“That's discrimination.”
“Document it.”
He understood the strategy.
Blake became moving bait.
His personal devices were seized, but his attorney arranged transportation.
Investigators followed lawfully.
Blake went home.
Stayed thirty-four minutes.
Then left in his lawyer's car.
Drove to a restaurant.
Met no one.
Returned home.
Lights off at midnight.
Nothing.
At 2:16 a.m., a dark sedan entered his subdivision.
Stopped two streets away.
Driver remained inside.
Ten minutes.
Left.
License obscured.
Traffic camera picked it up four blocks later.
Registered to Lieutenant Paul Vance.
Malik watched the footage at 3 a.m.
Claire folded her arms.
“Still terrible logic?”
“Less terrible.”
“Don't enjoy it.”
“I'm not.”
“You are slightly.”
Maybe.
Vance did not exit the vehicle.
Could have driven by.
Could have checked on colleague.
Could be unrelated.
At 7:10 the next morning, Vance arrived at work.
Calm.
Badge.
Coffee.
He walked into headquarters as though nothing had happened.
Then requested meeting with Chief Ramirez and investigators.
Interesting.
Malik sat beside Claire.
Vance entered alone.
Fifty-one.
Thin.
Silver at temples.
Perfect posture.
He placed his phone on table voluntarily.
“I think Owen Blake is dirty.”
Malik stared.
Claire said:
“Why?”
Vance inhaled.
“Because he called me last night.”
Malik's expression did not change.
Blake's devices were seized.
“How?”
Vance continued:
“From a number I didn't recognize.”
“Did you answer?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That investigators were framing him.”
“That he needed me to destroy some administrative files.”
Claire remained still.
“Which files?”
Vance looked down.
“Evidence disposal audits.”
There it was.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why did you drive near his house?”
Vance looked toward Malik.
So he knew he had been followed.
“I wanted to confront him.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I saw a vehicle I didn't recognize near the subdivision.”
“Assumed surveillance.”
“Left.”
Malik studied him.
Possible.
Vance continued:
“I've suspected him for months.”
Claire asked:
“Yet never reported it.”
Vance's face tightened.
“No proof.”
“What made you suspicious?”
“Evidence logs.”
“He accessed closed files.”
“I confronted him once.”
“He said Chief Ramirez assigned him.”
“Did you confirm?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Malik answered for him.
“Because if it was true, you'd look paranoid.”
Vance looked at him.
“Yes.”
Malik understood that.
Institutions trained people to protect reputation before truth.
Especially senior employees.
Vance continued:
“There is something else.”
He opened his jacket.
Everyone tensed slightly.
He removed folded paper.
Placed it down.
A photocopy of an evidence destruction form.
Whitaker's initials at bottom.
And another signature.
Lieutenant Paul Vance.