“Confrontation?” Matos stepped even closer. “Who’s confronting anyone? I’m doing my job—maintaining order, preventing intruders from entering where they don’t belong.” “I am not an intruder.” “Then what are you?” Ferreira asked with malicious curiosity. “Go on. What do you think you are?” Jordana hesitated. She could say it. She could reveal her position—but something stopped her. Maybe principle. She shouldn’t need to prove status to receive basic respect. “I am a public official,” she said finally. “I work in the legal department.”
“Legal department?” Matos clapped sarcastically. “Did you hear that, Ferreira? Legal department.” “Must be a court assistant, or the one who carries files—or the one who serves coffee at lawyers’ meetings,” Ferreira added. “There’s always one like that in a corner with a tray.” “I don’t serve coffee,” Jordana said, losing patience. “And now I’m asking you one last time—let me pass.” “Or what?” Matos challenged, leaning so close she could smell stale coffee on his breath. “You going to cry? Call your little boss?”
“I will file a complaint for harassment,” Jordana replied calmly. “Harassment?” Matos burst into laughter. “Did you hear that, Ferreira? She says this is harassment.” “Look, sweetheart,” Ferreira said condescendingly. “Harassment is when a man approaches a beautiful woman. You have nothing to worry about.” The insult was direct, cruel, and unprovoked. Even Cardoso took an involuntary step forward. “This has gone too far,” he said firmly. “Matos, enough.”
“Cardoso,” Matos turned, furious. “Last warning. Back to the patrol car.” “No, not while you’re doing this.” “So you’re choosing sides?” Matos stepped toward him. “You’re going to defend that instead of your fellow officers?” Jordana gently touched Cardoso’s arm. “Officer, I truly appreciate it, but don’t risk your career for me.” Cardoso looked at her differently now. There was something in her posture, in her calm. She wasn’t helpless—she knew exactly what she was doing.
