“He’s part of this.”
Wilson stopped.
“He’s been taking money from Vincent Taylor for three years. Three hundred forty thousand dollars in payments.”
Mitchell stared.
“All traced. All documented. All waiting for tomorrow morning.”
Mitchell slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor.
His hands were shaking.
Wilson made the call.
Her voice was urgent but controlled.
“Deputy Chief Walsh to IR3. Immediate.”
Andrew remained seated at the table with his injury drying against his skin.
He didn’t demand anything.
He just sat with his hands folded as though he were waiting for transportation.
Mitchell paced again.
Three steps.
Turn.
Three steps.
Turn.
His mind was clearly racing through three years of conversations, timelines, reports, and evidence.
“You can’t prove any of that,” he finally said.
“I don’t have to.”
Andrew met his eyes.
“Federal investigators already did.”
Mitchell stopped.
“Federal?”
“FBI. Department of Justice. Inspector General’s office.”
Andrew paused.
“They’ve been building the case for eighteen months.”
Wilson’s radio crackled.
Walsh’s voice came through.
“On my way.”
The door opened about two minutes later.
Deputy Chief Raymond Walsh filled the doorway.
He was 56, six foot two, around 230 pounds, wearing custom boots and an expensive watch, the kind of accessories that looked noticeably out of place against a civil servant’s salary.
He took in the room.
The injury.
Mitchell against the wall.
Wilson near the door.
Andrew Harris sitting calmly at the table.
“Someone want to tell me what’s happening here?”
“He’s claiming to be the new chief,” Mitchell said.
His voice was shaking.
“Claims there’s a ceremony tomorrow.”
Walsh’s face remained still.
“There is,” Mitchell added quickly. “Brooks confirmed it. Eight o’clock. Mayor’s office sent out the notice.”
Walsh walked slowly into the room.
He studied Andrew as though trying to decide which piece of a puzzle didn’t fit.
“Mr. Harris.”
His tone was measured.
Careful.
“You’re injured. Would you like medical attention?”
“After I speak with my lawyer.”
“Of course.”
Walsh pulled out a chair.
“But first, help me understand what happened.”
He sat across from Andrew.
“Officer Mitchell says you became aggressive during a routine identification check.”
“Officer Mitchell is lying.”
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s the truth.”
Andrew pointed toward Mitchell.
“He assaulted me the moment I entered this building, used racially prejudiced language, slammed me against the wall hard enough to damage the plaster, brought me into this room, and assaulted me again while Sergeant Wilson watched.”
Walsh looked at Wilson.
She met his gaze without blinking.
Years of practice.
“Sergeant Wilson, is that accurate?”
“No, sir. Subject became combative when Officer Mitchell requested identification.”
“I see.”
Walsh turned back toward Andrew.
“It’s your word against two sworn officers.”
“Is it?”
Andrew leaned slightly forward.
“Officer Brooks was in the lobby during the initial encounter. He saw everything.”
Walsh said nothing.
“And I suspect he documented it.”
Walsh’s jaw tightened.
Barely.
But enough.
“Brooks is a probationary officer. His testimony would require corroboration.”
“It has corroboration.”
Andrew counted it off.
“The lobby cameras.”
“The hallway cameras.”
“The dispatch logs Clara Williams maintains.”