Nothing happened.
Then $2,000.
Then more.
Eventually Vane handled logistics.
Evidence was skimmed before formal intake.
Paperwork adjusted downstream.
Body cameras conveniently malfunctioned.
Sometimes cash count happened off camera.
Sometimes suspected drug dealers were targeted specifically because they would have difficulty proving exact amount.
Maya asked:
“Did race matter?”
Reyes looked away.
“Not like you're asking.”
“I'm asking how you selected people unlikely to be believed.”
Silence.
Reyes said:
“Prior records.”
“Neighborhood.”
“Immigration status sometimes.”
“Cash-heavy businesses.”
“What about race?”
His lawyer said:
“Agent—”
Maya held up hand.
“I'm not asking motive.”
“I’m asking criteria.”
Reyes stared at table.
“Yeah.”
“Sometimes.”
Maya felt anger rise.
Controlled.
Not surprising.
Still anger.
“What happened to Darius Kemp's fourteen thousand dollars?”
Reyes whispered:
“Split.”
“Between?”
“Me.”
“Vane.”
“Cole.”
“Brennan?”
“No.”
“Did Brennan know?”
“After.”
“Who pulled fire alarm?”
Reyes looked up.
“I don't know.”
“Who texted burn it?”
“Cole.”
“Proof?”
“Number routed through encrypted app.”
“Could be Vane.”
“Cole used phrase.”
“Which phrase?”
Reyes looked at Maya.
“Burn it.”
She waited.
“He said it whenever paperwork had to disappear.”
Maya wrote nothing.
Prosecutor did.
“Where is Ellis Vane?”
Reyes shook head.
“Don't know.”
“Try harder.”
“He has cabin in Wisconsin.”
“Where?”
“I never went.”
“County?”
“Door.”
Agents found property within hours.
Empty.
But evidence inside mattered.
Burn barrel contained partial documents.
Hard drive hidden under floor.