Chapter 3: Mob Justice and Public Shaming

She turned to the nearest officer, her voice quivering, tears running down her face for dramatic effect. "Earlier, I left my phone in his car and begged him to bring it to me."

"I even agreed to pay not just the regular fare, but also offered him a few hundred bucks."

"But this jerk refused, and even blackmailed me—said if I didn’t pay four or five grand, he’d never give my phone back!" She looked at the officer for sympathy, sniffling.

She was a real drama queen. As she spoke, she actually started sobbing, shoulders shaking.

Her shoulders trembled with every sob, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she must have pulled from her purse just for show. I knew she was unreasonable, but to twist the truth this much, right here at the police station? Unreal.

"That’s nonsense, officer—she’s lying! None of that happened!" I blurted out, voice tight.

I tried to keep my voice calm, but my blood was boiling. "And if I really was blackmailing her, why would I come to the police station?"

To my shock, this lunatic, thinking the cops were on her side, actually tried to slap me.

I blocked her hand, but she just glared at me, totally unbothered.

Several officers stepped in, moving fast, their voices stern as they warned her to back off.

One officer held up a hand, face set. "Ma’am, that’s enough. Assaulting someone in a police station is a crime."

Sydney pouted, her voice trembling. "Officer, I lost my temper, but I was really provoked by this jerk’s shameless words."

I shook my head, totally stunned. "You have the nerve to say that? Don’t you know why you’re here? It’s because after I said I’d call the police, you freaked out and said you’d pick up the phone at the station."

"Luckily, I got here early and caught you. Otherwise, you would’ve gotten away!" I shot back, not bothering to hide my frustration.

It was rush hour, and the street outside buzzed with honking horns and impatient engines.

A crowd had already gathered, drawn in by the shouting and flashing police lights.

People craned their necks, phones out—some recording, others whispering to each other. With Sydney’s sob story spreading, plenty started blaming me.

"I can’t stand this—this is just bullying!" someone yelled from the back.

A woman in a puffy coat muttered to her friend, "Drivers like this should get what’s coming to them."

"I told you not to take rideshares these days. I’ve even heard of women getting assaulted in cabs. Look at that guy—he’s either a thief or a creep, gross!"

"Officer, arrest this jerk right now!" someone else chimed in.

People waved their phones, filming, saying they’d blast me on TikTok for the world to see.

With everyone shouting, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Sydney looked like she was loving every second, her plan working perfectly.

She sniffled, then pointed at me again, her voice cracking. "Oh, officer, this jerk even cursed my mom when I wouldn’t pay him—said my mom was in an accident and in the ICU. Tell me, what kind of creep does that?"

She was a master at playing the crowd.

The crowd started shouting again, voices rising in anger after her words.

"You never talk about someone’s mom. Are you even human?"

"Don’t you have a mother? Why bring up someone else’s mom like that?" another person snapped.

If the police hadn’t been there, I honestly think someone would’ve tried to take a swing at me.

"Why are you all so one-sided? Can’t you just let me explain?" I shouted, my frustration boiling over.

"What’s there to explain? The proof’s right here. Are you really going to argue?" someone sneered.

"You think the police are idiots? You think you can fool them?" another voice jeered.

"Officer, hurry up and arrest him!" Sydney yelled, emboldened by the crowd.

I just couldn’t wrap my head around how someone could be this nuts.