Donovan slammed the folder shut. Pierce flinched. “This is not a juvenile matter anymore,” Donovan said. “The use of the fake ID, combined with premeditation, conspiracy messages, prior assault footage, and racially targeted violence, places this squarely under federal criminal jurisdiction.”
Troy stared at him, eyes watering. “Are you saying I could go to real prison?” Donovan didn’t blink. “Federal detention at minimum. Depending on the prosecutor’s discretion, possibly adult court.” Troy inhaled sharply, chest heaving.
“No, no, no, no. My dad will handle this. He knows people.” Pierce wiped his forehead, shaking his head. “Troy, your father can’t help you here. This is federal. The FBI has full command.”
Troy’s breath hitched. “He can’t fix it?” Pierce hesitated only for a second, but it was enough to destroy the last remaining piece of Troy’s delusion. “No,” the lawyer whispered. “He can’t.” Tears began streaming down Troy’s face.
His earlier bravado, the arrogance that fueled the attack, the confidence that came from privilege, it all crumbled in seconds. “This can’t be happening,” Troy muttered, shaking uncontrollably. “It was just a prank. It was just supposed to make her cry.” Donovan leaned forward, eyes locked onto him.
“You achieved your goal,” he said quietly. “You made her cry. You hurt her. You terrified her. And you planned every part of it.” Troy’s voice cracked. “I didn’t mean—”
“You meant exactly what you did,” Donovan said, voice like iron. “And now you’ll face the legal consequences.” Pierce tried once more, desperation breaking through his professional facade. “Commander, surely we can negotiate an arrangement. House arrest, rehabilitation, something.”
Donovan stood up straight, towering over both of them. “There is no negotiation,” he said. “Not anymore.” A federal agent stepped forward with a tablet. “Commander, we’ve run the fake ID through the national database. It triggered a match.”
Pierce stiffened. “A match to what?” The agent turned the tablet so Donovan could see. “It’s linked to an ongoing investigation into synthetic identity rings used by minors to purchase controlled items,” the agent explained. “Several of the IDs were traced back to scam channels, and one of them leads to a contact stored on Troy’s phone.”
Donovan looked at Troy. “Who helped you get this ID?” Troy froze completely. His lips parted. His eyes darted. His face drained of color.
Pierce leaned toward him. “Troy, did someone supply you with the ID?” Troy said nothing. Donovan’s voice dropped. “Answer the question.” Troy’s hands trembled so violently that the cuffs rattled.
“I paid someone.” “Who?” Donovan asked. “A cousin,” Troy whispered. “He said everyone was doing it. He said it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t think.”