He sets the letter down and looks at each person in turn. When his eyes land on Kaine, they're cold enough to freeze blood. "Someone explain to me how we went from a routine mall stop to losing half a million dollars in federal equipment."
Morse flips through her notes. "The complainant is Lieutenant Colonel Catherine Gray, US Army Special Operations Command. She's also the DoD liaison officer who oversees police equipment transfers for this entire region." She looks up. "Which means she's the person who approved our gear in the first place."
"Jesus Christ," Briggs mutters.
"It gets worse," Morse continues. "Senator Fischer's office called this morning. The Armed Services Committee is opening an inquiry into police militarization abuse. They specifically named Greystone as a case study."
Briggs closes his eyes. "What else?"
"Department of Justice Civil Rights Division opened a pattern-and-practice investigation yesterday. They're looking at every excessive force complaint we've had in the last 5 years."
The room goes silent. Kaine shifts his weight, his face pale.
Briggs finally speaks. "Officer Kaine, tell me exactly what happened. No spin, just facts."
Kaine clears his throat. "Chief, I observed a juvenile with unexplained cash at a mall jewelry counter. I detained her for questioning. She claimed her mother was military, which seemed unlikely given the circumstances. I brought her to the station to verify."
"Did you confirm her story before detaining her?" Briggs asks.
"The situation required immediate—"
"Yes or no, Derek?"
"No, sir."
"Did you turn off your body camera?"
Kaine hesitates. "There was a technical malfunction."
"I asked if you turned it off."
Another pause. "Yes, sir."
Briggs's fist comes down on the desk hard enough to make everyone jump. "You detained a 17-year-old girl, the daughter of a Pentagon liaison officer, without cause. You denied her access to a parent. You turned off your camera to hide it. And then you wrote a psychological evaluation despite having zero qualifications." His voice rises with each sentence. "Do you have any idea what you've done to this department?"
Kaine's jaw works. "Chief, I was doing my job."
"Your job is to serve and protect, not to humiliate children because they don't fit your assumptions." Briggs turns to Morse. "What are we looking at legally?"
"Three separate federal investigations. Potential loss of all DoD grants, which fund about 40% of our equipment budget. Civil lawsuit from Colonel Gray is likely. And depending on what DOJ finds, we could be placed under a consent decree."
"Consent decree," Briggs repeats slowly. "Federal oversight for years."
"Potentially 5 to 10 years, yes."
Ortiz speaks up. "Chief, there's more. I pulled Kaine's file: three prior complaints, all dismissed internally without proper investigation."
Briggs looks like he might be sick. "Get out of my office, Kaine. You're on administrative leave as of now. Full pay, but you don't set foot in this building until I complete the investigation."
"Chief—"
"Out."
By day two, the story breaks. Local news runs it first: Military mother exposes police department; federal investigation launched. The segment shows stock footage of Fort Bragg, the Greystone PD building, and a carefully worded summary that avoids naming Madison, but makes the power dynamic crystal clear.
By day three, it's gone regional: Lieutenant Colonel triggers DoD audit after daughter detained. Someone leaked Kaine's incident report. The redacted version appears on social media by day four, and the internet does what the internet does.
Twitter explodes: #GreystonePD trends nationally, #BelieveKids becomes a rallying cry. Threads dissecting every detail of the case accumulate thousands of retweets. Reddit's r/JusticeServed thread hits 80,000 upvotes within 24 hours. The top comment: Imagine mocking a kid for saying her mom's Special Forces and then watching a Lieutenant Colonel walk through the door in full uniform. Chef's kiss.
TikTok picks it up next. Madison's story, told without showing her face, gets 4 million views in 3 days. The audio clip of "Your mama's in the military? She going to fly in wearing combat boots?" becomes a meme for instant karma moments.
Gray declines every interview request. Her public affairs officer releases a single statement: Colonel Gray has full confidence in the ongoing federal investigations and will not be commenting further at this time. But the silence only feeds the story.
Derek Kaine's life becomes a fishbowl. Administrative leave means he's home all day watching his name get torn apart online. His union representative tells him the harsh truth over coffee at a Denny's far from Greystone: "Derek, I'll defend you because that's my job. But if they prove you intentionally turned off your body cam, there's nothing I can do. That's tampering with evidence."
Kaine stares into his coffee. "It was just supposed to be a simple stop."
"Well, it's not simple anymore."
His phone buzzes constantly with messages from other officers. Most are supportive publicly, but he notices who's stopped responding in the group chat, who's putting distance between themselves and the fallout.
His wife asks him one night after the kids are in bed, "Why didn't you just let her call her mother?" He doesn't have an answer.
The Internal Affairs interview happens in a neutral room at City Hall, not the police station. Madison sits between her mother and a victim's advocate provided by the State Attorney General's office. The investigator, a woman named Sarah Torres, has kind eyes but asks direct questions.
"Madison, did Officer Kaine threaten you?"
Madison thinks carefully. "He didn't hit me or anything, but he said I'd have a record, that colleges would see it. I'm 17. I didn't know if that was true or not."
The advocate leans forward. "That's coercion of a minor. Textbook intimidation."
Torres makes a note. "Did he deny you access to a bathroom?"
"Yes. I asked twice. He said 'in a minute,' but then never let me go."
"How long were you there?"
"Over an hour, I think."
Gray's hand rests on Madison's shoulder, steady and grounding. Torres's expression doesn't change, but her pen moves faster. "Thank you, Madison. You're very brave."
Later that day, Torres interviews Timothy Yates separately. He sits alone: no union rep, no partner, just him and the truth he's been avoiding.