
Mercer jerked Malcolm's arm behind his back, twisting his forearm up toward his shoulder blades while grabbing his right wrist. "Now we'll find out who you really are when you're sitting in a holding cell."
Malcolm turned his head slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on the blinking green diode of Mercer's body camera. "Yes. We certainly will."
Mercer squeezed the steel ratchet tight—two teeth tighter than standard procedure dictated. The sharp edge of the metal bit directly into the soft flesh over Malcolm's wrist bone.
Malcolm did not wince. His face remained completely composed.
"What am I being placed under arrest for, Officer?" Malcolm asked, as if conducting a formal deposition.
"Failure to comply with a lawful order," Mercer grunted, pushing Malcolm roughly against the oak bench. "Interfering with courthouse security. Trespassing in a restricted area."
"This corridor is a public access thoroughfare under state judicial code," Malcolm noted calmly.
"It's whatever I say it is right now," Mercer shot back.
"Under whose authorization?"
Mercer shoved him again. "You really don't know when to shut your mouth, do you?"
Malcolm balanced his stance against the floor. "No," he replied, his tone chillingly quiet. "That is precisely why I completed law school and took the judicial oath."
Mercer laughed again, reaching for his shoulder radio to call for a transport team.
Then Rebecca spoke up, her voice slicing through the air like a blade.
"Officer Mercer... you just put handcuffs on Honorable Judge Malcolm Hayes." The silence that followed was absolute.
Mercer's thumb froze over the push-to-talk button on his shoulder microphone.
Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned his head to look at Rebecca.
Rebecca stood pale and rigid, her eyes wide with terror and anger. "Judge Malcolm Hayes," she repeated, articulating every single syllable. "Presiding Judge of the 13th Judicial Circuit Court."
Down the hall, Deputy Miller closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the elevator wall in utter despair.
Mercer's gaze drifted back to Malcolm.
He looked at the lean Black man standing before him. He looked at the high-collared white shirt under the robe. He looked at the total lack of fear in Malcolm's eyes.
"You're... you're lying," Mercer stammered, a nervous twitch appearing at the corner of his jaw. "Rebecca, stop playing stupid games."
"He is presiding over your department's corruption trial in Courtroom Three in ten minutes," Rebecca said flatly.