"Where did you get these files?"
"Our father's house."
"Who was your father?"
"Arthur Brooks."
Reed looked at another officer.
The officer typed something into his patrol computer.
Danielle leaned toward Naomi.
"This is insane."
"I know."
"What do we do?"
"We stay calm."
"They're going through Dad's things."
"I know."
"They handcuffed us."
"I know."
Naomi forced herself to breathe slowly.
Then a fourth police vehicle arrived.
Reed looked toward it.
But it wasn't local police.
A black SUV entered behind the cruisers.
No markings.
Dark windows.
It stopped abruptly.
Two people stepped out.
A man in a dark suit.
And a woman wearing a white blouse and navy trousers.
The woman looked at the handcuffed sisters.
Then at the money and documents spread across the hood.
Her expression changed instantly.
She walked toward Sergeant Reed.
"What are you doing?"
Reed straightened.
"Who are you?"
The woman removed a credential wallet.
"Special Agent Monica Hayes, Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Silence.
Danielle looked at Naomi.
Naomi stared back.
Danielle whispered:
"Well."
Naomi closed her eyes.
"This day just keeps getting better."
But neither sister understood yet why the FBI had come.
Or why someone had deliberately sent the police after them.
Special Agent Monica Hayes had been following the Brooks sisters for twenty-three miles.
Not because they were suspects.
Because she was trying to protect them.
The operation had begun six weeks earlier.
The FBI's public corruption unit had been investigating Elias Grant, owner of Grant Logistics, a regional transportation company suspected of laundering money through fuel stations and warehouse businesses.
The investigation had started with tax irregularities.
Then bribery allegations emerged.
Then evidence suggested Grant had been paying law-enforcement officers for confidential information.
One of those officers was believed to work in Ashford County.
The problem was that the FBI didn't know which one.
Arthur Brooks's name entered the investigation accidentally.
After his death, an old storage locker registered to him was discovered during the sale of a commercial property.
Inside were obsolete radios, technical documents, and—more importantly—a small notebook.
The notebook contained handwritten records from twenty years earlier.
Arthur had apparently noticed irregular radio communications while servicing county emergency equipment.
Names.
Dates.
Frequency logs.
Vehicle numbers.
At the time, he had believed the irregularities were connected to unauthorized police communications.
He had kept notes.
Most meant nothing now.
But one name appeared repeatedly:
E. GRANT.
When Lorraine Brooks began clearing Arthur's belongings, she contacted the company that had once employed him.
That company contacted the federal government.
The FBI arranged to retrieve any relevant documents.
Before agents could reach Lorraine's house, Naomi and Danielle had unknowingly collected a folder containing copies.
Monica had been sent to retrieve them.
She had called Naomi twice.
Both calls went unanswered because Naomi had been driving.
Then Monica learned something worse.
Someone else knew the Brooks sisters had the documents.
And that person had contacted local police.
Now Monica stood at Miller's Fuel & Market staring at two innocent women in handcuffs.
"Remove the restraints," she told Sergeant Reed.
Reed frowned.
"Agent, we received a report—"
"I heard you."
"They have nearly five thousand dollars in cash, a scanner, and restricted documents."
"They have family property."
"We haven't determined that."
"I have."
Reed stared.
Monica stepped closer.
"Remove the handcuffs."
Reed looked toward the sisters.
Then back at Monica.
"I need verification."
The second federal agent approached.
"Special Agent Aaron Bell."
He displayed his credentials.
"Verification enough?"
Reed's face reddened.
Naomi spoke.
"I'd like the handcuffs removed."
Reed reluctantly nodded.
Officers released them.
Danielle rubbed her wrists.
"You people are unbelievable."
Naomi touched her arm.
"Not now."
"No, definitely now."
"Danielle."
"They searched our belongings."
Monica turned toward Reed.
"Did they consent?"
Reed answered carefully.
"We had probable cause."
"Based on what?"
"A report."
"What report?"
Reed hesitated.
Monica noticed.
"Who made it?"
"Anonymous caller."
"Dispatch recording?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Monica's tone became cold.
"Preserve it."
Reed stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because the caller may be part of a federal investigation."
That silenced everyone.
Naomi looked at Monica.
"What investigation?"
Monica glanced toward the people recording.
"Not here."
Danielle pointed toward the cash.
"Can we at least get our stuff back?"
Reed began gathering the documents.
Monica stopped him.
"Don't touch anything."
Reed froze.
"You searched it. It's now potentially evidence regarding the unlawful tip."
His jaw tightened.
Naomi watched the exchange carefully.
"Agent Hayes."
Monica turned.
"Why were you following us?"
Danielle stared.
"You were following us?"
Naomi ignored her.
Monica answered.
"Your father left documents relevant to an ongoing investigation."
Naomi looked at the folder.
"My father died three years ago."
"I know."
"What could he possibly have known?"
"More than he realized."
Danielle looked at the old radio.
"Dad was investigating something?"
"No."
Monica shook her head.
"He was documenting technical irregularities."
"That's Dad," Naomi said quietly.
Arthur Brooks documented everything.
Oil changes.
Electric bills.
Neighbors' license plates when they parked incorrectly.
He once maintained a notebook recording exactly how often the mail carrier arrived after three in the afternoon.
Their mother called it obsessive.
Arthur called it useful.
Apparently, once in his life, it had been.
Monica turned toward Reed.
"I need the original dispatch report."
"I'll get it."
"Now."
Reed walked toward his cruiser.
Agent Bell watched him.
Something about the sergeant bothered him.
"Monica."
She followed his gaze.
"What?"
"Look at his hands."
Reed was opening his car door.
His hands were shaking.
Monica noticed.
"Could be adrenaline."
"Could be."
Bell looked toward the documents.
"Or he knows exactly what those papers are."
Across the parking lot, Reed pulled out his phone.
He didn't call dispatch.