Chapter 2 - The House of Cards
The interrogation room at the Hanover County Sheriff’s Annex smelled of stale coffee, old floor wax, and cheap tobacco. Fluorescent lights hummed with a maddening, high-pitched buzz overhead.
I sat across a metal table with my hands cuffed lightly to a bolt in the center, though the deputies hadn't dared try to detain my squadmates, who were currently waiting in the corridor with federal identification badges flashing under their civilian jackets. The door swung open, and Sheriff Nathan Cole walked in.
He was a heavy-set man in his late fifties with graying hair slicked back and eyes that had seen too many cover-ups and taken too many envelopes of cash from Richard Voss’s corporate shell companies. He didn't sit down. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You’ve caused a lot of noise in the last twenty-four hours, Dean,” Sheriff Cole said, his voice dripping with synthetic paternalism. “Coming back from overseas like a bat out of hell, threatening my deputies at the airport. You military boys think the laws of this country don’t apply to you down here.”
“My wife is in a hospital bed with both legs shattered because your deputies stood guard while Cameron Voss’s thugs broke into my home,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “And you’re talking to me about airport protocols?”
Cole let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Accidents happen, Sergeant. A tragic home invasion by local vagrants. The police report is already filed, signed, and closed. Case solved.”
“Except for one tiny detail,” a new voice echoed from the doorway.
Sheriff Cole stiffened as a sharp click announced the entry of Special Agent Sarah Vance from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Public Corruption Unit, accompanied by two armed federal marshals. She stepped into the tiny room, holding a thick manila folder stamped with red federal classifications.
“Case isn't closed, Sheriff,” Agent Vance said calmly, tossing a thick stack of certified bank records onto the metal table right in front of Cole. “In fact, federal investigators have been tracking the money flow between Richard Voss’s industrial conglomerates and your department’s retirement fund for the past fourteen months. Over four point two million dollars in undeclared campaign contributions and discretionary slush funds.”
Sheriff Cole’s face lost its color instantly. He glanced down at the documents, then back up at the federal agent, his swagger evaporating into pure panic.
“This... this is an unauthorized fishing expedition,” Cole stammered, his hand twitching toward his holster before he realized both federal marshals had their weapons unholstered and resting at their sides.
“It’s an indictment,” Agent Vance corrected him smoothly. “And right now, we have warrants executed simultaneously at Richard Voss’s estate, Cameron Voss’s downtown loft, and the county dispatch servers where your dispatchers deleted the 911 audio logs from the night Emily Dean was attacked.”
I stood up, the metal cuffs rattling against the table. I leaned across the surface until my face was inches from the corrupt sheriff’s eyes.
“Where is Cameron?” I asked.
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Cole swallowed hard, his bravado entirely gone. “He... he’s at his father’s country club estate off Route 301. They’re hosting a private gala tonight. He thinks he’s untouchable.”
“He’s about to find out gravity applies to billionaires too,” I whispered.
