I edged my eye toward the cracked window. Inside, Greg Thorne was frantically feeding stacks of carbon-copy inspection forms into the blades. A massive, leather-bound ledger sat open on his desk. Beside it was a stack of cash, bound in rubber bands.
Greg wasn't a victim of Ryder's corruption. He was the bookkeeper.
He grabbed another stack of forms bearing the yellow header of my own DOT safety records. If those went into the blades, the proof that Ryder had lied to seize my livelihood would become confetti.
Waiting for Agent Miller to get a warrant wasn't an option. Waiting would destroy everything.
I moved to the hollow-core metal door. Greg had locked it, but the latch was barely seated. I wrapped my canvas jacket around my hand, gripped the steel flashlight, and smashed it through the glass pane above the knob.
The glass shattered inward with a deafening crash. The shredder stopped abruptly as Greg let out a startled shout. I reached through the jagged edges, unlocked the deadbolt, and shoved the door open.
Greg stood frozen, my forms trembling in his hands. "Walter? Are you out of your mind?"
"Put the papers down, Greg," I ordered, keeping the heavy flashlight raised.
"You're trespassing," Greg stammered, backing away. "Ryder called me. He told me you wore a wire. He's going to kill you, Walt."
"Then you know Internal Affairs is listening," I said. "Step away from the desk."
Greg lunged for the master logbook, trying to sweep it into the shredder basket.
I dropped the flashlight and tackled him. We slammed into the metal desk, sending rubber-banded cash cascading across the floor. Greg was heavy, but panic made him clumsy. I pinned his arm, grabbed the thick leather ledger with my free hand, and shoved him backward into the filing cabinets.
I clutched the ledger to my chest. It was heavy, packed with years of dates, badge numbers, phantom citations, and extorted amounts. It was the physical blueprint of Ryder’s entire enterprise.
"You steal that book, you're fighting the whole precinct," Greg wheezed from the floor. "They'll say you broke in to destroy evidence."
"I'm not destroying it," I said, backing toward the door. "I'm delivering it."
I turned to leave, but high-beam headlights suddenly swept across the broken window, blinding me. The heavy crunch of tires on gravel announced a vehicle tearing through the front gates.
I pressed myself against the wall and peered through the blinds. A police cruiser had just slammed to a halt, blocking the lot's exit. The lightbar was dark, but the driver’s side door swung open. Officer Ryder stepped out. His uniform was covered in dust, his face twisted in a mask of desperate rage, and his service weapon was already drawn.
He hadn't run to hide. He had run straight here to destroy the evidence himself.
I looked down at the heavy ledger in my hands. The proof was finally real and undeniable. But I was trapped inside a metal box with a shattered door, and the man outside had a badge, a gun, and absolutely nothing left to lose.
CHAPTER 2 CONTINUED
I dropped to the linoleum floor, dragging Greg down by the collar of his shirt. I pulled him behind the heavy steel desk, pressing the thick leather ledger tightly against my ribs. My heart slammed against my breastbone, loud enough that I feared the sound would vibrate through the thin walls.