Marcus stepped out of the trauma bay and watched the videos Veronica had sent. He watched his son get slammed to the ground. He watched an officer kneel on his neck while Isaiah struggled to breathe. He watched Dunham stand over Isaiah’s limp body and call it fake. He watched the officer accuse his honor student son of being a drug dealer.
His hands shook with rage when he finished.
The first call was to his law partner, Janet Morrison. ‘File an emergency civil rights lawsuit tonight. My son was nearly killed by an Atlanta police officer. I’m sending you the videos and witness information right now. I want charges filed before sunrise.’
The next calls went to internal affairs, the mayor’s office, three news stations, the ACLU, and every civil rights organization in Georgia.
By sunset, the videos were everywhere.
Dunham was called into his supervisor’s office at 6 p.m. His sergeant sat across from him with a laptop showing the viral footage.
‘Tell me this isn’t you,’ the sergeant said.
Dunham watched the video, his face paling. ‘He was resisting. He was acting like he was high on something.’
‘He was having an asthma attack,’ the sergeant said flatly. ‘And you kept your knee on his neck while he was dying. There’s a witness who says he told you he needed his inhaler, and you called him a liar.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘You didn’t know because you didn’t listen,’ the sergeant interrupted. ‘You decided that kid was a drug dealer the second you saw him, and you almost killed him because of it.’
The sergeant’s phone rang. He listened, his face growing more serious. ‘Understood.’ He hung up and looked at Dunham.
‘That was the chief. Do you know who that kid’s father is?’
Dunham shook his head.
‘Marcus Harper. The civil rights attorney. He’s won more police brutality cases in this city than anyone else in the past decade. He’s represented families against this department seven times and won every single case. And you just gave him the most clear-cut case of excessive force and medical neglect he’s ever had.’
Dunham felt his stomach drop.
‘There’s more,’ the sergeant continued. ‘The kid is on a ventilator. The doctors say if he’d gone another two minutes without oxygen, he would have had permanent brain damage or died. You came that close to killing a 17-year-old over a traffic stop.’
The sergeant slid a folder across the desk. ‘You’re suspended without pay effective immediately. Internal Affairs will be investigating, and I’d suggest you get a lawyer because the city attorney just told me they’re not going to defend you on this one. You’re on your own.’
Isaiah Harper woke up three days later in the ICU. The breathing tube had been removed, but his throat was raw and his chest ached. His father sat in a chair beside the bed, and when Isaiah opened his eyes, Marcus broke down and cried for the first time since it all began.
‘I thought I lost you,’ Marcus said, holding his son’s hand. ‘The doctor said you were minutes away from brain damage or death.’
Isaiah’s voice came out as a whisper. ‘I’m sorry I took the car.’
