"I'll try," Elias said, grabbing his mouse. "But Walter, we're on ancient copper DSL lines out here. This is a two-gigabyte raw high-definition file. The upload speed is terrible. It will take at least twelve minutes to buffer and send over this network."
"Do it," I ordered. "Start the transfer."
Before Elias could click the attachment icon, the digital police scanner sitting on the shelf above the filing cabinet crackled to life. It was tuned to the county's encrypted emergency dispatch channel—a frequency Elias only had access to because his older brother was the former fire chief.
Hollister’s voice filled the small office, thick with manufactured panic and absolute authority.
"Dispatch, this is County Unit One. I have an active ten-thirty-one in progress at Marcus's Diner. Suspect is Walter Vance, seventy-two-year-old male. Suspect violently assaulted a waitress, struck a sworn officer with a blunt weapon, and fled into the adjoining commercial structure. Suspect is believed to be armed with a stolen county sidearm and is highly unstable."
Elias and I locked eyes. The blood drained completely from my friend's face.
"Copy, Unit One," the dispatcher replied, her voice echoing through the small speaker. "Initiating county-wide lockdown. Establishing a two-block perimeter. State Troopers are fifteen minutes out."
"Tell State to hold at the county line," Hollister barked over the radio, completely hijacking the jurisdictional response. "Suspect has barricaded himself. I am authorizing lethal force if he attempts to break the perimeter. Do not let anyone approach the hardware store."
I looked down at my phone. It was completely dead, purposely powered off to prevent GPS tracking. But even if I turned it on, the trap was already set.
"Cancel the upload, Elias," I commanded, stepping forward and pressing my hand flat over his mouse.
"What? Why?" Elias asked, his hands shaking violently.
"If you open an encrypted channel to a military server, the county's automated routing monitors will flag the massive data spike," I explained, the reality of the trap closing around us. "Hollister is sitting in his cruiser right next door. Dispatch will ping the IP address directly to his terminal. He will know exactly what building I am inside, and he will breach your front door before the upload hits twenty percent."
Elias swallowed hard, pulling his hand away from the mouse. "If they breach while that file is uploading... they'll say I was an accomplice. They'll shoot us both."
"Exactly," I said quietly.
I stared at the paused video on the laptop screen. My own bleeding face was pressed against the steel counter, trapped under the weight of a corrupt man’s hand. Hollister had locked down the access route. He was using the legitimate emergency response system as his own personal execution squad. I could not hide in this back room and wait for rescue. Silence would kill me, and waiting would get Elias killed.
"I can't send the file from here," I said, my voice hardening. I reached down, pulled the USB drive from the laptop, and slid it securely back into my breast pocket. The metal casing felt heavy against my chest. "And I cannot let Tessa walk her people into an ambush."
"Walter, you can't go out there," Elias said, stepping in front of the door. "There are three county cruisers pulling up outside right now. I can see the blue lights flashing through the blinds."
"Where is Hollister supposed to be this morning?" I asked, my mind moving past the immediate panic, locking into the cold, tactical discipline I had relied on decades ago. "It’s Tuesday. The diner was his morning stop. Where does he go at ten o'clock on the first Tuesday of the month?"
Elias blinked, struggling to keep up with the sudden shift. "The County Commissioner's budget hearing. It’s public. It’s at the main courthouse downtown. All the local press is there."
"That’s the exposure arena," I said quietly. "He expects me to cower in the dark like a frightened old man. He expects me to try and sneak past his deputies in the alley."
I looked at the ring of heavy metal keys sitting next to the cash register till on Elias's desk. It belonged to the store’s rusted, heavy-duty flatbed delivery truck parked in the enclosed loading bay out back—a bay that exited onto the opposing side street, completely blind to the diner's front parking lot.
"I need your truck, Elias," I said, picking up the keys. They clinked loudly in the quiet room.
"They'll spot the plates the second you hit Main Street," Elias warned, pointing frantically at the scanner. "Walter, they have orders to shoot."
"Then I guess I will have to drive fast," I said.
I turned away from my friend, leaving my aluminum cane leaning against his metal desk. I didn't need the prop anymore. The time for playing the helpless victim had ended the moment Hollister used his badge to sanction my murder. I pushed through the heavy steel door leading to the rear loading dock, the roar of the flatbed's V8 engine already echoing in my mind, ready to carry the undeniable proof straight into the heart of Hollister’s kingdom.
CHAPTER 3: The Screen He Could Not Unplug