He shook it violently.
Nothing.
Then one corner caught on the torn lining.
A small leather credential wallet slipped out.
It hit the pavement.
Opened.
The gold shield flashed.
Silence.
Derek stared.
Mason stopped breathing for a second.
Trevor whispered something.
Jacob stepped closer.
Granger bent down slowly.
He picked up the wallet.
Read the words.
Then looked at Alicia.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
His face emptied.
Derek laughed nervously.
“Fake.”
Granger said nothing.
“Right?”
Mason stepped closer.
“People buy these online.”
Trevor nodded too quickly.
“Movie prop.”
Jacob stared at the badge.
Two years earlier, he had attended a joint task-force training in Atlanta.
He remembered federal credentials.
Seal placement.
Microprinting.
Serial structure.
His stomach dropped.
“Sergeant.”
Granger ignored him.
Jacob spoke again.
“That’s real.”
Derek turned.
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve seen one.”
Granger looked at Alicia.
“You expect me to believe you’re FBI?”
She answered quietly.
“You should return the badge.”
His pride took over before reason could.
He tossed it onto the hood of the cruiser.
“Anybody can buy gold plastic.”
Alicia almost looked disappointed.
Then the sound came.
Low at first.
Heavy engines.
Multiple.
Everyone turned toward the highway.
No thunder.
No storm clouds.
The rumble grew.
A black Chevrolet Suburban appeared at the top of the road.
Then another.
Then three more.
Government plates.
Dark windows.
Push bars.
Derek stared.
“What is that?”
Nobody answered.
The lead SUV accelerated.
Emergency lights erupted across the grille.
Then sirens.
One vehicle entered from the north.
Two from the south.
Others blocked the side street.
The convoy flooded the intersection with a precision completely different from local patrol response.
Doors opened before the wheels stopped moving.
Agents poured out.
Black tactical uniforms.
Body armor.
Yellow letters.
FBI.
The crowd gasped.
Derek instinctively moved one hand toward his weapon.
Jacob immediately said, “Don’t.”
US Marshals vehicles closed both exits.
More agents took position.
Special Agent Isaac Monroe stepped from the lead Suburban.
He was fifty, calm, broad-shouldered, and moved with the confidence of somebody who did not need to announce authority because everyone around him already knew where it was.
His eyes found Alicia.
Handcuffed.
Red marks on her wrists.
Then the FBI badge lying on the cruiser.