Bryce was led to a private room. He walked in expecting to see Mr. Finch. Instead, sitting at the metal table looking relaxed and healthy was Kendrick Voss. Bryce stopped. The guard closed the door behind him.
"What are you doing here?" Bryce asked, his voice shaking. "I promised you I'd see it through," Kendrick said. He didn't look angry. He looked at Bryce like one might look at a specimen in a jar.
"I wanted to see if the system worked." "You ruined my life," Bryce whispered. "No, Bryce," Kendrick said firmly. "You ruined your life. I just turned on the lights.
You were the one standing in the dark doing dirty things." Kendrick slid a piece of paper across the table. "What's this?" Bryce asked. "It's a letter," Kendrick said.
"From the Department of Justice. We're offering you a deal, a reduction in sentence." Bryce's eyes widened. "What?" "Because Langley was just the middleman," Kendrick said, leaning forward.
"We want the judge. We want the mayor. We want the whole network in Pine Creek. You know where the bodies are buried, Bryce. You were the bagman."
Bryce looked at the paper. If he talked, he could knock years off. He could get moved to a safer prison. But if he talked, he was a snitch. And snitches in prison "If I talk," Bryce said, sweat breaking out on his lip, "They'll kill me in here."
"If you don't talk," Kendrick said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket, "You'll rot in here for 25 years. And based on what I saw in the cafeteria, I don't think you'll last 25 months." Kendrick knocked on the door for the guard. "Think about it, Bryce. You have 24 hours.
The offer expires when I get back to Atlanta." Kendrick walked out. Bryce was left alone in the room with the paper. The choice was his. Be a rat and live in fear, or be a convict and die in here.
He looked at the signature line on the document, United States of America versus Bryce Callahan. He picked up the pen. The pen felt heavy in Bryce Callahan's hand, heavier than his service weapon ever had. He stared at the plea agreement lying on the metal table of the prison visitation room. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound, a maddening buzz that seemed to drill into his skull.
Snitch. The word echoed in his mind. In the culture of the Pine Creek Police Department, being a rat was worse than being a criminal. But as Bryce sat there shivering in his ill-fitting prison jumpsuit, a bitter realization finally washed over him. Where was Chief Garrick?
Retired with a full pension before the indictments hit. Or so he hoped. Where was Mayor Harlan Donovan? Probably golfing at the country club, claiming ignorance. Where was Langley?
Singing like a bird to save his own skin. Loyalty was a lie. It was a currency the rich used to buy silence from the poor. Bryce had been the loyal soldier his whole life, the Hammer who crushed anyone who threatened the status quo. And what did he have to show for it?