Chapter 3 - The King is Cornered
By 6:45 p.m., Chief Higgins was alone in his office at the King County precinct.
The department was in utter disarray. The phones were ringing off the hook with calls from national news networks, angry citizens, and federal investigators. Higgins had locked his door, refusing to take calls, frantically packing a leather duffel bag with stacks of cash he had pulled from a floor safe behind his desk.
The lights in the precinct suddenly flickered once, twice, and then died completely.
The emergency generators didn't kick in. The backup batteries remained silent.
"What the hell?" Higgins muttered, reaching for his duty weapon in the pitch-black office.
A soft click sounded behind him.
"I wouldn't touch that piece of plastic if I were you, Thomas," a voice whispered from the darkness.
Higgins spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs. He raised his flashlight, the beam cutting through the shadows to reveal me sitting in the leather chair opposite his desk. Beside me stood Marcus, dressed in black tactical gear, a suppressed sidearm pointed directly at Higgins' chest.
"Arthur?" Higgins gasped, his face draining of color. "How did you get in here? This is a secure federal building!"
"It was a secure building," Marcus corrected him smoothly. "Before we turned off your security clearance."
I leaned forward, the light from Higgins' flashlight catching the hard, unyielding lines of my face. "You took fifty thousand dollars from Richard Bennett last month to ignore three separate domestic disturbance calls to his estate. You personally signed the expungement papers for his previous arrest record."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Higgins stammered, his hand trembling as he held the flashlight. "I’m the Chief of Police! You touch me, and the entire state guard will hunt you down!"
"The state guard is currently reading your bank statements, Thomas," I said, tossing a thick folder onto his desk. "Sarah managed to pull your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. It seems Richard was very generous. But unfortunately for you, the IRS is much more thorough than your local deputies."
Higgins looked down at the folder. He dropped his flashlight, his knees giving out as he sank into his office chair. "He... Richard told me he had everything under control. He said you were nobody."
"I was nobody," I said softly. "Until his son decided to use my daughter as a punching bag. Now, you have one chance to save yourself from a twenty-year sentence in a federal penitentiary."
Higgins swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the suppressed weapon in Marcus's hand. "What do you want?"
"The location of Richard's private ledger. The one he uses to keep track of his hush-money payments to his real estate investors. I know he has a physical copy. Where is it?"
"It's... it's in the safe at his mansion," Higgins whispered. "But you'll never get to it. He’s got private security. Armed mercenaries he hired from a private firm in Seattle. They arrived an hour ago. He's panicking, Arthur. He knows his company is ruined, and he’s planning to leave the country tonight."
I stood up, adjusting the collar of my jacket.
"Thank you for the information, Thomas."
"Are... are you going to arrest me?" Higgins asked, his voice shaking.
"No," I replied, walking toward the door. "We're leaving you for the feds. They should be here in about ten minutes."
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As we walked out of the darkened precinct into the cool night air, Marcus looked at me. "Richard’s hiring private security. It looks like he wants a war."
"He wants a war," I said, checking the magazine of my sidearm. "Let's show him what one actually looks like."
