“Yes.”

“You physically assaulted my client.”

“No.”

“You knocked him down.”

“I prevented him from taking me down.”

The attorney approached.

“You could have identified yourself immediately.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Adrian looked at Mercer.

“Because he was already violating Malik’s rights.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“No.”

“Detective Cole, you had the power to end the situation instantly.”

“Yes.”

“One badge.”

“Yes.”

“One identification card.”

“Yes.”

“And instead you allowed it to escalate.”

The prosecutor objected.

Overruled.

Adrian leaned slightly toward the microphone.

“I allowed Officer Mercer to see me as he saw everybody else.”

The defense attorney paused.

“What does that mean?”

“He thought I was nobody.”

“Objection.”

This time the judge allowed Adrian to continue.

“He didn’t know my rank.”

Adrian looked at the jury.

“He didn’t know my assignment.”

“He saw a Black man challenging him.”

The attorney frowned.

“You’re bringing race into this.”

“Officer Mercer brought race into it long before I arrived.”

“That’s speculation.”

“No.”

Adrian pointed toward reports already entered into evidence.

“Twenty-one complaints weren’t speculation.”

The attorney moved on quickly.

But damage had been done.

Mercer eventually testified in his own defense.

That surprised everyone.

His attorney advised against it.

Mercer insisted.

For two hours, he performed well.

Calm.

Professional.

Measured.

He described difficult police work.

Split-second decisions.

Dangerous streets.

Uncooperative civilians.

He admitted documentation errors.

Denied theft.

Denied planting evidence.

Denied bribery.

Then the prosecutor asked one question.

“Why Malik Carter?”

Mercer blinked.

“He matched information.”

“What information?”

“Suspicious person near Benson Pharmacy.”

“Race?”

“Black.”

“Clothing?”

“Gray sweatshirt.”

“Anything else?”

“Approximate age.”

The prosecutor displayed the original dispatch log.

There had been no call reporting a suspicious Black male near Benson Pharmacy that afternoon.

Mercer stared at the screen.

The prosecutor asked again.

“What information?”

Mercer changed direction.

“I observed him personally.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking nervous.”

“He was talking to his grandmother.”

“I didn’t know who he was talking to.”

“You followed him for half a block.”

“Correct.”

“You had already photographed him two weeks earlier.”

Silence.

The prosecutor displayed the recovered photograph.

Mercer looked toward his lawyer.

“Why did you photograph him?”

No answer.

“Officer?”

“Investigation.”

“What investigation?”

Mercer could not name one.

“Was it the investigation Richard Voss paid your brother’s company eighteen thousand dollars to conduct?”

Objection.

Overruled.

Mercer’s composure broke.

“That money had nothing to do with me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it didn’t.”

“You just said it had nothing to do with you. So you knew about it?”

Mercer froze.

The prosecutor waited.

It was the first time the jury saw him look like the man from Adrian’s video.

Not controlled.

Not polished.

Cornered.

Then angry.

“This whole thing is because of him.”

Mercer pointed toward Adrian.