"Agent Weaver, the department is prepared to offer full cooperation," Gallalagha frantically promised. Stanton is terminated. As of 10 minutes ago, we will hand over all his personnel files, complaints, everything. Just please keep the bureau's wrath focused on him, not the entire department. Arthur remained silent, analyzing Stanton's body language through the glass.
The disgraced officer wasn't just scared of federal prison. He looked terrified on a primal level. The kind of terror that usually indicated a threat from something much worse than the American justice system. He's hiding something," Arthur murmured, leaning closer to the glass. "He's hiding his racism and his incompetence," Gallagher replied defensively.
"That's enough to put him away." "No," Arthur counted, shaking his head. "Look at his leg bouncing. Look at how he keeps glancing at the door, not the mirror." When he pulled me over, he accused me of moving weight.
He assumed I was a cartel bagman, but he didn't call for backup. He didn't run a canine unit. He tried to search a high value target vehicle completely alone. Weaver frowned, catching on to Arthur's train of thought. You think he was trying to rip you off?
I think, Arthur said, turning to face his superior. The Dominic Russo syndicate has a leak inside this department. Stanton wasn't doing police work. He was conducting a highway robbery. He saw a $200,000 car driven by a black man, assumed it was illicit cartel cash, and wanted to confiscate the vehicle and whatever was inside for himself or for someone else.
He panicked when he found nothing. Gallagher looked appalled. That is an outrageous accusation, Agent Pendleton. Stanton is a meatthead, but he's not mobbed up. "Let's find out," Arthur said, turning the handle and stepping into the interrogation room.
The heavy steel door clicked shut behind him, sealing him in with the man who had assaulted him hours earlier. Arthur did not sit down. He paced slowly around the perimeter of the small room, letting the silence stretch until Stanton looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "You here to gloat?" Stanton sneered weakly, trying to muster a fraction of his former bravado.
"You won. I lost my badge. I'm going to jail." "Jail is the least of your concerns," Gregory, Arthur said, stopping directly behind Stanton's chair. "We ran a deep dive financial diagnostic on you while you were sitting in holding."