A second photograph showed him holding a black folder.
Victoria's expression hardened.
"What's in the folder?"
"We don't know."
"Where is Porter now?"
Marcus hesitated.
"Missing."
Victoria stared at him.
"What do you mean missing?"
"His phone is switched off. His apartment is empty. His vehicle was found abandoned."
Victoria placed the tablet on the desk.
"Who was the last person he contacted?"
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
"Director Grant."
Victoria frowned.
"When?"
"Approximately two hours ago."
She looked toward the office windows.
Something wasn't right.
Porter had been her most reliable source.
He had provided the first evidence linking Walker to the missing federal funds.
He had also insisted that the corruption involved someone inside the department's executive leadership.
Now he was gone.
Victoria turned toward Marcus.
"Get me every communication between Porter and Grant."
Marcus nodded.
"Already requested."
"Good. I want his access logs, financial records, and the complete inventory of the evidence room."
Marcus hesitated.
"Victoria?"
"What?"
"There's something else."
He opened another file.
A scanned document appeared.
It was a transfer authorization.
Victoria recognized the signature immediately.
Director Eleanor Grant.
She stared at it.
"What's this?"
Marcus answered quietly.
"A request to transfer the evidence connected to the missing funds."
Victoria examined the document.
The date was six months earlier.
The authorization had been approved.
But something caught her attention.
The signature looked authentic.
The digital approval code did not.
She zoomed in.
"Who submitted this?"
Marcus checked the record.
"Director Grant's office."
Victoria leaned back.
"Who authenticated it?"
Marcus hesitated.
"Porter."
Silence filled the room.
Victoria slowly stood.
"Get me Grant."
Marcus looked at her.
"Right now?"
"Right now."
He made the call.
A few seconds later, he shook his head.
"No answer."
Victoria picked up her jacket.
"Try her private line."
"Already did."
"Then send someone to her residence."
Marcus looked concerned.
"Victoria, what are you thinking?"
She turned toward him.
"That someone wants us to believe the director is involved."
"And if she is?"
Victoria looked at the document again.
"Then I want to hear it from her."
Before she could leave, her phone rang.
An unknown number.
She answered.
"Hayes."
A man's voice responded.
"Agent, you've been asking the wrong questions."
Victoria immediately recognized the voice.
Lieutenant Porter.
"James?"
"Listen carefully. I don't have much time."
"Where are you?"
"That doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters."
Porter sounded frightened.
"They know everything."
"Who?"
"Walker. Collins. And someone higher."
Victoria looked toward Marcus.
"James, tell me where you are."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not alone."
A loud noise came through the phone.
Then Porter whispered:
"Don't trust Grant."
Victoria's eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"She signed the transfer order."
"I've seen it."
"No. You haven't seen the original."
Victoria went silent.
Porter continued.
"The document you have is a copy. The original was changed."
"Changed how?"
"The original authorization was signed by someone else."
"Who?"
A pause.
Then Porter whispered:
"Chief of Police Richard Coleman."
Victoria froze.
The chief.
The highest-ranking officer in the department.
Porter continued.
"He approved everything. The money transfers, the missing evidence, the false reports. Walker was just handling the street operation."
Victoria's voice became firm.
"James, I need you to stay calm."
"I can't."
"Listen to me. We're coming for you."
"No!"
His voice suddenly became louder.
"Don't come here!"
A door slammed in the background.
Porter whispered:
"He's here."
The call disconnected.
Victoria stared at the screen.
Marcus approached.
"What happened?"
She looked at him.
"We have a new suspect."
"Who?"
Victoria answered.
"The chief."
CHAPTER 6 — THE CHIEF'S OFFICE
At 2:14 a.m., the office of Chief Richard Coleman was still illuminated.
The chief sat behind a large wooden desk, reading a document.
He was sixty-one years old, with silver hair, a carefully maintained appearance, and the kind of calm authority that came from decades of public service.
On the wall behind him were photographs of award ceremonies, community events, and official department gatherings.
His office looked like the office of a man who had spent his entire career serving the public.
But the documents on his desk told a different story.
A phone rang.
Coleman answered.
"Yes?"
A familiar voice spoke.
"Chief, we have a problem."
Coleman closed the folder.
"What kind of problem?"