It was the fear of a bully who had picked a fight with a lion. "Mr. Callahan," Judge Vance said, looking directly at Bryce.
"I have seen enough. The motion to suppress is denied. The evidence stands, and frankly, if I were you, I would start praying for a plea deal because a jury is going to bury you." Bryce looked at Kendrick.
Kendrick offered a small, polite nod. It was the ultimate power move. He wasn't angry anymore. He was just efficient.
The sentencing hearing weeks later was a formality. The jury had deliberated for less than 3 hours. Guilty on all counts. Deprivation of rights under color of law.
Conspiracy to commit extortion. Filing false police reports. Assault on a federal officer. Judge Vance didn't hold back.
"Bryce Callahan, you have disgraced the uniform you wore. You used the power of the state as a weapon of terror against innocent citizens. You didn't just break the law, you broke the public trust. I sentence you to 25 years in a federal correctional institution without the possibility of parole." 25 years.
Bryce would be 70 when he got out, if he got out. He was processed out of the county jail and put on a bus, the Con Air transport. He was shackled hand and foot, chained to the seat. The other prisoners on the bus eyed him.
They saw the soft hands, the terrified eyes. They recognized the former cop immediately and saw him as an easy target. A tattooed man two rows back whispered something Bryce could not make out. They eventually arrived at FCI Talladega, a medium-security federal prison.
It wasn't the Club Fed white-collar camp Bryce had fantasized about because of the violence charges and the use of a weapon, he was placed in general population. The intake process was a nightmare. He went through the standard intake search, an irony that was not lost on him after what he had tried to order for Serena. He was sprayed for lice.
He was given a uniform that smelled like industrial detergent and old sweat. "Name," the guard barked. He was a young black man, no older than Deputy Ellis back in Pine Creek. "Bryce Callahan," Bryce mumbled.
"I was a cop. I need protective custody. You can't put me in gen pop." The guard looked up.
He recognized the name. Everyone did. "Protective custody is full," the guard said, his face impassive.
"Besides, PC is for people in danger. You're a tough guy, right? The Hammer." Bryce flinched.
"Please, they'll kill me." "Keep your head down and your mouth shut," the guard said, handing him a thin mattress roll. "Cell block D, move." Cell block D was a cacophony of noise, shouting, metal clanging on metal, the blare of televisions.
As Bryce walked the tier, the noise died down. Heads turned. Eyes locked onto him. News travels fast in prison.
They knew who he was. They knew what he had done. He reached his cell. It was a 6-by-8 concrete box.
His cellmate was already there doing push-ups on the floor. He was a massive man with a shaved head and Aryan Brotherhood tattoos covering his arms. Bryce hesitated at the door. Maybe this is okay, he thought.
Maybe the white gangs will protect me. The cellmate stopped doing push-ups. He stood up wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked Bryce up and down.
"You the cop?" the cellmate asked. "Ex-cop," Bryce corrected quickly. "I was framed, just like you guys." The cellmate laughed.
It wasn't a friendly laugh. "We don't like cops in here," the man said. "But we really don't like cops who make the news. You bring heat, you bring lockdowns." "I can pay," Bryce said, desperate.
"I have money stashed outside." "Your money is gone, Callahan." A voice came from the walkway. Bryce turned.
Standing at the bars of his cell was a group of three inmates. One of them was Latino, small but with eyes like a shark. "We saw the news," the Latino inmate said.
"The feds seized everything. Your house, your truck, your pension. You got nothing." Bryce sank onto his bunk.
It was true. The civil asset forfeiture laws, the very laws he used to steal cash from drug dealers, had been used against him. Kendrick and Serena had filed a civil suit alongside the criminal case. They had stripped him bare.
"So," his cellmate said, cracking his knuckles, "you're broke. You're a cop, and you're famous. That's a bad combination, Bryce." That first night the lights went out.
The darkness was total. Bryce lay on his bunk staring at the concrete ceiling. He could hear the breathing of the man below him. He could hear the shouts from down the hall.
"Hey, Officer Callahan, pull me over now." Someone screamed in the dark. Laughter echoed through the block. Bryce closed his eyes and saw the Range Rover.
He saw the sunlight glinting off the black paint. He saw Kendrick's calm face. "Why didn't I just let them go?" he thought. "Why did I have to be the big man?" Regret is a bitter pill, but in prison, it's the only medicine you get.
The next morning, Bryce went to the cafeteria for breakfast. He tried to sit alone. He put his tray down, watery oatmeal and a hard biscuit. He felt a shadow fall over him.
He looked up. It wasn't an inmate. It was the warden.
"Callahan," the warden said, "you have a visitor." "Visitor?" Bryce's heart leaped. Maybe it's a lawyer, maybe an appeal.
"Legal visit," the warden said. "Come with me." Bryce was led to a private room. He walked in expecting to see Mr.
Finch. Instead, sitting at the metal table looking relaxed and healthy was Kendrick Voss. Bryce stopped. The guard closed the door behind him.
"What are you doing here?" Bryce asked, his voice shaking. "I promised you I'd see it through," Kendrick said. He didn't look angry.
He looked at Bryce like one might look at a specimen in a jar. "I wanted to see if the system worked." "You ruined my life," Bryce whispered. "No, Bryce," Kendrick said firmly.
"You ruined your life. I just turned on the lights. You were the one standing in the dark doing dirty things." Kendrick slid a piece of paper across the table.
"What's this?" Bryce asked. "It's a letter," Kendrick said.
"From the Department of Justice. We're offering you a deal, a reduction in sentence." Bryce's eyes widened. "What?" "Because Langley was just the middleman," Kendrick said, leaning forward.