Buzzcut and Red Cap were walking away, still laughing.

The woman helped me sit up. “That was assault! I saw the whole thing!”

“I know.” I reached for my purse.

“Should I call security?”

“Not yet.” I pulled out my badge case. Flipped it open.

Federal prosecutor. Department of Justice.

The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

I looked at Buzzcut and Red Cap. They were at the entrance now.

“Excuse me!” I called out.

They turned.

I held up my badge. “You just assaulted a federal prosecutor.”

The smiles vanished.

“What?” Buzzcut took a step back.

“Rachel Martinez. U.S. Attorney’s Office. You pushed me. While filming it. On federal property.”

Red Cap lowered his phone.

“That was an accident—” Buzzcut started.

“There are cameras everywhere.” I gestured to the hospital security cameras. “And your friend filmed it. I have a witness.” I nodded to the woman beside me. “You’re looking at assault charges. Plus the illegal parking.”

“We didn’t know—”

“Ignorance isn’t a defense.”

Security was already approaching. Two officers.

“Ma’am, we saw what happened. Are you injured?”

“My knee. I may have re-injured it from the fall.”

One officer knelt beside me. “We’re calling for medical assistance.”

The other approached Buzzcut and Red Cap. “Gentlemen, we need you to stay right here.”

“We were just—”

“Save it.” The officer pulled out his radio. “Dispatch, we need NYPD at Mercy General. Assault on federal property.”

Buzzcut’s face went white. “Wait, federal?”

“This is a hospital that receives federal funding,” I explained calmly. “Assaulting a federal official on federal property is a federal crime. Title 18, Section 111.”

Red Cap’s phone slipped from his hand. “Oh my God.”

A doctor rushed out with a wheelchair. “Ms. Martinez? Let’s get you inside.”

“Not yet. I want to make sure these two don’t leave.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” the first security officer confirmed. “Police are two minutes out.”

The woman who’d helped me spoke up. “I have the whole thing on my phone too. I started recording when I saw them laughing at her.”

“Perfect. I’ll need that footage,” I said.

Two police cars pulled into the lot. Lights flashing.

Four officers emerged.

“Officer Ramirez,” one of them approached me. “Ms. Martinez, are you alright?”

“I’ve been better, Jorge.”

“You know her?” Buzzcut asked weakly.

Officer Ramirez smiled. “Everyone in the department knows Ms. Martinez. She’s prosecuted half the cases in this district.”