Chapter 7 - The Wire in the Wall
The holding cell at the Buncombe County substation smelled of bleach, wet wool, and old adrenaline.
Detective Vance slammed the heavy manila folder onto the steel table between us. Inside sat the printouts from Rachel’s flash drive: offshore routing numbers, disguised escrow accounts in the Caymans, and real estate deeds for three luxury developments along the French Broad River that had been bought with cash and washed clean through Marcus’s shell company, Apex Blue Investments.
"This isn't just mortgage fraud, Sarah," Detective Vance said, leaning over the table, her knuckles white against the metal. "This is second-degree murder tied to organized racketeering. Your brother-in-law was laundering money for a cartel-linked distribution ring out of Charlotte. Rachel caught him skimming off their top cut."
My hands gripped the paper cup of bitter black coffee. Across the room, behind a one-way mirror, Uncle Ray was sitting with Leo, who was asleep on a vinyl couch with his stuffed bear tucked under his chin.
"Did Marcus talk?" I asked, my voice dry.
"Marcus isn't saying a word without his attorney," Vance said grimly. "And that attorney just flew in on a private charter from Atlanta. But here’s the problem: Marcus didn't act alone. Those accounts Rachel mapped out? Two of the signers are local county officials. If Marcus goes down, he takes a dozen high-profile names with him."
Before I could answer, the fluorescent lights in the interrogation room flickered once and buzzed. The desk phone in the corner let out a sharp ring.
Vance snatched the receiver. "Vance."
She listened for five seconds. Her face went taut, every line around her mouth sharpening into steel.
"Who authorized the transfer?" Vance demanded into the receiver. "No—hold him in Cell Three! I didn't sign that release!"
She slammed the phone down and pulled her Glock from its holster, checking the chamber in one swift motion.
"What's happening?" I stood up, fear spiking through my veins.
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"Sheriff Miller just walked into the intake bay with an emergency transfer order," Vance hissed, heading for the heavy steel door. "He’s trying to move Marcus to the county annex before the feds touch down at Asheville Regional."
She shoved the door open. Down the long concrete corridor, the sound of boots echoed against the walls, followed by the metallic clack of a sidearm being unholstered.
