Chapter 9 - The Panic in the Streets
Within four minutes, every cell phone within a twenty-mile radius of Cedar Ridge buzzed with an emergency news alert.
The local television stations cut their morning broadcasts of *Good Morning America* with red breaking-news banners:
*MASSIVE CORRUPTION BUST IN CEDAR RIDGE COUNTY. SHERIFF MERCER, PROMINENT CONTRACTORS, AND LOCAL OFFICIALS IMPLICATED IN MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR DRUG LAUNDERING RING.*
On social media, the change was instantaneous and devastating.
The very Facebook post Ryan had created showing my arrest was suddenly buried under a tidal wave of leaked documents. Citizens who had been leaving hateful comments calling for my imprisonment were suddenly reading scanned receipts showing Sheriff Mercer taking cash payoffs in the back of the local steakhouse.
They were looking at bank logs showing Ryan Caldwell moving municipal bridge funds to offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
They were looking at audio files recorded by Dale Mercer himself, detailing how Todd Vance altered city zoning laws to allow cartel warehouses to operate under the guise of agricultural storage.
Down at the Cedar Ridge County Courthouse, absolute panic broke out.
Sheriff Dale Mercer, who had been sitting in his office frantically shredding paper files, watched through his blinds as four unmarked black Dodge Durangos tore into the precinct parking lot.
Dozens of state troopers and federal marshals spilled out, weapons drawn, storming the front entrance of the courthouse.
Mercer didn't even reach for his duty weapon. He sat down behind his heavy oak desk, placed his hands flat on the blotter, and stared at the framed portrait of himself shaking hands with the governor.
The office door was kicked off its frame.
Special Agent Daniel Brooks walked in, flanked by two armed federal marshals.
"Dale Mercer," Brooks said, his voice cold enough to freeze water. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
Mercer looked up, his face gray and haggard. "Where's Ryan?"
"Your nephew," Brooks replied, "is currently in a holding cell at the federal courthouse in Jefferson City, screaming that you forced him to do everything."
May you like
Mercer let out a low, ragged sob, burying his face in his hands as the cold steel handcuffs clicked around his wrists for the second time that morning.
***
