Daniel immediately called Martinez rather than acting on the tip themselves. That decision proved important later. The FBI public-corruption team established lawful surveillance from public vantage points and secured expedited authorization for audio monitoring where permitted. Nia, Tessa and Evelyn were told to stay away. Tessa objected.
"I found half the visual evidence today."
"And you're nineteen," Nia said. "You were shot at four hours ago. You're staying here."
"Mom—"
"No. Journalism is not immunity from bullets."
Tessa looked toward Daniel for support. He shook his head.
"Your mother is right."
"Everybody says that when they want me to stop doing something useful."
Evelyn pointed toward the laptop. "Then be useful here. Organize witness files. Label originals. Build redundancy. Good reporting is not always standing closest to danger."
Tessa muttered something under her breath, but she sat. At 10:41, Agent Martinez called.
"The meeting is happening. Larkin and Bryce confirmed. Kessler arrived five minutes ago. Sloan is there."
Nia gripped the phone. "Can you hear them?"
"We have enough to continue. Not enough to discuss over an unsecured line."
At 10:58, Martinez called again.
"They are talking about a drive. They believe James Ellison created a digital index of Brass Locust records. Bryce says they need it before federal preservation orders reach county servers."
Daniel closed his eyes. "There never was a drive at the house."
"They don't know that," Nia said.
The conspirators had built an operation around a false assumption. James's physical records were distributed across paper, tapes and storage. Perhaps there was a digital index somewhere, but nobody in Evelyn's kitchen had found it. At 11:17, Martinez sent a single text.
We have recorded admissions tying Bryce to Prairie Shield payments and Larkin to concealment. Stay where you are. For the first time all day, Nia allowed herself to believe the case might survive the night. Then a gunshot cracked outside. Everyone dropped instinctively.
A second sound followed, not another shot but glass collapsing somewhere down the street. Tessa crawled to the side window and looked out from below the sill. "Mrs. Patterson's camera."
Mrs. Patterson, a retired wedding videographer, had mounted a professional camera on a tripod inside her upstairs window facing Nia's house. It had been recording the street since noon. Someone had fired into the empty room from a passing vehicle, destroying the camera. No one was hurt.