The deputy looked toward the photograph.
"She under investigation?"
The sheriff hesitated.
"Not that I'm aware of."
The deputy stared.
"Then what's the problem?"
The sheriff leaned forward.
"Sometimes people come into a community looking for trouble."
He tapped the photograph.
"I don't want this woman turning a paperwork dispute into some political circus."
The deputy nodded slowly.
He understood the message.
Or believed he did.
The sheriff wanted pressure.
Not necessarily an arrest.
Not something that would produce public attention.
Just enough inconvenience to remind the woman that the county wasn't a place where outsiders could arrive and dictate terms.
The deputy had performed similar favors before.
He was good at making people uncomfortable.
He knew how to ask questions that sounded official.
How to delay someone.
And how to make an ordinary encounter feel like an investigation.
He picked up the photograph.
"Anything else?"
The sheriff hesitated.
Then said, "If she's carrying documents, let me know."
The deputy looked up.
"Why?"
The sheriff's expression hardened.
"Because I asked."
The deputy nodded.
He slipped the photograph into his pocket.
And left.
Neither man knew that the state investigators had already begun examining the county's handling of public infrastructure contracts.
Nor did they understand that several of the communications surrounding the woman's travel would eventually become evidence.
But the deputy knew one thing.
The sheriff wanted the woman watched.
And he believed that following the sheriff's wishes would protect him.
That belief would prove catastrophically wrong.
The deputy might have stopped there if the matter had remained a casual request from his sheriff.
But the following week, someone else contacted him.
The construction company president's operations director wanted to meet.
The deputy knew him.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his late forties who supervised several major county contracts and had formerly worked in private security.
They met at a roadside diner outside town.
The director ordered coffee.
The deputy ordered breakfast.
For several minutes, they discussed ordinary things.
Road conditions.
Local politics.
The approaching election.
Then the director placed his phone on the table.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
The Black woman.
Her olive-green gown.
Her sleek hair.
And the black Rolls-Royce.
The deputy frowned.
"That's the woman the sheriff mentioned."
The director nodded.
"She's coming to the county Friday."
"What for?"
"A charity luncheon. Some infrastructure fundraiser."
The deputy leaned back.
"What's that got to do with me?"
The director stirred his coffee.
"She's been collecting confidential company documents."
The deputy looked up.
"Stolen?"
The director shrugged.
"That's what we're trying to establish."