$1,200.

$2,000.

All going into an account belonging to Harris's brother.

The business name was North Valley Consulting.

Troy recognized the name from another investigation.

“That's not consulting.”

“What is it?”

“It's a shell company.”

The company had been receiving payments from tow operators, nightclub owners, construction companies, and private security firms.

The payments were often followed by police activity against competitors.

A business owner refused to pay?

Suddenly, inspectors arrived.

A rival construction company won a contract?

Suddenly, police discovered a “violation.”

A nightclub owner complained about an officer?

Suddenly, the business was subjected to repeated inspections.

Troy stared at the records.

“This department isn't protecting the city.”

Keller nodded.

“It's selling protection.”

Then an unexpected witness appeared.

A woman named Sarah Bennett walked into the FBI office.

She was the sister of Carlos Bennett, the delivery driver whose complaint had disappeared.

“I saw the news,” she said.

Troy sat across from her.

“What do you know?”

Sarah's hands trembled.

“My brother wasn't resisting.”

“I know.”

“He kept saying he couldn't breathe.”

Troy listened.

“Then Morrison told him that if he wanted the charges dropped, he needed to pay.”

“How much?”

“Five thousand dollars.”

“Did he pay?”

“No.”

Sarah swallowed.

“Three days later, my brother's truck was impounded.”

Troy leaned forward.

“Who authorized it?”

“Captain Reeves.”

That name kept appearing.

Again.

And again.

And again.

But Sarah wasn't finished.

“There was another officer.”

“Who?”

“I don't know his name.”

“What did he look like?”

“Older. Gray hair. He never spoke much.”

Troy looked at Keller.

“Anything else?”

Sarah nodded.

“He told Morrison to leave my brother alone.”

Troy froze.

“An officer protected him?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He was transferred the next morning.”

Troy stood.

“Find every officer transferred by Reeves in the last four years.”

By evening, they had twelve names.

Eleven had left the department.

One remained.

Detective Evan Miller.

He had been transferred from patrol to records six months after challenging Morrison during an arrest.

Troy asked to meet him.

Miller arrived looking exhausted.

“You're Marcus Troy.”

“Yes.”

“I know.”

Troy studied him.

“You knew who I was?”

“Not before last night.”

Miller sat down.

“I've been trying to report this for two years.”

“Why didn't you go to internal affairs?”

“I did.”

“What happened?”

“They told me my complaint couldn't be located.”

Troy said nothing.

Miller looked around.

“They're listening.”

Keller closed the door.

“No one is listening here.”

Miller lowered his voice.

“Captain Reeves has someone inside every division.”

“Who?”

“I don't know.”

“You do.”

Miller hesitated.

Then he pulled a folded photograph from his pocket.

He placed it on the table.

Troy looked at it.

The photograph showed Captain Reeves meeting a man in a dark suit outside a private restaurant.

Troy recognized the man immediately.

Martin Hale.

A wealthy local businessman.

Owner of three security companies.

Two towing companies.

And the company that had been paying Harris's brother.

Troy's eyes narrowed.

“How long has Hale been doing this?”

Miller whispered:

“Longer than Reeves has been captain.”

CHAPTER 4 — THE RECORDING

Martin Hale was careful.

He didn't send threatening messages.

He didn't shout.

He didn't personally order anyone to commit crimes.

He operated through other people.

That was what made him dangerous.

Every payment was disguised.

Every conversation happened privately.

Every instruction passed through someone else.

But Hale had made one mistake.

He believed everyone could be bought.

And he believed everyone who couldn't be bought could be frightened.

Two days after the FBI raid, Troy received a message.

No name.

No number.

Just six words.

Stop digging or people get hurt.