Deleted footage, phone records, internal communications. Federal agents immediately surrounded him, securing the evidence. Diaz looked at Faulner with disgust. I recorded your calls, too, deputy. The ones about Agent Monroe.
Faulner lunged at the young officer, but Trina yanked him back. Two marshals grabbed his arms as news helicopters circled overhead, their spotlights creating a dizzying pattern of shadows and glare. Agent Daniels, a senior FBI tactical commander, approached. We found Monroe's car. It was staged to look like an accident, but we have tire marks indicating a pit maneuver.
This is now classified as a domestic terrorism investigation. Trina nodded, her vision starting to blur. The adrenaline was wearing off and her wounds screamed for attention. The girls, make sure they're safe first. They're being transported to secure medical facilities, the commander assured her.
We have protective details assigned to each one. Federal agents led Faulner toward an armored transport van. He was still shouting threats, but his voice had taken on a desperate edge. The live stream from Trina's body camera had destroyed any chance of his connections protecting him. "Paramedics rushed to Trina's side as her knees buckled."
"Multiple GSWs, severe blood loss," one called out, catching her before she hit the ground. "We need a gurney over here." They eased her onto a stretcher, cutting away her vest to assess her wounds. The pain hit her in waves now, making it hard to focus. Through the haze, she saw Diaz giving his statement to federal investigators, pointing out other officers involved in the conspiracy.
The plant's upper floors were fully engulfed now, flames reaching into the night sky. Fire crews fought to contain the blaze as evidence teams rushed to secure what they could from the offices. BP's dropping, a medic announced, starting an IV. We need to move her now. As they loaded her into an ambulance, Trina caught one last glimpse of Faulner being shoved into the transport van.
Their eyes met through the smoke. His face had gone slack. The reality of his situation finally sinking in. All his power, his connections, his years of corruption, rendered meaningless by a single live stream. The medics closed the ambulance doors, shutting out the chaos.
Trina let her head fall back against the stretcher as they inserted a second IV line. Outside, more sirens approached. State police, FBI evidence response teams, federal prosecutors. The system she'd fought so hard to fix was finally moving, grinding into action with unstoppable momentum. "Hold still, agent," the medic said, checking her wounds.
"You've lost a lot of blood, but we've got you stabilized." Trina nodded weakly, the edges of her vision growing dark. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the red and blue emergency lights reflecting off the ambulance's ceiling, pulsing like a heartbeat in the night. Trina's eyes fluttered open to the steady beep of heart monitors. Sunlight streamed through hospital blinds, casting thin stripes across crisp white sheets.
Her body ached, but the sharp pain had dulled to a manageable throb thanks to IV painkillers. A small TV mounted in the corner played CNN at low volume. The headline scrolling across the bottom read, "Breaking FBI busts major trafficking ring. Corrupt police implicated. Multiple federal indictments handed down this morning."