Part three, the sheriff. Wade Hollister was born on the right side of everything. Right side of town, right side of the law, right side of the skin color that ran Richmont like a family business. His father, Carl Hollister, had been police chief for 22 years, the longest tenure in the department's history. Carl retired with a plaque, a pension, and a parking spot at the country club that still had his name on it.
He raised Wade on two principles. This town belongs to us and the badge makes it official. Wade joined the force at 24, not because he wanted to serve, because it was waiting for him. Like a seat saved at a dinner table. He passed the academy without distinction.
Middle of his class, unremarkable scores, one disciplinary note for excessive aggression during training exercises that his father made disappear with a phone call. From his first week on patrol, Wade understood the real rules, not the ones in the manual. The ones whispered in the locker room. Who you could stop, who you could push, who would complain and who wouldn't, who mattered and who was invisible. The manual said, "Serve and protect. " The locker room said, "Control and maintain. " He was good at control.
By year three, the other officers started calling him the sheriff, not because of rank. He was still just a patrol officer then. Because of attitude. He walked through Ridgemont like he owned every block, feet heavy on the pavement, hand on his belt, eyes scanning for anyone who looked like they didn't fit his idea of who belonged. And in Ridgemont, didn't belong almost always meant one thing.
The first complaint came in year two. A black teenager named Deshawn Perry. Hollister had stopped him for walking suspiciously in a residential neighborhood. The boy was walking home from basketball practice. Hollister shoved him against the fence so hard the chain link left diamond-shaped bruises on his back.
Deshawn's mother filed a complaint. Chief Brannigan, Carl Hollister's golf partner, Carl Hollister's protege, Carl Hollister's hand-picked successor, reviewed the complaint himself. Found it unsubstantiated. Filed it in a cabinet in the basement. Nobody heard about it again.
That was the template. 14 times it played out the same way. Complaint number four. A 60-year-old black woman named Dorothy Sims. Hollister pulled her over for a broken tail light that wasn't broken.
When she pointed this out, he told her to shut her mouth before he shut it for her. She filed a report. Unsubstantiated. Complaint number seven. A 19-year-old college student named Andre Collins home for Thanksgiving.
Hollister detained him for matching the description of a suspect. There was no suspect. Andre spent two nights in a holding cell. His parents drove 6 hours to get him. No charges were ever filed.