Travis stared at the photos, his breathing shallow. "How? How do you already have all this?"
The door to the interview room opened. Captain Emma Grace walked in, carrying a small black digital recorder. The one Ben Collins had surrendered. "Because arrogance makes you sloppy, Travis," Emma said, pulling out a chair and sitting directly across from him.
"You thought you were untouchable, so you talked. You talked in the cruiser. You bragged in the locker room. You laid out your entire criminal network to a rookie you thought you could bully into submission. Officer Collins gave us over 80 hours of audio recordings. You've been narrating your own federal indictment for 6 months."
Travis felt the blood rush from his head. He had nothing. No leverage. No chips to bargain with.
"The U.S. Attorney is not offering you a plea deal, Holt," Kesler stated, closing the folder. "You crossed state lines with cartel narcotics. You attempted to frame a superior officer under the color of law. You are going to face a jury and we are going to ask for the maximum sentence. And as for your fear of general population," Kesler smiled, a grim, humorless expression.
"The Bureau of Prisons doesn't offer protective custody for corrupt officers who steal from cartels. You're going exactly where you sent hundreds of innocent people."
"Captain. Please," Travis begged, tears streaming down his face, leaning as far across the table as his chains would allow. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I didn't know who you were. If I had known—" "That is exactly why you deserve no mercy," Emma interrupted, her voice a lethal whisper that silenced him instantly.
"You're only sorry because of the badge I wear. If I had been anyone else, a nurse, a teacher, a mother just trying to get home, you would have ruined my life and slept perfectly fine that night. You are a predator, Travis, and the hunt is officially over."
Emma stood up, turning her back on him. "Process him, Agent Kesler. I have a precinct to rebuild." As Emma walked out of the room, Travis Holt's agonized sobs echoed through the heavy steel door, the sound of a man mourning the end of his own life.
The following Monday morning, the atmosphere at District 9 was unrecognizable. The toxic frat house culture had been completely eradicated. Over the weekend, 16 officers had been suspended without pay pending federal investigation. Seven, including Sergeant Harrison, had been formally terminated and indicted.
Captain Emma Grace stood at the front of the briefing room at 7:00 a.m. sharp. The remaining officers sat rigidly in their chairs, their uniforms immaculate, their eyes fixed forward. There was no whispering. There was no joking.
"Look to your left. Look to your right." Emma's voice rang out, clear and authoritative. "A lot of chairs are empty this morning. Those chairs belonged to men who believed a badge was a license to abuse, to steal, and to oppress. They are gone, and they are never coming back."
She paced the length of the room, her eyes making contact with every single officer.