Gravel crunched heavily outside. Ryder didn't yell. He didn't issue a police command. He walked with the slow, deliberate pace of a man who knew exactly where his prey was cornered. He stopped just outside the shattered glass. The beam of his flashlight cut directly over our heads, illuminating the dust particles suspended in the dead air.
"Greg," Ryder’s voice came through the broken pane. It was low, flat, and completely devoid of his usual mocking arrogance. "Open the door. If Walter is in there with you, step away from him. You don't want to be in the middle of this when I come through."
Greg whimpers, pulling his knees to his chest. His eyes darted frantically toward the cash scattered across the floor, then to the heavy flashlight I still gripped in my hand. He looked ready to bolt, ready to trade my life for a five-second head start.
I fumbled in my canvas jacket and pulled out the prepaid burner phone. The call timer was still running. I pressed the volume down to the lowest possible notch and put it on speaker, holding the microphone inches from my mouth.
"Agent Miller," I whispered, barely shaping the words with my lips.
"I have you," Miller’s voice crackled faintly, a tinny whisper in the dark. "State Police units have turned onto the county highway. They are four miles out. You need to maintain your position."
Four miles on winding rural backroads meant at least five minutes. We didn't have five seconds.
Ryder tested the doorknob. The deadbolt held, but the metal frame groaned under the pressure of his heavy shoulder.
"I'm not asking again, Greg," Ryder said. He stepped back. The distinct, metallic slide of a Glock being racked echoed like a thunderclap in the quiet night. He was chambering a live round. "Step away from the door."
I looked down at the heavy ledger pressed against my side. It was physical proof, but it was just paper. If Ryder shot us both and tossed the book into the burn barrel behind the garage, the State Police would arrive to find a tragic, unexplainable crime scene. The audio of our earlier extortion exchange would be buried under Ryder’s claim that I had ambushed him. I needed the evidence to exist beyond this room. I needed a witness to bridge the gap before the bullets started flying.
I grabbed Greg’s shoulder and shoved the phone against his cheek. I opened the leather ledger to a random page in the center, pointing to a column of neat, handwritten dates and badge numbers.
"Read it," I breathed into Greg’s ear, my grip bruising his collarbone. "Read it to the agent right now, or you take the fall for everything."
"He'll kill me," Greg sobbed silently, his whole body shaking.
"He's going to kill you anyway to erase the witness," I whispered back, my voice hardening. "You're the only loose end left. Speak into the phone."
Outside, a heavy boot slammed into the metal door. The hinges shrieked, and a spray of fractured safety glass cascaded across the floor.
Greg squeezed his eyes shut. He leaned into the small glowing rectangle of the burner phone. "My name is Greg Thorne," he stammered, his voice vibrating with terror. "I manage the county impound lot. Officer Ryder fabricates DOT safety violations. He seizes the commercial rigs, and I alter the intake logs so the trucking companies have to pay him an unrecorded cash release fee."
"I have that recorded, Mr. Thorne," Agent Miller’s voice replied immediately, cutting through the static. "Can you verify a specific fabricated citation?"
I dragged my finger down the ledger page and tapped a highlighted yellow line.
"July eighth," Greg choked out, reading the ink in the dim light of the flashlight beam above us. "Two freight liners seized for phantom brake-line failures. Badge number four-two-seven. Ryder collected eight thousand dollars. I kept fifteen percent to falsify the county release forms."
The door buckled inward with a deafening crash as Ryder kicked it a second time. The deadbolt tore through the aluminum frame. The door slammed against the interior wall, leaving the entrance wide open.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the heavy plastic wastebasket filled with shredded DOT forms and hurled it blindly over the desk toward the doorway.