"Evelyn Brooks, wife of General Raymond Brooks."
There was a long pause on the line. "Four-star General Brooks?"
"The same."
In her office across town, Chief Marion Keats was just finishing a budget meeting when her phone lit up with multiple high-priority messages. She opened the first one and felt her stomach drop: the name Evelyn Brooks jumped out at her, followed by terms like "federal oversight" and "military liaison."
Her phone rang immediately after.
"Chief Keats," the state public safety director's voice was tense. "Are you aware that your department has arrested the wife of a four-star general?"
Keats felt her professional composure crack slightly. "I was just notified of a detention, but not the full circumstances. I'm heading to the station now."
"Fix this," the director ordered. "The Pentagon has already been involved for—" there was a pause as he checked something "—Jesus, less than five minutes after the initial detention. This is about to become a nightmare if it's not handled properly."
Back at the station, Evelyn stood with perfect posture as her belongings were cataloged: her phone, her purse, her car keys. Each item tagged and bagged while Rourke stood nearby, his earlier bravado cracking under the increasing number of worried glances from his colleagues.
Through the station's windows, emergency lights suddenly reflected off the walls. A vehicle had pulled up fast outside. The front doors burst open as Chief Keats strode in, her face a mask of controlled alarm. She took in the scene: Evelyn standing dignified in custody, Rourke trying to appear busy with paperwork, Halverson looking like he wanted to disappear.
"Why," Chief Keats demanded, her voice cutting through the station's uneasy quiet, "is Evelyn Brooks in a holding cell?"
The fluorescent lights continued their relentless buzzing, highlighting the growing tension in the room. Every officer present seemed to be holding their breath, aware that they were watching the beginning of what could become a career-ending disaster for everyone involved.
The harsh fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across the holding area as Chief Keats' heels clicked sharply against the linoleum floor. She found Evelyn Brooks sitting perfectly straight on the metal bench, her hands folded in her lap where faint red marks from the handcuffs were still visible. Despite the institutional surroundings, Evelyn's composure remained unshaken.
"Get this cell opened right now," Keats ordered, her voice tight with controlled panic.
The attending officer fumbled with his keys, the metal jangling loudly in the tense silence.