“Detective Mariah Carter, Civil Rights Division,” the woman said coolly, flashing her credentials.
The officer nearest the boy blinked. “Wait—you’re his…?”
“Mother,” she finished, stepping protectively in front of her son. “And your superior, if you’d bothered to read protocol before jumping to conclusions.”
The color drained from the saleswoman’s face.
Mariah didn’t wait. “Security footage. Now. I want to see exactly what prompted this ‘concerned citizen’ call.”
The store manager stammered. “H-He was acting suspicious…”
Mariah’s gaze sliced through him. “You mean he existed… while Black… in your store.”
No one dared speak.
The teenage boy finally looked up—eyes wide, jaw trembling—but his mother’s hand touched his shoulder, anchoring him.
“I taught my son how to behave when he’s falsely accused,” she said, voice rising just enough to sting. “But maybe it’s time we teach this town how to behave when their prejudice shows.”
The silence was deafening.
Then the other officer muttered, “Ma’am… we’re sorry.”
But apologies wouldn’t fix what happened.
Mariah turned to her son. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”
As they walked out, every eye followed.
And one woman in pearls realized—she hadn’t just called the cops…
She’d called down thunder.
