Nothing overt enough to look like obstruction in isolation.
Together, Daniel believed, the pattern was unmistakable.
“Fix it,” Briggs said.
Daniel’s expression changed.
“What does that mean?”
“Get Owens out of here.”
“That’s not fixing it.”
“Whatever. Release him. Apologize. Make sure this doesn’t become something.”
Daniel almost laughed.
“It already is something.”
Briggs stepped closer.
“You want your career, Detective?”
Daniel’s eyes cooled.
“I want the evidence.”
He walked out.
Briggs watched the door close.
For the first time that day, fear arrived.
Daniel Cole had spent six months building a case almost nobody wanted.
Eight complaints.
Eight complainants.
Eight stories with unsettling similarities.
A thirty-two-year-old Black accountant stopped outside a luxury apartment building because Derek thought he looked like he was “waiting to buy drugs.”
A college professor ordered out of his SUV after Derek decided a temporary dealer plate looked suspicious.
A nurse shoved against a wall during a traffic dispute.
A seventeen-year-old boy detained while driving his father’s Mercedes.
Every case contained one weak fact Derek transformed into certainty.
Every complainant described the same tone.
Dismissive.
Certain.
Contemptuous when questioned.
Daniel had requested body-camera footage.
Some clips were missing.
Others began late.
Two contained unexplained gaps.
Briggs called each issue technical.
Daniel called it a pattern.
Now victim nine was sitting in Interview Room Three.
Daniel did not care that Sam was powerful because power made his pain more important.