I’m about to agree with his absolutely ridiculous idea when a shadow passes over Cyrus’ face. Not a figurative one, but a real one.
A tall African-American securityguard stops to the right of Cyrus’ chair. “Are you Cyrus Hanson?” he asks.
Cyrus tilts his head up at him. “Yeah.”
“Would you stand please, Sir?”
Cyrus stands, hesitating. I wait for the security guard to ask for an autograph, but he wears an American emblem on his left breast pocket, meaning he flew over here with the American team. He could’ve asked for autograph at any point.
“At this time,Mr. Hanson, I am placing you in custody for the United States Gold Medal event security team.”
“You’re arresting him?” I jump up.
The guard doesn’t even spare me a glance. “We do not have the authority to conduct arrests, but we can detain a person during the Gold Medal Events and at this time I am taking Cyrus into custody.”
“Are you handcuffing me?” Cyrus asks turning his back to the securityguard who thinks he’s now a police officer.
“We don’t think handcuffs will be necessary, but please follow me. We have some questions regarding the destruction of the ski team’s locker room.”
What the fuck? Isaac had Cyrus arrested?
During the middle of his fucking competition.
