I swear to you, Agent Cole, this will be handled." "Oh, I know it will be handled," Adrien said coldly. "Because the DOJ Civil Rights Division is already on their way. You can give them your statement when they arrive." Across the lobby, Agent O'Connor's voice rang out from the manager's office.
She had plugged her federal decryption terminal directly into Caldwell's workstation. "Agent Cole, you're going to want to see this. He's got dummy accounts. He's been floating deposits for months. We've got over $3 million in unauthorized redirects."
Caleb Caldwell was currently sitting in a rolling office chair, crying into his hands as Agent Higgins placed federal zip ties tightly around his wrists. "Caleb Caldwell," Higgins said, beginning the Miranda warning from memory., his voice booming over the sound of Caldwell's pathetic sobbing. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." Adrien watched the scene unfold, the tension finally leaving his shoulders.
The fatigue of the Geneva summit was catching up to him, but a profound sense of justice anchored him. He walked back over to the teller counter. Patricia was still sitting there, terrified, refusing to look at him. "Patricia," Adrien said gently. She flinched, finally looking up, her mascara running down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. He told me to flag you. I should have just processed the check." "You have a choice in this world about who you take orders from when you know those orders are wrong," Adrien said, his tone devoid of anger, but heavy with truth.
"Do better." He reached across the counter, picked up his Illinois driver's license, and slid it into his pocket. 10 minutes later, the regional vice president of Heritage Trust Bank arrived, escorted by federal agents. Sweating and stammering, he personally printed the cashier's check for $85,000, waving every conceivable fee and handed it to Adrien with trembling hands. Adrien walked out of the bank into the bright afternoon sun.
The three black suburbans were still idling, securing the perimeter. Higgins walked up beside him, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You still got that house closing at 2:00, Dave?" Higgins asked with a grin.
Adrien looked at his watch. It was 1:15 p.m. "Yeah, Bobby, I do." "Want a federal escort to the title company?" Higgins joked, nodding toward the armored SUVs.
"Make sure no one else gives you a hard time about your hoodie." Adrien chuckled, a genuine smile finally breaking across his face. "No thanks. I think I've had enough drama for my day off.
I'm just going to go by my house." As Adrien Cole drove away, the flashing red and blue lights of the Oakbrook Police Department finally arrived, not to arrest a suspect, but to transport their own disgraced officers and a corrupt bank manager to federal holding. Adrien had walked into the bank a suspect. He walked out, having single-handedly dismantled a multi-million-dollar fraud ring and purged a police department of its worst elements, all before closing on his dream home.