“Ma’am, can you explain what happened?” another officer asked.
I did. Calmly. Factually. While still sitting on the ground.
Ramirez turned to Buzzcut and Red Cap. “IDs. Now.”
They pulled out their wallets with shaking hands.
“Connor Hayes. Twenty-six.” Ramirez read the license. “And you’re Blake Morrison. Twenty-five.”
“Officers, it was a misunderstanding—” Connor started.
“You pushed a federal prosecutor after illegally parking in a handicapped spot. That’s not a misunderstanding. That’s multiple crimes.”
The doctor tried again. “Ms. Martinez, please. We need to check your knee.”
“One minute.” I looked at the officers. “I want to press full charges. Assault on a federal official. Illegal parking. And if my knee is damaged, we’ll add aggravated assault.”
Blake was crying now. Actual tears. “Please, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know—”
“You knew it was handicapped parking. You knew you didn’t have a permit. You knew I was on crutches. You made your choices.”
Connor pulled out his phone. “My dad’s a lawyer. I’m calling him.”
“Good,” I said. “He’ll explain exactly how much trouble you’re in.”
The doctor finally got me into the wheelchair. Took me inside for X-rays.
My knee was swollen. Not torn, thankfully. But the fall had set back my recovery by weeks.
While I was being examined, the police impounded Connor’s BMW. Parking violation plus evidence.
Connor’s father arrived. I recognized him. David Hayes. Defense attorney. We’d faced off in court before.
He found me in the examination room.
“Rachel.”
“David.”
“My son is an idiot.”
“Yes.”
“But assault on a federal official? That’s five years minimum.”
“I’m aware. I prosecute these cases.”
He sat down heavily. “What do you want?”
“I want your son to understand consequences.”
“If you press federal charges, his life is over. He’s applying to business schools.”
“He should’ve thought of that before pushing someone on crutches.”
“Rachel, please. I’m begging you. As a colleague.”
I studied him. “We’re not colleagues, David. We’re on opposite sides.”
“As a father, then.”
I was silent for a long moment.
“Here’s what I want,” I finally said. “Full apology. Written and in person. Restitution for all medical costs—the X-rays, the extended recovery, the additional physical therapy. Five thousand dollar fine split between them, donated to the hospital’s disability services fund. And both of them complete fifty hours of community service at a rehabilitation center.”