Barnes turned his gaze to Pell for the first time. "Mr. Pell, your company's logo is on disaster buyout packets being distributed at a county relief desk. Explain why."
Pell's voice remained smooth. "We were asked to provide options. Voluntary options."
Barnes didn't blink. "Voluntary in a situation where residents are being told their insurance has lapsed and their homes are condemnable unless they sign."
Pell's mouth tightened. "I don't control county insurance records."
Barnes nodded as if he'd expected that. "Then you won't mind if we collect your communications with county officials for the last sixty days."
Pell's smile returned for a fraction of a second, brittle. "You can request them through proper channels."
Barnes's tone remained level. "We are."
He gestured to one of the plain-jacket investigators. The investigator stepped forward with a sealed envelope and a document board, papers already prepared.
Halverson saw it and realized what it meant. This wasn't a warning. This was a start.
He leaned toward the microphone again, voice tighter now. "This is political theater. People are scared. They're being manipulated by outside groups."
A voice from the audience shouted, "Outside groups saved my cousin on Route 6."
Another voice, louder, "Where were you when the sirens didn't go off?"
Halverson's head snapped toward the crowd, anger flashing before he could hide it. "Sit down," he barked, then caught himself too late.
The room reacted like a match had been struck. Barnes stepped closer to the stage, voice cutting clean through the rising noise.
"Sheriff Halverson, step away from the microphone."
Halverson's hands tightened on it like he might refuse out of pride. For two seconds, it looked like he would.
Then Deputy Rusk did something that changed everything.
He moved.
Not toward the exits, not toward the crowd, toward Martha.
Rusk slid along the wall, fast and low, eyes locked on her phone. The audio, the recordings, the proof in her hands.
His face was hard with panic now, not confidence. Martha saw him coming.
She didn't have time to move before he was in her space. "Get me that," Rusk hissed, reaching for her phone.
Martha jerked back instinctively. "Don't touch me."
The audience surged up in a wave of sound. Chairs scraped, people shouted, phones lifted.
Somebody yelled, "He's grabbing her!"
Rusk's fingers brushed Martha's wrist, and Dean moved. Not swinging, not tackling. Just stepping in and catching Martha by the elbow to pull her back behind him.
Clean, defensive, recorded from a dozen angles.