Part 9: The Port Terminal
"Brenda Vance," Detective Miller’s voice boomed through the megaphone, cutting through the freezing wind.
"Stay exactly where you are. You are under arrest for extortion, corporate tampering, and handling stolen government manifests."
Brenda didn't run.
She looked at Daniel, then at me, her face twisting into an ugly mask of pure rage.
"You think this stops it?" she screamed, her voice cracking in the dark.
"The military logistics files are already programmed to send automatically to the federal inspector general if I don't check in by sunrise!"
"They won't be sending anywhere, Ms. Vance," Marcus, my CFO, said, stepping forward from the shadow of the SUV.
He turned his tablet toward her, showing a digital printout of a complete network shutdown command.
"We traced the server you used to program that automated email," Marcus explained calmly.
"It wasn't a secure vault downtown. It was a residential IP address registered to your mother's old guesthouse."
I stepped closer to her, looking down at the crimson folder.
"My husband didn't hide anything, Brenda," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"His father used a forged signature to route those supplies, and Daniel was the one who reported it to military compliance two years ago."
Brenda’s jaw dropped, her arrogance evaporating into the cold night air.
"You copied his old deployment codes after the audit," I continued, pulling a small flash drive from my pocket.
"The forensic screen completed at 2:00 a.m. today proved the digital signature was lifted from a 2024 tax indemnity waiver."
She took a panicked step backward, her designer boots slipping on the gravel.
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The officers immediately closed in, grabbing her arms and forcing her hands behind her back.
The handcuffs clicked shut, a sharp, final sound that resonated through the empty warehouse yard.
