Then she opened the text she had sent me at 10:03. Then another draft message never sent. Then a photo of the printed email from Trent Baines to Marcus Delroy.
Chief Reeves leaned closer.
I watched his face as he read it.
“Use the language we discussed,” he said quietly, repeating the line under his breath.
Sergeant Alvarez asked, “Can you forward these to a secure department address right now?”
Claire nodded.
A minute later, the evidence existed in more than one place.
That matters.
If you have never watched a false narrative begin to die in real time, you might imagine something explosive.
It is not explosive.
It is procedural.
Chief Reeves straightened and said, “No one is booking her.”
I said nothing.
He turned to Alvarez. “I want the body-cam footage from the responding officers reviewed immediately. I want photos of every visible injury on Ms. Delroy. I want a patrol unit at the residence to preserve the study and collect the folder if it’s still there. Get a warrant if needed. And I want the 911 audio pulled now.”
Then he looked at me.
And that was the moment he knew what I knew.
Marcus Delroy had not simply overplayed his hand.
He had built a trap with paperwork so tidy he forgot paper has dates.
The next two hours moved fast.
Fast is a relative term inside any government building, but compared to how these things usually go, it was lightning.
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