Matos turned back to her. “Do you know what your problem is? People like you always think they know more than everyone else. Always questioning authority, always acting superior.” “I don’t think I’m superior,” she replied. “I just believe I deserve basic respect, like any human being.” “Respect?” Ferreira laughed. “Respect is earned—and you haven’t earned anything.”
“Look at your cheap suit, your old car. You probably live in a tiny apartment, barely paying your bills—and you want respect?” “My financial situation is none of your concern.” “It has everything to do with it,” Matos insisted. “People like you are always looking up, always envying, always wanting to be what they’re not. Admit it—you don’t belong here, that space isn’t yours, you should be somewhere else doing work that matches your level.” The silence grew heavy. Jordana looked at him steadily.
“My level,” she repeated softly. “I see. And what would my level be, according to you?” Matos hesitated, but pride wouldn’t let him back down. “You know what it is.” “I don’t. Explain it.” Ferreira glanced around nervously. “Manual work. Simple service. Something that doesn’t require higher education.” “And why do you think I don’t have education?” “Because it shows!” Matos snapped. “Because people like you don’t get where people like you do,” Jordana finished. “That’s exactly it. And what distinguishes people like me from people like you?”
Matos opened his mouth, closed it—he didn’t dare say it. “Education. Opportunities. Character.” “Character?” Jordana repeated. “You’re preventing me from working without reason. Is that character?” “I have a badge—I have authority.” “A badge is not character. It’s just metal.” Ferreira tried to mock her. “See? She respects nothing.” “I respect the law,” Jordana replied. “More than you imagine.”
“Enough!” Matos shouted. “Are you leaving right now?” “I am not leaving,” she said firmly. “This is my space.” “Your space? Come here.” He walked toward the Honda. Jordana followed. Ferreira behind. Cardoso too—concerned. Matos pointed at the parking sign. “See what it says, Jordana?”
She finally read it.
Reserved.
Dr. Jordana Santos, Judge of the Third Criminal Court.
Matos read it aloud mockingly. “Dr. Jordana Santos. So you’re Dr. Jordana Santos?” Jordana looked him straight in the eyes. “I am.” “No, you’re not,” he laughed. “You’re not a doctor of anything. You probably saw the name on the sign and thought you could park here—or maybe you were hired with a similar name and got confused.”
“I am not confused,” Jordana said calmly, finally taking documents from her bag. “This is my ID—Jordana Santos.” And this—she pulled out another document—“is my official credential.” She handed it to Matos. He took it and looked. Frowned. Looked again. Then glanced at Ferreira. “It’s fake,” he said, throwing it back at her. “Cheap forgery. You think I don’t know how to recognize a fake document?”
“It is not fake,” Jordana said. “Call administration. Confirm it.” “I’m not calling anyone.” Matos threw the document to the ground. “You’re using false identification to trespass on public property. That’s a crime. You’re going to jail.”
“Matos,” Cardoso intervened more firmly now. “Enough. Look at the credential properly. She is the judge.” “Shut up, Cardoso.” “I will not. You are making a serious mistake.” “The mistake is yours,” Matos snapped. “You are suspended as of this moment.” “You can’t suspend me.” “I just did. Leave—or I’ll call backup and have you arrested too.”
Jordana gently touched Cardoso’s shoulder again. “Officer, please. I will handle this—but I need you to be well so you can help me later. Do you understand?” Cardoso looked into her eyes and saw something that made him nod slowly. “Yes… I understand.” He stepped back but stayed nearby, watching.
Jordana bent down, picked up her credential from the ground, cleaned it, and calmly put it away. “Are you sure you want to continue this?” “Absolutely,” Matos said. “Are you leaving—or do we remove you by force?” “I understand.” “And if you keep questioning us, it’ll go much worse for you.” “Worse how?” “The way it goes for intruders who don’t know their place.”
Jordana nodded as if she had just understood something important. “And my car? You mentioned a fine.” “Ah yes,” Ferreira said. “Two fines. One for illegal parking, another for…” He paused, looking at the car. Then looked at Matos. They both had the same idea. “Damaged equipment,” Ferreira finished.
“But my equipment is not damaged,” Jordana said. “Yes, it is.” Ferreira walked toward the car, deliberately placing himself between Cardoso and the vehicle. “Look—the headlight is cracked.” And then, in a quick motion, he grabbed his baton and struck the left front headlight with force. The plastic shattered. Pieces fell onto the asphalt. The sound echoed sharply.
Jordana stood completely still for three seconds, processing what she had just witnessed in disbelief.
“You just deliberately broke my headlight.”
“I didn’t break anything,” Ferreira said, straightening up. “It was already broken. You are operating a vehicle with defective equipment. That’s a serious violation.”
“I saw you hit it.” Jordana raised her voice for the first time.
