Ellis Kane hung up the phone without another word. He stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked out of his office. The political mask was gone. The calm, measured negotiator had been replaced by something far more formidable, a father whose child was in trouble. The Northwood Police Department had just arrested a boy. They were about to face the man who ran the state.
The Northwood precinct remained an island of mundane activity, oblivious to the storm gathering on the horizon. Officer Trent Harlan was at his desk typing up his incident report with a self-satisfied smirk. He embellished with practiced ease, turning a simple traffic stop into a proactive measure against potential crime. He described Darius's confusion as evasiveness, and his pleas of innocence as belligerence. The palette knife was logged as a modified blade concealed within the vehicle. It was a work of fiction designed to justify his actions, a fortress of words to protect him from any scrutiny.
His partner, Bryce Nolan, sat at the adjacent desk staring at a blank screen. He hadn't written a single word of his own supplementary report. The unease in his gut had grown into a nauseating dread. Every word Harlan typed felt like another brick being laid in a wall of lies, and Nolan knew he was being cemented inside it with him.
"You should get that report done," Harlan said without looking up from his screen. "The sooner it's filed, the sooner we can forget about this punk."
"I'm just thinking," Nolan mumbled.
"Don't think too hard," Harlan advised. "It was a good bust, end of story."
At the front desk, Sergeant Grady was halfway through a crossword puzzle when the phone rang. It was the chief's administrative line, which was unusual at this hour. He answered with a gruff, "Grady."
The voice on the other end was frantic. "Sergeant, this is dispatch. The chief is en route to the station. He's asking for the arrest report for a Darius Kane."
Grady frowned, the name ringing a vague bell. "Kane... Kane... Oh. The artist kid Harlan brought in an hour ago. What's the chief want with that for?"
"I don't know, but he sounds agitated," the dispatcher said. "He wants the arresting officers, Harlan and Nolan, to meet him in his office the second he arrives."
Grady hung up, bewildered. He lumbered over to Harlan's desk. "Hey, Harlan. The chief is on his way in. He wants to see you and Nolan about your arrest tonight. The Kane kid."
Harlan looked up from his report, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "What? Did the kid's mommy call to complain? What's so damn important?"
"Beats me," Grady grunted, turning to walk back to his desk. "But he didn't sound happy."
A seed of unease was planted in Harlan's mind, but he quickly dismissed it. The chief was a stickler for procedure. He probably just wanted to cross his T's and dot his I's.
Then the main precinct line rang. Grady answered it, his voice already dripping with irritation. After a moment, his eyes went wide. He held the phone away from his ear, staring at it as if it were a venomous snake.
"Who was it?" Nolan asked, noticing the sudden change in the sergeant's demeanor.
Grady swallowed hard, his face pale. "That was Colonel Reese's office from the state police."
Now Harlan was paying attention. He stood up. "The state police, what about?"
"They wanted to confirm that a minor by the name of Darius Cain was in our custody," Grady said, his voice barely a whisper. "And they informed me that Governor Ellis Cain is personally on route to this precinct."
The name hit the room like a physical blow. Governor Ellis Cain. Harlan stared at Grady, his mind refusing to connect the dots. Cain? No. No way. The kid in the cell.
Nolan felt the blood drain from his face. The name on the registration. He hadn't even processed it. Just typed it into the system. Leonora Cain, the mother. It all clicked into place with sickening clarity. He looked at Harlan, whose cocky bravado had completely vanished, replaced by a ghastly ashen terror.
"Trent?" Nolan whispered, his voice trembling. "His dad..."