Chapter 6 - Unearthing the Evidence
Z
The rain had finally stopped, replaced by a biting cold wind that swept through the damp streets of Westbridge. The town was buzzing with nervous energy; news of Captain Landry’s arrest and the federal raid on the police station had spread like wildfire across local news outlets.
I stood in the center of Captain Landry’s private office at the Westbridge Police Department. Federal agents from the FBI and investigators from my oversight team were methodically packing boxes with hard drives, filing cabinets, and evidence bags.
"Clara," Marcus called out, stepping through the doorway with a high-end forensic scanning device in his hand. "You're going to want to see this."
I walked over to the corner of the office where Landry’s massive oak desk sat. Marcus had pulled back the heavy Persian rug behind the desk, revealing a subtle, hair-line seam in the hardwood floorboards.
"A hidden safe?" I asked.
"Better," Marcus grinned, holding up his sensor. "It’s a localized encrypted server array, wired directly into the building's main power grid, but completely off the department's official network. Landry wasn't just hiding paperwork in here; he was keeping a personal vault of digital leverage."
Ten minutes later, our hardware specialists had bypassed the physical lock and extracted the solid-state drive. Marcus connected it to a secure, isolated field terminal.
As the encrypted partition opened, dozens of organized folders filled the screen. Dates, names, bank account numbers, and recorded phone calls going back nearly a decade.
"Landry wasn't just corrupt," I murmured, scanning the file names. "He was running a local syndicate."
"Look at this folder," Marcus said, clicking on a directory labeled Project Ridgeview.
Inside were dozens of audio files, signed contract scans, and wire transfer confirmations between Arthur’s development company, Brooke’s shell corporation, and Landry’s offshore account in the Caymans. But as I scrolled further down, one file name caught my eye: Helena_Vance_Asset_Transfer_Draft.docx.
I opened the document. My stomach dropped.
It wasn't just a plan to steal the lake property. The document was an unsigned legal agreement detailing a full liquidation of all of Helena Vance’s remaining assets, including her life insurance policies, her pension, and the family trust fund—totaling over four million dollars.
And at the bottom of the document, listed as the primary corporate beneficiary upon Helena’s death or permanent incapacitation, was an entity named Vance & Associates Holding LLC—a company owned entirely by Brooke Vance.
"They weren't just trying to frame her to cover a loan default," I said, my voice barely a whisper as realization struck like a physical blow. "They were planning to permanently commit her to a private psychiatric facility, take full control of her estate, and slowly liquidate everything she owned."
"Look at the date on this draft," Marcus pointed at the timestamp on the screen. "It was created three weeks ago. This was planned way before the argument at the house."
"Where is Brooke now?" I snapped, turning to the lead FBI agent in the room.
"She posted bail on the initial state assault charge an hour ago," the agent replied, checking his tablet. "Her family put up their house as collateral. She’s currently under house arrest at her parents' estate on the north side of town."
"She’s going to run," I said firmly. "She knows Arthur is talking to the grand jury. She knows Landry’s vault was seized. She’s not sitting at her parents' house waiting for federal marshals."
I pulled out my phone and dialed the local Sheriff’s department deputy stationed near the north border. "Deputy Miller, this is Clara Vance. I need an immediate visual confirmation on Brooke Vance at 884 Willow Creek Road."
"Stand by, Ms. Vance," the deputy responded over the radio line.
A minute of agonizing silence passed. The only sound in the office was the hum of the server terminal.
"Ms. Vance?" the deputy’s voice came back, strained and urgent. "The ankle monitor tag just lost signal. Her parents' front door is wide open, and there’s an empty vehicle sitting in the driveway with the engine running."
"She slipped the cuff," I said, my teeth clenching. "Issue an immediate BOLO for Brooke Vance. Check every airport, bus station, and train depot within fifty miles!"
"Wait," Marcus yelled, staring at the live monitoring feed from Landry’s seized server. "Clara, look at this! A secondary cloud account linked to Brooke’s phone just accessed a remote backup vault three minutes ago!"
"Where was the access location?" I demanded.
"A cell tower right off Route 9," Marcus said, pulling up a map of the county. "She’s heading toward the old family cabin at Blackwood Lake!"
My mind raced. Blackwood Lake was an isolated property our family had abandoned five years ago. It had no cell service, no paved access roads, and sat right on the border of state forest land—the perfect place to hide before crossing state lines on foot.
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"Dispatch two state police units to Blackwood Lake road immediately," I ordered the FBI lead. "I’m taking my vehicle."
"Clara, wait for backup!" the agent called after me, but I was already out the door, my coat flying behind me as I sprinted toward the rain-slicked parking lot. Brooke had attacked my mother, manipulated my brother, and attempted to ruin our family for greed. I wasn't going to let her disappear into the woods.
