Chapter 5 - Family Business
Inspector Thomas Vance didn't wait for an answer. He strode across the polished floor, his heavy boots echoing like gunshots, and planted himself directly in front of Vanessa Sterling and my nephew Marcus.
“Captain Marcus Vance,” Thomas said, his voice cold enough to freeze boiling water. “You are officially relieved of duty pending an internal affairs review for obstruction of justice, conspiracy, and dereliction of command.”
Marcus staggered back as if he’d been physically struck. “Dad—wait, Thomas! You can’t do that! This is a jurisdictional overreach!”
“I’m your superior officer, and I’m your uncle, and right now I’m embarrassed I share DNA with you,” Thomas snapped, not even glancing at his son as two state troopers stepped forward to relieve Marcus of his sidearm and radio.
Vanessa Sterling’s composure finally fractured entirely. She snapped her briefcase shut with a sharp click, her eyes darting toward the exit. “This is an outrage. We will be filing formal injunctions against the state police by noon tomorrow. You have no warrant for seizure of these premises.”
“We don't need a warrant when we have a signed confession from the store manager already sitting on my desk downtown,” Thomas lied smoothly—a classic interrogation bluff, and a brilliant one.
Isabelle Corbo let out a loud, hysterical sob and collapsed into a velvet chair, burying her face in her hands.
Thomas turned his attention to me, his stern expression softening just a fraction. “You alright, El?”
“I’ve had more relaxing Tuesdays,” I said, adjusting my cuffs. “Though I could have done without being shoved into a glass display case by Officer Thorne over there.”
Thomas’s head whipped around toward Thorne and Caleb. Thorne instantly raised his hands defensively. “I was following direct orders from Loss Prevention! I didn't know she was—!”
“You didn't check her ID, you didn't review the security footage, and you assaulted a citizen based on the say-so of a corporate asset manager,” Thomas growled. “Hand over your badge, Sergeant. You’re done.”
Caleb stood frozen near the back office door, holding a portable hard drive he had successfully pulled from the loss prevention servers. He looked terrified, expecting the axe to fall on him next.
I stepped past Thomas, walking over to the young rookie. Caleb looked down, his shoulders hunched.
“Chief... I’m sorry. I should have checked the cameras myself before I touched your arm.”
I looked at the young officer, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes—the kind of instinct that could still be shaped into a real cop, unlike the veterans who had sold out for corporate comfort.
“You made a mistake, Stone,” I said quietly, taking the hard drive from his hands. “You let uniform pressure override your better judgment. But when I told you to pull the servers, you did it without hesitating.” I patted his shoulder. “Keep that drive secure. You’re riding with state investigators from here on out.”
Caleb let out a breath he’d been holding for ten minutes, nodding rapidly. “Yes, ma’am. I won't let you down.”
Vanessa Sterling swept past us toward the exit, her head held high, pausing only long enough to throw one parting glare my way. “Enjoy your victory, Chief Vance. Arthur Dubois loves a challenge. And he always plays for keeps.”
“So do I,” I called after her.
As the state troopers escorted Marcus, Thorne, and Isabelle out toward the waiting patrol cars, Thomas handed me my coat and stepped outside with me onto the bright, bustling sidewalk of the avenue.
“You kicked a massive hornet's nest today, El,” Thomas said, lighting a cigarette against the wind. “Arthur Dubois controls half the real estate and political donations in this entire state. Taking him on isn't just a local case anymore.”
“I didn't pick the fight, Tom,” I replied, looking out at the city traffic flowing past. “They tried to bury me for noticing a thief. That was their first mistake.”
My phone buzzed in my hand again.
I pulled it out, expecting another threatening text from the Dubois syndicate. Instead, it was an alert from an encrypted banking terminal tied to my personal account—a notification showing an immediate, unauthorized wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars moving out of the Brook Haven police benevolent fund into an offshore shell company.
My blood ran instantly cold.
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The threat to the pension fund wasn't a bluff. It was already happening.
Before I could speak, a black sedan idling across the street suddenly accelerated, its tires screaming against the asphalt as it sped directly toward us.
