This wasn't digital data that could be wiped remotely; it was a physical, undeniable paper trail documenting a decade of systemic municipal extortion.
"You didn't just steal a book, Elena," Marcus said, looking directly into her eyes. "You exposed a cancer. This ledger proves that Callahan's slap yesterday wasn't an isolated incident of racial profiling or bad temper. It was standard operating procedure for a protection racket run out of the highest offices of the NYPD."
"It proves that Harrison is connected to the syndicate," Vasquez corrected, leaning in close across the formica table. "Which means the moment this book hits the light of day, every single cop loyal to Harrison—and that's about half the department—is going to come looking for the person who leaked it. They won't care about legal procedure or warrants. They operate like an organized crime syndicate because, at this point, that's exactly what they are."
Marcus slid the leather ledger into his briefcase, snapping the brass latches shut with a crisp, reassuring click.