"Hands where I can see them! Don't you dare move!" The harsh bark of a uniformed officer shattered the quiet elegance of the luxury department store,

The room felt forty degrees colder. Isabelle stared at my phone, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

"You can't subpoena our private servers," Isabelle stammered, her voice losing its icy perfection. "This is a private corporate entity!"

"You used city officers to execute a false arrest based on fabricated claims," I said, walking closer to her. "The moment you brought sworn officers into your cover-up, your private enterprise became a crime scene."

I turned to Sergeant Miller. "Sergeant, isolate this control room. Nobody touches these terminals until my forensic team arrives. And bring in Mia Jenkins—the sales associate who was working the counter."

Miller nodded grimly. "Stone, guard the door. Thorne, go down to the boutique floor and bring Jenkins up here right now. Don't let her talk to anyone."

Thorne practically sprinted out of the office, eager for any chance to redeem himself after handcuffing a police chief.

Five minutes later, the elevator doors chimed again. Thorne walked in, guiding a young woman in a black store uniform. Mia Jenkins was barely twenty-two years old, her hands trembling so badly she could barely hold her staff badge. She looked at Isabelle, then at me, and began to cry softly.

"Ms. Jenkins," I said gently, stepping between her and Isabelle so the store manager couldn't intimidate her with glares. "I'm Chief Vance. I need you to tell me what happened down there."

Mia looked down at her shoes, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I... I can't... Ms. Corbo said if I spoke to anyone, I'd be fired and blacklisted from retail management in the city."

"Ms. Corbo is currently under investigation for felony evidence tampering and filing a false police report," I told her, my voice soft but unyielding. "If you lie to protect her, you become an accessory after the fact. But if you tell the truth right now, you are protected under whistleblower laws."

Isabelle stepped forward aggressively. "Mia, don't say a word without corporate legal present!"

"Shut your mouth, Ms. Corbo!" Sergeant Miller barked, stepping into Isabelle’s path. "One more word out of you, and I’ll put the cuffs on you myself for witness intimidation!"

Mia took a deep, shuddering breath. She looked up at me with wide, terrified eyes. "Selena Dubois does this all the time," Mia confessed, her voice shaking. "She takes whatever she wants—dresses, jewelry, handbags. Ms. Corbo keeps a hidden ledger in her desk. Every month, Ms. Corbo writes off the stolen items as 'damaged inventory' and sends a inflated invoice directly to Victor Dubois’s holding company."

"A protection racket," I murmured, seeing the whole picture clearly now. "Victor Dubois buys his daughter out of criminal charges, and Isabelle pockets the markup."

"And today?" I asked Mia.

"Today you saw it," Mia sobbed. "Selena panicked because you were watching her. She told Ms. Corbo to handle it. Ms. Corbo told me to point at you when the police arrived, or she’d tell the owner I stole the bracelet myself."

"Thank you, Mia," I said softly.

I turned around to face Isabelle Corbo.