"I'm her legal representative's designated investigator," Mina insisted, holding up her credentials. "I have the right to—" "Not without the sheriff's approval," another deputy cut in. "That's county policy."
The mention of the sheriff summoned him like an invocation. Hollis Van appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the space with practiced authority. He wore a crisp uniform and a smile that could charm voters or terrify prisoners, depending on his needs. "Ms. Dwarte," he said warmly.
"Why don't you head home, get some rest? These things have a way of working themselves out." Mina stood her ground. "I'm documenting everything, Sheriff."
"Every denial of access, every violation of procedure." "Of course you are." Van's smile didn't waver. He turned to the deputies.
"Please escort Ms. Dwarte to her vehicle for her safety." Immani watched through the window as they herded Mina toward the exit, their politeness carrying clear threat. When the lobby cleared, Van's footsteps approached her cell with unhurried confidence. He appeared in her doorway, filling it like he owned the frame.
"Ms. Ree, I hope you're being treated well." Immani met his gaze but didn't respond. Her stillness seemed to amuse him. "I've reviewed your situation," he continued, voice dripping with false concern.
"It's unfortunate. Narcotics charges carry heavy penalties in this county. But there might be a simpler solution." He paused, waiting for her to ask.
She didn't. "A felony plea," he offered finally. "Time served. You leave the county tonight and never return."
"Your truck gets released. Your cargo continues unmolested, and everyone sleeps better." "No," Immani said simply. Van's smile tightened at the edges.
He made a small gesture toward the guard station. The overhead lights flickered and died, plunging the corridor into darkness, broken only by emergency strips. The security cameras' red recording lights winked out in perfect synchronization. Heavy footsteps approached.
A guard Immani hadn't seen before. He unlocked her cell with practiced efficiency. "Three minutes," Van said quietly, stepping back. The guard moved fast, grabbing Immani's arm and slamming her against the wall.
His forearm pressed against her shoulders, careful to avoid leaving marks. "You think you're special?" he hissed, breath hot against her ear. "You think your fancy lawyer and your little reporter friend make you untouchable? Women like you never learn."
Immani didn't struggle. She counted seconds in her head, noting every detail. The guard's stance. His breathing pattern.
The exact pressure points he chose. This wasn't improvised. It was rehearsed intimidation designed to break spirits without leaving evidence. The lights hummed back to life precisely three minutes later.