“What warrants?”

Nathaniel turned away.

Within forty-five minutes, Fairmont Police Department became part of a federal crime scene.

The initial search authorization had already been under preparation because Nathaniel’s team suspected someone inside the department was leaking information to Bellamy. His arrest added evidence nobody expected. Federal prosecutors obtained emergency approval to secure records before anyone inside Fairmont PD could destroy them.

Nathaniel entered the precinct shortly after midnight. He was still wearing muddy jeans and the same dark hoodie. His badge now hung openly from his belt.

The lobby was full of federal agents.

Technicians disconnected computer towers.

Evidence teams photographed file cabinets.

Digital specialists began mirroring internal servers.

Chief Benton stood near the dispatch desk looking as though twenty years had been added to his face.

“You can’t seize an entire police department because one officer screwed up.” Nathaniel approached him.

“This is not about one officer.”

Benton frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nathaniel handed him the federal seizure order.

“Body-camera archives.” He pointed toward the document.

“Use-of-force records.”

Another line.

“Internal-affairs files.”

Then another.

“Complaint closures involving Travis Gannon.”

Benton stared at the order.

Nathaniel spoke quietly. “Your department is evidence tonight.”

Benton looked around at the federal agents. “I knew nothing about this.”

“I hope that is true.”

Nathaniel walked toward Professional Standards.

Dana joined him.

“Dennis Rourke?”

“We’re bringing him in.”

Nathaniel nodded.

“Good.”

Rourke had spent the evening asleep at home. At 12:41 a.m., federal agents knocked on his door.

He opened it wearing sweatpants and an old Detroit Lions sweatshirt. The warrant removed whatever anger he intended to display. He was transported to the precinct without incident.

Nathaniel stood behind the glass in an interview room while Rourke spoke with counsel.

Dana handed him a preliminary financial summary.

“Look at this.”

Nathaniel read the page.

Regular deposits appeared in Rourke’s account shortly after Gannon received unexplained cash payments.

Twenty percent.

Always twenty percent.

Nathaniel looked toward Dana.

“Internal affairs took a cut.”

“Looks that way.”

Nathaniel set down the page.

“That explains the complaints.”

The files became worse.

Seven excessive-force complaints against Gannon had not merely been closed for lack of evidence. On three occasions, witness statements disappeared from final summaries.

Two body-camera files were marked corrupted.

A third video existed in a backup archive despite the official report claiming no footage survived.

Rourke had personally signed every closure.

Federal accountants began reviewing his assets.

Gannon’s financial history followed.

His police salary was ordinary.

His spending was not.

Three years earlier, he had purchased a twenty-eight-foot cabin cruiser for nearly one hundred thousand dollars through a cash-heavy transaction.

He also made regular deposits just below bank reporting thresholds.

The pattern began around the same time Bellamy’s construction scheme expanded.

Nathaniel sat at a patrol sergeant’s desk reading bank records until nearly two in the morning.

“How much?” Dana asked.

“Seven hundred fifty every Tuesday.”

Dana raised an eyebrow.

“That specific?”

“Almost every week.”

Nathaniel looked toward Bellamy’s house on the case map.

“Except when Gannon traveled.”

Dana understood.

“Protection payment.”

“Probably.”

She looked toward Rourke’s account.

“And Rourke gets his percentage.”

Nathaniel nodded.

“We need Bellamy.”

They got him before dawn.

Councilman Richard Bellamy opened his front door at 6:08 a.m. Federal agents stood beneath the porch light with an indictment warrant.

Bellamy looked at Nathaniel for a long moment.

“You were the man in the SUV.”

Nathaniel nodded.

Bellamy looked tired.

“I told Gannon to keep unknown cars off this street.”

There it was.

Nathaniel did not react.

“You instructed a police officer to remove people from outside your home?”

Bellamy looked toward the floor.

“You don’t understand.”

“I will.”

Bellamy asked for his attorney.

Nathaniel respected the request immediately.

The interrogation stopped.

That difference mattered to him.

Travis Gannon spent the night in the same building where he had spent years processing other people.

By two in the morning, his gun and badge were gone.

By three, federal agents had his phone.

By four, they had a search warrant for his house.

By breakfast, they had enough financial records to change his future permanently.

Gannon initially tried denial.

The weekly deposits were side work.

The boat came from savings.

The complaints were angry criminals.

Bellamy was simply an acquaintance.

Nathaniel entered the interview room after Gannon’s attorney finished a private consultation.

Two paper cups of coffee sat on the table.

Nathaniel placed one in front of Gannon.

Gannon did not touch it.

Nathaniel opened the file.

“Travis Eugene Gannon.”

Gannon stared toward the wall.

“Twelve years with Fairmont PD.”

Nathaniel turned a page.

“Base salary seventy-one thousand.”

Another page.

“House assessed at four hundred sixty thousand.”

Another.

“Boat purchased for ninety-eight thousand.”

Gannon remained silent.

Nathaniel looked up.

“You like fishing?”

Gannon said nothing.

Nathaniel continued.

“I do too.”

He closed the folder.

“But I usually pay for it with money I can explain.”

Gannon shifted.

Nathaniel slid a financial timeline across the table.

“Seven hundred fifty dollars every Tuesday.”

Gannon looked down.

“Your bank calls them cash deposits.”

Another page appeared.

“Bellamy’s contractor network calls them administrative expenses.”

Gannon looked up.

Nathaniel tapped the dates.

“Every time Bellamy needed somebody bothered, your account got paid.”

Gannon frowned.

“Coincidence.”

Nathaniel smiled faintly.

“Fourteen coincidences?”

No answer.

“Parking citations against political rivals.”

Another tap.

“Noise complaints at a union organizer’s house.”

Another.

“Traffic stop on the city auditor.”

Another.

“Three separate contacts with a journalist investigating Bellamy’s contracts.”

Gannon’s face changed slightly.

Nathaniel noticed.

“You know what I like about money?”

Gannon stared at him.

“It remembers.”

Nathaniel leaned back.

“People lie.”

Another pause.

“Bank records don’t have the imagination.”

Gannon’s attorney requested a break.

When the interview resumed, Nathaniel added one more page.

It showed transfers to Dennis Rourke.

“Twenty percent.”

Gannon’s shoulders lowered.

“You paid Internal Affairs to clean the complaints.”

Gannon finally spoke.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nathaniel opened another file.

“Body camera from March 14.”

Gannon stopped.

“Official report says corrupted.”

Nathaniel tilted his head.

“Server backup disagrees.”

Nothing.

“We watched it.”

Gannon looked toward his lawyer.

Nathaniel knew the moment had arrived.

“Tell me about Eric Dobbins.”

Gannon said nothing.