Fire crews attacked the blaze with high pressure hoses, creating a wall of steam and smoke. Trina's legs trembled from blood loss, but she maintained her grip on Faulner. "Get those girls out first," she shouted to the rescue teams. My truck's parked against the north wall. Medics rushed past with stretchers and oxygen tanks.
The girls emerged one by one, wrapped in emergency blankets, some barely conscious from the cold of the storage unit. Others clung to each other, sobbing as paramedics guided them to waiting ambulances. Faulner tried to twist away in the chaos, but Trina drove her knee into the back of his leg. "Don't even think about it," she growled. A familiar voice cut through the noise.
Agent Daniels. Officer Diaz pushed through the crowd, his face bruised and uniform torn. He clutched a USB drive in his shaking hand. I got out, picked the lock after Rusk left. I have everything.
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."
The anchor reported Deputy Clyde Faulner and four other members of the Morrison County Sheriff's Department face charges including kidnapping, human trafficking, civil rights violations, and the murder of a federal agent. The screen showed Faulner being led into the federal courthouse in shackles, his face bruised from their fight. Deputy Rusk followed, head down, shoulders slumped. Three other deputies Trina recognized from the department walked the same path of shame, all in cuffs. "The entire department has been placed under emergency federal authority," a Justice Department spokesperson announced from a podium.
"We have evidence of systematic corruption going back years. This case represents a complete failure of local law enforcement leadership." A nurse entered, checking Trina's vitals. Good to see you awake, Agent Daniels. You've had quite a few visitors waiting.
Before Trina could respond, two senior FBI officials walked in. Assistant Director Phillips from DC and the special agent in charge of the Kansas City field office. Agent Daniels, Phillip said, pulling up a chair. How are you feeling? Like I got hit by a truck, Trina replied, her voice raspy.
"But I'll live." We need to debrief you, the SAC said. But first, you should know we found the mole. Trina's heart rate picked up slightly inside the bureau. Phillips nodded grimly.
Senior analyst in our trafficking task force. He was feeding intel to Faulner's operation for months. That's how they knew to redirect resources away from your surveillance position. Faulner rolled on him fast once we had him in custody. the SAC added. Gave up names, dates, payment records, everything.
What about Monroe? Trina asked quietly. Phillips's face softened. His death won't be in vain. The evidence he gathered, combined with Officer Diaz's recordings and your live stream, it's bulletproof.
No deals, no reduced sentences. They're going away for life. As if on cue, the TV showed officer Diaz being escorted into the federal building surrounded by US marshals. The anchor explained he was providing key testimony under witness protection. A commotion in the hallway drew their attention.