His mouth tightened. "You think you're clever."
"I think you underestimated how many people were tired of being afraid of you."
Reed took a step closer. The nearest jail officer shifted position, suddenly attentive. "Your father made that same mistake," Reed said quietly. "He thought a notebook full of accusations would protect him."
Olivia felt the familiar ache, but the sentence no longer worked on her as it once had. She had her father's files, the new testimony, and the knowledge that at least some officials outside Milfield were willing to examine both. She could not claim to know exactly how Thomas died, and she refused to give Reed the satisfaction of hearing her bluff.
"My father was gathering evidence," she said. "Some of it reached people you couldn't control. His death is being reconsidered."
For the first time, Reed glanced toward the office door with visible alarm. "Who told you that?"
"I won't discuss an ongoing investigation with someone implicated in it."
He leaned closer, speaking so softly that the jail officers could not catch every word. "You have no idea what happens to people who push too far. Your sister is still outside trying to make trouble. She should learn when to stop."
Olivia turned her head toward the nearby guard. "Officer, I want that statement documented. I am asking for counsel, and I do not agree to be moved on an order my attorney has challenged."
Reed straightened immediately. "She's trying to turn a routine conversation into another complaint."
The guard did not answer. A second door opened, and Nathan Price entered with a woman carrying a formal credential case. Behind them came Foster and an attorney Olivia recognized from the earlier outside inquiry. The woman's name was Rebecca Davis, and she looked as though she had been working all night without allowing fatigue to reduce her attention.
"Captain Reed," Davis said. "I need you to stay where you are."
Reed turned slowly. "This is a county facility. What's the purpose of your visit?"
"We're here in connection with a federal judicial warrant and a coordinated investigation into narcotics diversion, evidence fabrication, and public corruption. You will be informed of the charges and your rights."
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Olivia saw Reed recognize Foster and then look again, seeing the man not as an obedient transferred officer but as someone attached to an investigation he had failed to detect. Foster remained professional and said nothing until the county officers were instructed to make space. Reed's hand moved halfway toward his belt and stopped when Davis told him not to reach for anything.
"This is outrageous," Reed said. "I want my attorney."
"You may contact counsel," Davis replied. "You are not required to answer questions."
The arrest did not resemble the explosion Olivia had imagined during sleepless nights. There was no speech about justice, no officer throwing a badge to the floor, and no crowd to witness Reed's authority collapse. A federal agent confirmed his identity, the warrant was executed, and Reed was placed into custody while his counsel was contacted. The quiet procedure felt more serious than a theatrical triumph because every step was being documented for a court that would later examine it.