Chapter 4 - The Holding Cell
The freezing cold metal of the holding cell bench bit deeply into my skin as I sat in absolute darkness.
Captain Ross had aggressively confiscated my phone, my state badge, and my concealed weapon.
He clearly wanted me isolated, completely terrified, and utterly stripped of my legal authority.
I stared blankly at the damp concrete wall, carefully analyzing every single tactical mistake I had made tonight.
Michael’s cowardly betrayal stung the absolute most, but I knew he was acting out of pure, pathetic self-preservation.
The heavy iron door of the cell block suddenly swung open with a loud, metallic screech.
Captain Ross confidently walked in, holding two steaming cups of cheap, burnt precinct coffee.
He set one down gently beside me and offered a sickeningly sweet, victorious smile.
He calmly told me that this entire messy situation could quietly disappear if I simply made the right choices tonight.
He aggressively demanded the master password to the encrypted server holding the Westbridge precinct audit files.
If I handed over the damaging files, he promised to drop all the fake felony charges and let me walk away free.
If I boldly refused, he swore on his life that I would spend the rest of my days in a maximum-security federal penitentiary.
I looked at the steaming coffee, then slowly and deliberately shifted my intense gaze directly to his smug face.
I calmly informed him that he had fundamentally and fatally misunderstood exactly who he was dealing with.
I did not build those audit files just to report him to his corrupt local superiors.
I built those files to hand directly to the organized crime division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Ross laughed out loud, arrogantly claiming the FBI had absolutely no interest in a small-town precinct's minor accounting errors.
Before he could even finish his arrogant sentence, the precinct fire alarm began screaming at a deafening volume.
The overhead fluorescent lights flickered violently for three seconds and then went completely, pitch dark.
The unmistakable sound of heavy tactical boots thundered aggressively down the hallway outside my cell.
The iron door was suddenly ripped open by a tall man wearing a heavy Kevlar FBI windbreaker.
He shined a blindingly bright, high-powered flashlight directly into Captain Ross's shocked and fearful eyes.
The man forcefully ordered Ross to step away from the federal prisoner immediately.
Ross foolishly reached for his holstered sidearm, aggressively screaming about his local jurisdiction.
The FBI agent rapidly slammed Ross face-first against the concrete wall and cleanly disarmed him in one fluid motion.
The agent then turned to me, slowly lowering his tactical flashlight so I could clearly see his face.
It was Special Agent David Vance.
He was the highly decorated lead investigator for the regional anti-corruption task force.
He also happened to be my completely estranged ex-husband.
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David unlocked my holding cell, casually handed me a spare radio, and offered a familiar, dangerous smirk.
He asked if I was finally ready to burn this completely corrupt town straight to the ground.
