This wasn't a fight he could win by playing fair. Not anymore. Whoever was behind this wasn't just trying to protect Mason. They were trying to make sure nobody believed Francis, no matter what evidence he eventually brought forward.
He closed the laptop, the screen going dark, and sat alone in the quiet kitchen, turning over the same question that would keep him up long past midnight. If they were willing to go this far over one driveway encounter, what exactly were they trying to hide? The call came Monday morning while Francis was still finishing his coffee. Deputy Director Howard Larson's assistant asked him to come in for a meeting at 11:00.
No explanation given, which told Francis everything he needed to know. Explanations weren't necessary when the subject was already obvious. He drove downtown to the federal building, the glass and steel rising clean and orderly above the city. A world away from the gray sedan that had idled outside his house and the anonymous post still circulating through his neighborhood.
He badged through security and took the elevator up, rehearsing nothing because he already knew exactly what he believed and wasn't planning to bend it for anyone. Larson's office sat at the end of a long hallway, all dark wood and framed commendations. He was a tall man, silver-haired, the kind of calm that came from twenty-five years of managing crises bigger than his own opinions. He gestured Francis to a chair without standing.
"I've seen the video," Larson said, no preamble. "And I've seen the local coverage, both of them." "Then you know what happened," Francis said. "I know what the video shows. I also know there's a competing story circulating that paints you very differently."
Larson folded his hands on the desk. "Optics matter, Francis. You're aware of that better than most agents in this building."
Francis felt his jaw tighten. "I didn't ask to be on the news. I asked to be left alone in my own driveway." "I understand that."
Larson's voice softened slightly, but the message underneath stayed firm. "I also need you focused." "The Hartwell financial case is moving into its final phase, two years of work. I can't have my lead agent's credibility under public scrutiny right when we need it airtight."
"So your suggestion is I let it go." "My suggestion," Larson said carefully, "is you let Internal Affairs handle the local matter and keep your name out of the press until Hartwell closes. After that, pursue it with everything you've got. I'll back you fully."
Francis sat with that for a long moment. The quiet hum of the building's air conditioning the only sound between them. He understood the calculation. He even respected it in a cold, practical way.
But he also understood what waiting meant. Evidence disappeared while people waited. Witnesses got pressured into silence while people waited. He'd seen it in a dozen other cases that weren't his own.
"With respect," Francis said, "Internal Affairs is the same department running cover for the officer who did this. I've already seen them lose dispatch audio over less." Larson studied him. Something unreadable passing behind his eyes.