I didn't resist. I turned and pressed my palms against the cold marble. I felt Vance’s heavy hands patting down my sides, checking my pockets, and finally snatching the thick manila envelope from my inner jacket pocket.
"You really thought you were going to walk in here and hand a pile of fabricated garbage to the county commissioners?" Vance laughed, a low, ugly sound in the back of his throat. He took a step back, tapping the heavy envelope against his palm. "You don't get it, Elias. The people in this building protect their own. You think some handwritten complaint is going to stop Greg from getting that contract?"
I turned my head just enough to look over Vance’s shoulder.
Thirty feet away, moving quietly with the rest of the evening crowd, was my foreman, David. He wasn't wearing his work boots or his dusty flannel. He wore a crisp gray button-down shirt and dress slacks. He looked like an insurance adjuster or a structural engineer. David placed a folded black raincoat onto the X-ray belt. Tucked neatly inside the inner lining of that raincoat was an identical, heavy manila envelope.
David walked through the metal detector. It flashed green. He picked up his coat, didn't even glance in my direction, and stepped into the open doors of the elevator bank.
I looked back at Vance. "Open it."
Vance’s smirk deepened. He popped the metal clasp and reached inside, pulling out a thick stack of papers. He stared at the top sheet. Then he flipped to the second. Then the third.
His smile vanished.
He was holding fifty pages of the county municipal zoning code, printed directly from the public website. There were no photographs. There were no flash drives. There was absolutely nothing of value.
Vance looked from the blank back of the pages up to my face, his eyes narrowing as the realization hit him. He had taken the bait. He had focused entirely on the desperate contractor he wanted to humiliate, completely ignoring the massive foreman who actually had the access to the third floor.
"Where is it?" Vance hissed, grabbing me by the collar of my jacket and slamming me back against the marble wall. The heavy stack of zoning codes scattered across the lobby floor. "Who did you give it to?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Officer," I said quietly.
Vance’s face flushed a deep, violent red. He spun me around, kicking my boots apart, and yanked my arms behind my back. The metal handcuffs came out. He slammed the ratchets down over my wrists, deliberately locking them directly over the deep purple bruises he had left yesterday. The pain was immediate and blinding, a sharp electrical fire shooting straight up to my elbows.
"You're under arrest for disorderly conduct and suspicion of public intoxication," Vance snarled into my ear, dragging me backward into the deepest shadow of the alcove. "You're going to sit right here until the vote is over, and then I'm going to make sure your truck gets torn apart again. Every single day, Elias. Until you leave this county."
I didn't answer. I leaned against the cold stone, gritting my teeth against the throbbing in my wrists.
I watched the clock on the lobby wall. Seven o'clock. The commission session officially began. Seven-ten. The preliminary minutes would be read. Seven-fifteen. Resolution 88-B, the emergency reassignment of the Eastside Recreation Project, would be called to the floor.
At exactly seven-eighteen, the black radio secured to Vance’s shoulder harness crackled to life.
"Unit four. Deputy Vance. Acknowledge." The voice belonged to the Sheriff’s Watch Commander. It wasn't a standard patrol request. It was an order, broadcast on the primary courthouse frequency.
Vance pressed the button on his shoulder. "Vance here. Go ahead, Commander."
"Leave your post. Bring the detainee in the lobby to Commission Chamber A immediately. Do not secure him in holding. Bring him straight up."
Vance frowned, his hand hovering over the radio. He looked at me, a flicker of genuine uncertainty crossing his face for the first time. "Commander, the suspect is combative. I was about to transport him to county."
"Negative, Unit four," the radio barked back, the Commander’s voice edged with sharp tension. "The Commission Chair has explicitly halted the session and requested the detainee's physical presence. Get up here now."
Vance swallowed hard. He grabbed the short chain between my cuffs and shoved me forward. "Move."
We walked to the elevators in silence. The doors slid open, and Vance pushed me inside, hitting the button for the third floor. He didn't look at me. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle twitched. He was trying to calculate the damage, trying to figure out if Arthur Hayes had panicked or if Greg Holden had made a mistake. He still believed his badge was a sufficient shield.
The elevator doors opened to the third floor. We walked down the carpeted hallway and pushed through the heavy oak double doors of Commission Chamber A.
The room was packed. Seventy chairs were filled with local business owners, county clerks, and citizens. At the front of the room, seated behind a massive, curved wooden dais, were the seven elected County Commissioners.