"I never told you to frame innocent civilians, you son of a bitch!" Miller roared back, desperately trying to salvage his own sinking ship. "You're done, O'Grady! You are stripped of your powers! Give me your badge and your weapon right now!"
"Your disciplinary actions are no longer required, Captain Miller," Cynthia said coldly.
She looked at Carter and gave a single, subtle nod.
Carter reached up and pressed a button on the comms earpiece tucked into his ear. "Execute."
For three seconds, nothing happened.
Then, the muffled sounds of the busy precinct outside the interrogation room suddenly transformed into chaos. There were shouts, the heavy thud of tactical boots against linoleum, and the unmistakable, authoritative shouts of federal agents taking control of a building:
"FBI! Nobody move! Hands away from your keyboards! Step away from your desks!"
Through the heavy steel door, they could hear the local cops shouting in confusion. The 42nd District was being raided.
The door to interrogation room four flew open. Four heavily armed agents wearing tactical vests emblazoned with the bright yellow letters FBI flooded the room. They moved with terrifying efficiency, immediately flanking O'Grady, Doyle, and Captain Miller.
"Thomas O'Grady," Cynthia said, stepping around the table and looking down at the broken man in the chair. "You are under arrest for the violation of Title 18, United States Code, Section 242: Deprivation of Rights Under Color of Law. You are also charged with obstruction of justice, perjury, and the possession of a Schedule II narcotic with the intent to distribute."
O'Grady looked up at her, tears of sheer panic welling in his eyes. "Please," he whispered, a pathetic croak of a man who suddenly understood what it felt like to have his life destroyed by a higher power. "Please, Director. I have a family. I have kids."
"So do the men and women currently sitting in federal and state prisons because you decided to play God with their lives," Cynthia replied, devoid of an ounce of sympathy. "Agent, cuff him."
An FBI agent grabbed O'Grady by the collar, hauled him to his feet, and slammed him face-first against the concrete wall. The sickening sound of O'Grady's nose crunching against the wall was instantly followed by the metallic click of handcuffs snapping securely around his wrists.
"Kevin Doyle," Cynthia continued, turning to the trembling partner, "you are under arrest for conspiracy to violate civil rights. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."
Doyle didn't fight. He sobbed openly as he was spun around and cuffed.
Captain Miller stood frozen, his eyes wide as he watched his two officers being processed like common street thugs. He swallowed hard and tried to straighten his posture.
"Director Holloway, I assure you the Oakland Police Department will fully cooperate with your investigation. I want a complete audit of O'Grady's past arrests."
Cynthia slowly turned her gaze to the captain. "You won't be auditing anything, Captain. Attorney General Merrick Garland has already signed the authorization for a sweeping federal probe into this entire precinct, led by the DOJ's Civil Rights Division. Every arrest, every conviction, every piece of evidence processed under your command over the last ten years is now federal evidence. You turned a blind eye to corruption because it served your ambitions. You fostered an environment where a predator like O'Grady felt comfortable operating in the open."