“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.