Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Judge Carter noticed my reaction. “What did you receive?” Before I could answer, Vance suddenly moved toward me again. This time, two court deputies immediately stepped between us. “Officer, stay where you are,” one of them commanded.
Vance’s confidence disappeared. He looked from the deputies to Judge Carter, then toward the courthouse doors. I realized he wasn’t worried about losing his job. He was terrified that whatever was inside my briefcase would reveal exactly who had ordered the records changed.
Judge Carter closed the folder and spoke with quiet authority. “Nobody leaves this hallway until I know who authorized these alterations.” Vance’s face went pale. Then the courthouse security alarm suddenly began screaming.
And from somewhere downstairs, someone shouted, “The evidence room is on fire!”
PART 3: The alarm continued screaming through the courthouse as Judge Carter turned toward the stairwell. “Nobody moves,” she ordered. Court deputies immediately secured the hallway while another deputy called the fire department. Officer Vance stood motionless, his face drained of color. I tightened my grip around the briefcase because I suddenly understood that the fire was no coincidence.
Judge Carter looked at me and pointed toward the evidence room. “Ms. Brooks, stay with me.” We moved quickly down the corridor while the deputies kept Vance under watch. Smoke was already beginning to creep beneath the basement door. Then we heard the sharp crack of something breaking inside.
The evidence-room door swung open, revealing flames climbing along one wall. Sprinklers had activated, but the fire was spreading faster than they could contain it. One deputy shouted that the original case files were stored inside. Judge Carter immediately ordered everyone out, but I noticed something strange near the doorway.
A small metal container sat on the floor, untouched by the flames. I recognized the number stamped across its lid. It matched one of the case numbers inside my briefcase. “Your Honor,” I said, pointing toward it, “that container shouldn’t be here.” Judge Carter looked at the deputy beside her and ordered him to secure it without opening it.
Behind us, Vance suddenly shouted, “You don’t know what you're doing!” His voice echoed through the smoke-filled corridor. The deputies turned toward him as he tried to move closer. “Stay back!” one deputy commanded, but Vance kept arguing that the container belonged to him.
That was when everything became clear to me. Vance wasn’t trying to confiscate my briefcase because of some routine evidence procedure. He had been trying to stop me from connecting the altered records to whatever was inside that container. I quietly told Judge Carter what I had discovered during my investigation.
For months, I had traced missing evidence across dozens of cases. Every disappearance eventually led back to the same internal authorization code. That code appeared on documents approved by someone with authority far above Officer Vance. I had never been able to prove who was behind it, but now I had a physical link sitting inside the courthouse.
Judge Carter ordered the deputies to take Vance’s weapon and secure him away from the evidence area. Vance protested loudly, claiming the judge had no reason to distrust him. But when one deputy removed his service weapon, a second device slipped from Vance’s belt and hit the floor.
It was a recording device.
The hallway went completely silent. Judge Carter stared at it for several seconds before looking at Vance. “Why are you recording a sealed judicial investigation?” she asked. Vance said nothing. Then my phone vibrated again, and this time the message contained a photograph of the courthouse basement.
The photograph had been taken only minutes earlier. In the background stood a person wearing a dark department jacket, holding a folder marked with the same authorization code. I looked toward Judge Carter, realizing the person in the photograph wasn't Vance.
Then the courthouse doors slammed shut upstairs.
A deputy rushed into the hallway and whispered something into Judge Carter’s ear. Her expression changed instantly. She turned toward me and said, “Elena, the person who authorized your investigation just arrived.”
I felt my blood run cold. Because according to every record I had uncovered, that person had officially been dead for six years.
The scent of burning chemical accelerant mingled with stale municipal air as the heavy basement doors groaned on their iron hinges. My fingers curled tightly around the handle of the briefcase, my knuckles white against the dark leather.
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Beside me, Judge Carter did not blink, her gaze fixed entirely upon the narrow threshold where the smoke parted. The shadow standing just beyond the threshold cast an imposing silhouette against the flickering orange glow of the dying basement blaze.
A pair of heavy boots clicked with steady precision across the damp, ash-strewn tiles of the corridor. The man stepping into the light wore a weathered tactical jacket, his face etched with familiar lines I had studied in cold case files.
