Chapter 14 - The Threshold of Truth
We stepped out of the car, the cool night air hitting our faces as we climbed the wet granite steps toward the entrance. The federal marshals stepped forward, blocking our path, their hands resting on their utility belts.
“State your business,” the lead marshal commanded, his voice formal and unyielding.
Before I could pull out my identification, a black sedan screeched to a halt at the bottom of the steps. Sirens wailed in the distance as local police cruisers—the ones supposedly under Judge Harrison’s control—began to converge on the perimeter, their red and blue lights flashing wildly against the columns of the building.
“Stop right there! Federal and local joint task force!” a voice shouted through a megaphone from the leading police cruiser.
I turned around, shielding Savannah with my body as several local officers leaped out of their cars, drawing their weapons and rushing up the steps toward us.
“Mr. Christopher Vance?” the lead local officer called out, his hand resting on his holster. “You and your wife are ordered to step away from the federal doors immediately under suspicion of corporate tampering and evidence theft.”
The trap had sprung. They had moved faster than we anticipated, using their institutional power to flip the narrative and brand us as the criminals.
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Savannah looked at me, her expression deadpan, as the local officers reached the top of the steps and surrounded us. She pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped the screen once, and held it high in the air for all of them to see.
A loud, automated broadcast began playing from her device, echoing off the stone pillars of the courthouse, transmitting live to every federal server within a hundred-mile radius.
