He followed her gaze.
“Plate?”
An agent checked.
“Unit 302. Captain Vance’s assigned vehicle.”
Rebecca’s expression changed.
“Vance is here?”
The cruiser backed away.
Marcus moved toward his radio.
“Vehicle leaving east entrance. Black-and-white unit 302. Preserve visual. Do not stop unless directed.”
One federal SUV pulled out after it.
Lieutenant Price watched.
“What's going on?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“That is what we're determining.”
Price turned toward Keller.
“Turn your camera off.”
Every federal agent within earshot looked at him.
Price realized the mistake instantly.
Marcus smiled without humor.
“Please say that again.”
Price’s mouth tightened.
“I said we're standing around discussing sensitive matters and the body camera should be secured.”
“It is secured.”
Marcus tapped the camera lightly.
“Federal preservation order.”
Price’s face lost color.
Keller looked at him.
Neither spoke.
Nia saw it.
A shared realization.
They knew something about that camera the federal team had not yet uncovered.
Rebecca saw it too.
“What is on the footage?”
Price said nothing.
Keller looked toward the rain.
Marcus leaned closer.
“What did you two think you could erase?”
Chapter Three: Operation Lantern
The FBI had not begun watching McKetric County because of Nia Brooks.
It began with a dead mechanic and six thousand four hundred dollars.
His name was Ernest Bell.
Sixty-two.
Black.
Church deacon.
Part-time diesel mechanic.
Never arrested.
Never charged.
The money belonged to Mount Zion Baptist Church.
Their heating system had failed in January, and the congregation had raised cash for a replacement furnace from a contractor in Tennessee.
Ernest volunteered to drive it.
Officer Wade Keller stopped him four miles north of Exit 41.
According to Keller’s report, Ernest crossed the fog line twice.
Ernest denied it.
Keller searched the truck after claiming he smelled marijuana.
None was found.
He discovered the envelope containing $6,400 beneath the passenger seat.
Keller seized it as suspected drug proceeds.
Ernest was released without citation.
Three weeks later, the property log showed only $2,100.
No one could explain the missing $4,300.
Ernest complained to Lieutenant Price.
Then internal affairs.
Then the sheriff.
Nothing happened.
Four months later, Ernest died of a heart attack.
His daughter found copies of every letter he had sent.
She contacted the U.S. Department of Justice.
That brought the Civil Rights Division.
Then the FBI.
Nia was assigned because she had investigated public corruption before joining the bureau’s civil-rights squad in Atlanta.
She expected a narrow case.
One officer.
One missing envelope.
Instead, she found patterns.
A roofing contractor stopped with $12,000 in payroll.
A used-car dealer carrying $18,500.
A Mexican American restaurant owner with weekend deposits.
Two Black college students driving a new Mercedes rented by one student’s father.
A Nigerian physician visiting family.
The encounters differed.
The outcome often did not.
Expensive car.
Out-of-county driver.
Search.
Cash discovered.
Threat of arrest.
Money seized.
Sometimes formally.
Sometimes not.
Vehicles frequently ended up at a towing company owned by Lieutenant Price’s brother.
Body-camera footage vanished with remarkable frequency.
Complaints died inside McKetric County.
One victim told Nia:
“They didn't steal because I looked poor.”