Chapter 9 - The Blue Folder on the Desk
Two hours later, the New Hanover County Sheriff's Headquarters was a hive of frantic activity.
Federal agents from the Department of Homeland Security and the FBI had taken over the second-floor conference room, processing the contents of Natalie Mercer's blue vinyl binder.
Trooper Miller had been taken into custody at his home three miles away. Victor Vance's international syndicate was already being targeted by federal arrest warrants across four states.
Grant sat in the Chief of Police's office, holding a mug of dark coffee he hadn't touched.
Camille sat beside him on the leather couch, while Lila slept peacefully on a small cot in the corner, wrapped in David's navy blue police jacket, with Ranger lying dutifully beside her.
David walked into the office, carrying three official yellow evidence folders.
"State Prosecutor just reviewed the manifest," David said, leaning against the desk. "Rebecca Vale signed a full confession twenty minutes ago. She's looking at federal conspiracy, grand larceny, and first-degree murder."
Grant looked down at his coffee. "What about the man who drove the car?"
"His name is Thomas Vance," David said. "Victor Vance's brother. He confessed to driving Natalie's Explorer off the embankment after Rebecca pulled her into the Audi. He's being charged with murder as well."
Grant took a long, slow breath. The heavy, crushing stone that had rested on his chest for three months didn't vanish entirely, but the suffocating weight of guilt was gone.
Natalie hadn't made a careless mistake on a slick road. She had fought until her very last breath to protect her family and expose a ring of corruption that stretched across the state.
"She was a hero," Camille said softly, laying a warm hand on Grant's forearm. "She made sure that folder survived."
Grant looked at Camille. The salon owner was still wearing her linen apron, now smudged with light rain and dried mud from the alleyway.
"You saved my daughter's life today, Camille," Grant said, his voice thick with genuine emotion. "If you hadn't listened to her... if you had just brushed through that knot and sent us on our way..."
"I listen to people in my chair, Grant," Camille said, offering him a small, genuine smile. "It's what I do. But Lila was the one who was brave enough to speak."
The door opened, and a senior FBI agent stepped into the room, holding a clipboard.
"Mr. Mercer?" the agent said respectfully. "We've secured your home. Federal guards will remain posted on your street for the next forty-eight hours until all secondary suspects are in custody. You and your daughter are safe to go home."
Grant stood up slowly. He walked over to the cot, gently scooping Lila into his arms without waking her. She murmured softly in her sleep, resting her small head against his neck.
Ranger stood up immediately, ready to move.
Grant turned to Camille. "Can I bring her back next week?"
Camille blinked, surprised. "For her hair?"
May you like
"Her hair is still half-tangled," Grant smiled softly, a real, warm expression that completely transformed his severe face. "And I think she's found her favorite stylist."
Camille's eyes filled with soft tears. "Tuesday at nine, Grant. I'll reserve the whole morning."
