Haskins moved closer.
“Your courtroom days are done.”
That was when Evelyn understood the true objective.
They didn't merely want to arrest her.
They wanted to demonstrate that they could.
They wanted every person in the courtroom to see police authority overpower judicial authority.
And if they succeeded, the message would travel far beyond this room.
The message would be simple:
No one could stop them.
Not even a judge.
Evelyn stood slowly.
Not because Rourke ordered her to.
Because she chose to.
She looked toward Lydia.
“Keep recording.”
Lydia nodded.
Then Rourke grabbed her.
The present became the past.
And the past would soon become evidence.
The Warrant
The officers dragged Evelyn through the courtroom doors.
The moment she disappeared into the hallway, the room erupted.
People began talking at once.
The clerk rushed toward the bench.
The bailiff finally moved.
“Someone call the chief judge.”
“I already am,” an attorney said.
Lydia remained seated.
Her hands continued moving.
She knew the stenographic record mattered.
The official transcript would become a permanent record of what happened.
Outside, Rourke pushed Evelyn toward the elevator.
Haskins followed.
“Where are you taking me?” Evelyn asked.
“Processing.”
“Which station?”
Neither officer answered.
“Under whose authority?”
Silence.
Evelyn looked at the warrant again.
“Let me see it.”
Haskins held it higher.
“You've already seen it.”
“I saw enough to know something is wrong.”
Rourke scoffed.
“You really don't know when to stop.”
“No.”
Evelyn turned toward him.
“I know exactly when to stop.”
The elevator doors opened.
They entered.
Rourke pressed the button.
The doors closed.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Evelyn said something that made both officers look at her.
“You forged it.”
Haskins' face changed.
Only slightly.
But Evelyn noticed.
The elevator descended.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” he said.
“Yes, I do.”
“The document is defective.”
Rourke stepped closer.
“Careful.”
“The case number is inconsistent with the docket sequence.”
Neither officer responded.
“The formatting doesn't match the court's standard.”
Still nothing.
“The signature is wrong.”
Haskins looked at her.
Evelyn continued.
“And the document doesn't contain the authentication marks required for a valid warrant.”
Rourke laughed.
“You're going to argue paperwork while you're in handcuffs?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because paperwork is how institutions reveal what they are trying to hide.”
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened.
A hallway waited beyond.
But before they could leave, footsteps sounded behind them.
Lydia Grant appeared.
She was holding a folder.
“Officers.”
Rourke turned.
“What?”
“I need a copy of the warrant for the court record.”
Haskins' eyes narrowed.
“This is an active arrest.”
“And the court record is active too.”
He stepped toward her.
Lydia didn't move.
“I've been doing this longer than either of you have been wearing that badge.”
Rourke stared at her.
Then he smiled.
“You should be careful, Ms. Grant.”
“I am.”
She lifted the folder.
“That's why I made a copy.”
The officers froze.
Evelyn looked at Lydia.
The reporter's expression was calm.
But her eyes were sharp.
She had copied the document.
And she had noticed everything.
The missing watermark.
The irregular case number.
The signature.
The formatting.
Every defect.
Rourke reached toward the folder.
Lydia stepped backward.
“Don't.”
His hand stopped.
For the first time, uncertainty entered his face.
Evelyn understood why.
If the warrant was fraudulent, the entire arrest could collapse.
But there was more.
If the warrant had been fabricated, someone had created it.
Someone had authorized it.
Someone had planned the operation.
And that meant Rourke and Haskins might not be acting alone.
The elevator doors closed behind them.
The hallway suddenly seemed very quiet.
Then a phone began ringing.
It belonged to Haskins.
He answered.
“Yes.”
A pause.
His face changed.
“What?”
Another pause.
He looked toward Rourke.
Then toward Evelyn.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
Rourke whispered:
“What happened?”
Haskins lowered the phone.
“We have a problem.”
Evelyn said nothing.
She didn't need to.
For the first time since the handcuffs had closed around her wrists, she felt something other than anger.
Hope.
The Record
The courtroom had become a crime scene without anyone officially declaring it one.