Sirens were still distant when my mother finally recovered her voice, her face twisted in desperate denial. “She’s bluffing! Peyton has always spun lies to make herself feel important.”
I calmly reached into my suit jacket, pulled out my leather credentials, and flipped open the gold shield she had never bothered to ask about: State Bureau of Investigation, Major Crimes Division.
My father’s face drained of every ounce of color.
Wyatt immediately turned,
attempting to slip back toward
the house. I stepped directly into his path, my hand resting firmly on the utility holster beneath my coat.
“Don’t even think about it, Wyatt.”
“You can’t hold us here without a warrant!” he shouted, his voice cracking with rising panic.
“I can legally secure a scene to prevent the destruction of evidence during an active life-threatening emergency,” I replied coldly. “And the digital warrant is being signed by a circuit judge right now.”
For the past six months, my elite state unit had been systematically investigating a massive, underground white-collar syndicate. They targeted vulnerable, wealthy elderly individuals through forged competency orders, fraudulent family trusts, and heavily bribed medical evaluators.
