Gallagher swallowed hard, his bravado entirely evaporated. "Director, there has to be a mistake. Whatever Tommy did, it's on him. We can sort this out internally, department to department."
Arthur let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Internal Affairs? Captain, your precinct has 27 outstanding complaints for excessive force, racial profiling, and extortion. Your union reps have blocked every state inquiry. Yet when your officer illegally detains, kidnaps, and assaults a federal director based on the color of his skin, you bypass state inquiries. You invite the full, unmitigated wrath of the United States government into your house."
Arthur turned his gaze to Higgins, who was pressed against the holding cell bars, looking like he was about to faint. "Officer Higgins," Arthur commanded, "step forward."
Higgins didn't move. He couldn't. His legs had completely given out. Two HRT operators stepped forward, grabbed Higgins by his uniform shoulders, and dragged him to the center of the booking room.
"I... I didn't know," Higgins stammered, tears welling in his eyes. The tough, racist bully had completely vanished, replaced by a terrified, sniveling coward. "I swear to God, I thought you were a fraud. Gregory Fisk told me you were causing trouble. I was just doing my job."
"Your job," Arthur repeated coldly, "is to uphold the Constitution of the United States, not to act as a privately funded attack dog for wealthy racists."
Arthur tapped a few buttons on the secure tablet. "Eleanor, have the Cyber Division pull the servers for this building. I want every email, every text message, and every body cam footage from the last five years downloaded and preserved. And lock down the evidence room—nobody touches a single file."
Higgins' eyes widened in sheer panic. "Wait! No, you can't just take our servers!"
Arthur stepped closer to Higgins, invading his personal space. The height difference was glaring. "I can, and I have. Because I know exactly what you were trying to do five minutes before my team arrived, Officer."
Higgins froze.
"You didn't think I noticed you trying to slip away to the IT closet?" Arthur whispered, his voice dripping with venom. "You were going to wipe your body cam footage. You were going to try and destroy the evidence of a federal crime. That is obstruction of justice, adding another twenty years to your impending sentence."
The precinct was systematically dismantled over the next hour. Federal agents bagged hard drives, seized physical files, and separated the precinct officers into different rooms for interrogation. The hubris of the 9th Precinct had been built on a foundation of local immunity. But against the infinite resources of the federal government, they folded like wet cardboard.
Arthur commandeered Captain Gallagher's spacious corner office. He sat behind the heavy oak desk, Eleanor Wright standing rigidly by the door. In the center of the room, sitting in a painfully uncomfortable metal chair, was Thomas Higgins. His badge and gun had been stripped, sitting in an evidence bag on the desk.
"Let's talk about Gregory Fisk," Arthur said smoothly, steepling his fingers.
"I don't know anything," Higgins lied automatically, a habit born of years of police union coaching. "He's just a citizen who reported a disturbance."
"Do not insult my intelligence, Thomas," Arthur warned. "We are already inside your phone. We have your bank records. We know about the shell LLC registered in Delaware under your wife's maiden name. We know about the $5,000 monthly retainers deposited by Fisk Holdings. You're an unregistered, unbonded, illegal private enforcer running an extortion racket under the color of law."
Higgins slumped in the chair, the final ounce of resistance draining from his body. "If I talk... if I tell you everything... what kind of deal can I get?"
"You don't get a deal," Arthur said flatly. "You get to choose between federal prison in FCI Danbury with a standard security detail, or you get thrown into the general population where half the inmates are people you falsely arrested. Your cooperation only dictates your survival, not your freedom."
Before Higgins could respond, Captain Gallagher's desk phone began to ring. It was a private line, one that bypassed the precinct's main switchboard. Arthur looked at the caller ID. The name glowing on the digital screen was G. Fisk.
A cold smile touched the corners of Arthur's mouth. "Eleanor, start a physical trace on this line and begin recording."
Eleanor nodded, tapping her earpiece. "Recording active, sir."
Arthur hit the speakerphone button. "Captain Gallagher's office."
"Bill, where the hell is Tommy?!" a slurred, arrogant voice barked through the speaker. Gregory Fisk had clearly spent the last two hours drinking heavily at the Wellington. "I told him to handle some trash at the restaurant and he's not answering his cell! Tell me he threw that arrogant suit in a cell for the weekend!"
Higgins squeezed his eyes shut, realizing his wealthy benefactor was currently talking directly to the FBI director.
Arthur leaned into the microphone. "Mr. Fisk, this is Executive Assistant Director Arthur Pendleton of the FBI. I am the 'arrogant suit' you are referring to."
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end of the line. The sound of ice clinking in a glass abruptly stopped.