“Tell your ‘daddy’ to bring bail money, if he even exists,”. The handcuffs were so tight I thought my hands would go numb forever while Croft mocked my Ivy League dreams in the back of his cruiser. He walked me

The atmosphere in the precinct shifted instantly. It was as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Every officer stood at attention, their eyes darting between the trembling Croft and the towering figure of Chief Arthur Hayes. My father didn’t look at the other cops; his eyes were locked on Croft, a look of pure, righteous fury.

“Sarge,” my father said, not breaking eye contact with Croft. “Bring my son out here. Now.”

Miller scrambled to unlock the interrogation room door. I stumbled out, my legs weak. When my father saw me—saw the blood on my wrists, the dirt on my face, and the shredded remains of my confidence—his expression fractured for a split second into pure heartbreak before hardening back into steel. He reached out, his large hands unusually gentle as he inspected the marks the cuffs had left.

“I’m okay, Dad,” I whispered, though we both knew I wasn’t.

“You’re more than okay, Leo,” he said. “You’re a witness.”