"Sure, waste everyone's time," Martinez growled. "Meanwhile, those charges keep piling up. Captain Holt has witnesses saying you tried to turn the neighborhood against his officers."
Angela noted the threat in his tone, and the way he emphasized Holt's name. More details for later.
On the highway, Marcus was still working his phone. His contact at the county records office had sent property documents showing recent sales around Brookside Street. The pattern was clear: homes purchased well below market value after owners reported police harassment.
"Send me everything on Vision Heights board members," he told his investigator friend. "Tax records, political donations, business partnerships. If Holt's getting kickbacks, we'll find them."
The holding cell felt colder when Angela returned. Officer Griggs had cranked up the air conditioning, a common tactic to make detainees uncomfortable. She noticed another woman in the cell across the corridor shivering in a thin tank top.
"Hey," Angela called softly. "You okay over there?"
The woman looked up, revealing a bruised cheek. "They said I was loitering. Outside my own apartment."
"Let me guess. Vision Heights bought your building?"
The woman's eyes widened. "How did you know?"
"Keep quiet in there!" a guard shouted, banging his flashlight against the bars.
Angela settled back against the wall, adding another piece to the puzzle. More residents being pushed out, more properties being cleared for development.
Marcus's rental car ate up the final miles to the station. His phone buzzed with a message from Jack: Found something big. Vision Heights CEO played golf with Holt last month at Crystal Lake Country Club. Members only. Holt's salary couldn't cover the dues.
Download the club's financial records, Marcus texted back. Follow the money.
The station parking lot came into view, harsh security lights creating pools of yellow illumination. Marcus pulled into a space and checked his watch. 11:58 p.m.
He took a moment to center himself, remembering his SEAL training. Emotion would not help Angela. Strategy would. He had the beginnings of evidence, legal resources ready to move, and a journalist eager to expose corruption.
In her cell, Angela heard the front desk officer greeting someone. She did not know it was Marcus, but she felt the shift in the air, the moment when the balance of power began to change.
Marcus Brooks entered the police station at 12:07 a.m., his military bearing evident in his straight posture and measured steps. The front-desk sergeant looked up from his computer, immediately noticing Marcus's confident demeanor.
"I'm here to see my wife, Angela Brooks," Marcus stated firmly. "She was brought in earlier tonight on fabricated charges."
The sergeant's expression shifted from bored to wary. "Sir, visiting hours are over. You'll need to come back in the morning."
"This isn't a visit. I'm here about an illegal arrest and unauthorized search of protected military family housing," Marcus replied, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. "I want to speak with the commanding officer."
"That would be Captain Holt," the sergeant replied, reaching for his phone.