They understood.
They also understood that following someone does not erase your own signature.
No one promised him freedom from consequences.
That became important later, when his lawyer tried to frame cooperation as redemption.
Cooperation mattered.
It was not a time machine.
Two weeks after the courthouse confrontation, state agents executed search warrants at Westbridge Police headquarters, the Professional Standards annex, and a storage office rented by a city vendor.
The searches were controlled and deliberately boring.
No television cameras were invited.
No officers were lined against walls.
Agents imaged servers, collected specific paper records, photographed evidence storage seals, and left with boxed materials listed on signed inventories.
Marcus Vale was placed on paid administrative leave by the city manager the same morning.
His attorney released a statement calling the investigation politically motivated and accusing unnamed officials of punishing aggressive policing.
Vale himself said nothing.
For three days.
Then he called a press conference.
He stood at a podium outside his lawyer's office in a dark suit instead of a uniform and told reporters that Elena Brooks had built a career "manufacturing patterns out of clerical noise."
He said the Blue Ledger was a legitimate management tool.
He said Naomi Ellis had been a disgruntled employee under investigation for misconduct.
He said Daniel Vance was an officer facing discipline who had every incentive to shift blame upward.
Then he looked directly into the camera.
"The public should ask why an unelected private auditor was permitted to carry confidential police records into a courthouse without oversight."
My phone began ringing before the press conference ended.
News outlets wanted a response.
I gave none.
Romero issued a three-sentence statement saying the audit was lawfully authorized and ongoing.
Judge Carter said nothing because judges do not win credibility by arguing with potential litigants on television.
That restraint frustrated the public.
It also frustrated me.
For one ugly hour, I wanted to stand in front of cameras with Folder Five and read Vale's emails aloud.
I wanted people to hear Naomi's recordings.
I wanted Darius Bell beside me.
I wanted the truth to arrive as loudly as the lie.
Miriam Cho talked me out of it with one sentence.
"If you care about the case more than the applause, let the evidence arrive where it can survive cross-examination."
I hated how right she was.
So I went back to work.
The next six weeks were the least dramatic and most important part of the entire case.
We verified.
Every allegation that looked explosive on first reading had to survive the boring questions: Who created this record? When? Under what authority? Was the timestamp trustworthy? Could the discrepancy have an innocent explanation? Was the person we suspected even present when the change occurred?
That process ruined several theories I had been sure about.
It also strengthened the ones that remained.
Of the first twelve cash discrepancies, three turned out to be legitimate field-count errors corrected with supporting documentation that had been stored in a separate finance system. One involved counterfeit currency removed from the total after verification. Another involved cash returned to a homeowner by court order before property-room deposit.