It's amazing what federal forensic accountants can find in an hour. Like the Shell Corporation registered in the Cayman Islands under your wife's maiden name. The one that received three wire transfers of $50,000 over the last 6 months. Stanton went completely rigid. The color entirely drained from his neck.
You didn't pull me over by accident, Arthur continued, his voice low and rhythmic. You got a tip. Someone told you a highlevel logistics man moving cartel money was driving through your jurisdiction in a silver Ferrari Roma. You were supposed to pull the car over, confiscate the cash under civil asset forfeite, and split the proceeds with your handler inside Dominic Russo's organization. But I wasn't carrying cash.
I was carrying a badge. "I don't know what you're talking about," Stanton whispered. But his trembling hands betrayed the lie. Arthur walked around to the front of the table, leaning in close. "Here is the reality of your situation.
You wrecked my car, which means Russo's people know you botched the robbery. They know you're in federal custody, and they know you are the only link between their laundering operation and this police department. By tomorrow morning, you will be a liability to them. How long do you think you'll survive in a county holding cell before one of Russo's guys gets to you? Stanton's breathing became erratic.
He looked desperately at the two-way glass, realizing he was entirely isolated. You can't prove any of that. I don't have to, Arthur stated coldly. United States Attorney Margaret Henderson is drafting the indictment as we speak. We are going to charge you with depradation of government property, conspiracy to commit wire fraud, and racketeering.
You are looking at 30 years. But worse than that, we are going to leak to the press that you are cooperating with the FBI against Dominic Russo. No, Stanton shouted, shooting up from his chair. No, you can't do that. They'll kill my family.
They'll kill me. Then give me Russo," Arthur demanded, slamming his hand onto the steel table with a force that made Stanton jump. "My undercover operation is dead because of you. So you are going to replace it. You are going to tell me exactly who fed you the tip about the Ferrari, who handles the money in Oakbrook, and where Russo keeps his ledger.
If you do that, I will put you in protective custody. If you don't, I walk out of this room, and you take your chances with the syndicate. Stanton collapsed back into his chair, sobbing into his hands. The arrogant, untouchable cop from the afternoon, was gone, replaced by a broken porn, trapped in a game played by monsters and federal agents. "It was Lieutenant Miller," Stanton choked out through his tears, betraying his commanding officer without a second thought.