"Director Holloway, I assure you the Oakland Police Department will fully cooperate with your investigation," Miller said, his voice thin but attempting authority, attempting partnership. "I want a complete audit of O'Grady's past arrests. I want every file pulled. I want this cleaned up properly."
Cynthia slowly turned her gaze to the captain, and the room went quiet again, the agents pausing in their work to listen, because everyone in the room understood that what came next was not about O'Grady anymore. It was about the man who had made O'Grady possible.
"You won't be auditing anything, Captain," Cynthia said. "The Attorney General has already signed the authorization for a sweeping federal probe into this entire precinct, led by the Department of Justice Civil Rights Division. Every arrest, every conviction, every piece of evidence processed under your command over the last ten years is now federal evidence."
Miller opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. The number ten hung in the air, ten years of paperwork, ten years of promotions, ten years of numbers that had looked good on a chart and had never been questioned because no one with the power to question them had wanted to.
"You turned a blind eye to corruption because it served your ambitions," Cynthia went on, each sentence landing with the weight of a file being closed. "You fostered an environment where a predator like O'Grady felt comfortable operating in the open. You told your officers to get the numbers up and you did not ask how they got them, and when they brought you numbers, you praised them and you promoted them and you looked away. That is not leadership. That is permission."
Miller opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. He looked at Carter, at the agents, at the tablet still glowing on the table, at the frozen frame of O'Grady's hand and the bag, and he understood that there was no version of this night in which he talked his way back to his glass-walled office.
"You are suspended without pay effective immediately pending federal indictment," Cynthia stated, her voice final, her posture unmoved. "Agent, escort Mr. Miller out of my sight."
Two agents stepped forward, not rough, not gentle, simply efficient, and took Miller by the arms. He did not resist. He walked out of the interrogation room between them, his captain's bars still on his collar, his authority already gone, his footsteps sounding smaller than they had when he had entered hours ago to praise a good collar.