If the feds found those ledgers, Dempsey wasn't just looking at jail time, he was looking at the rest of his natural life in a federal penitentiary. He grabbed a heavy metal trash can, threw the ledgers inside, and reached for the bottle of lighter fluid he kept for his cigars. He just needed 3 minutes, just 3 minutes to turn the evidence to ash. Boom. The entire building shook.
The sound of a breaching charge detonating at the precinct's front entrance echoed down the cinder block hallways, followed immediately by the screams of deputies, and the deafening, authoritative roar of federal agents. FBI, get on the ground. Show me your hands. Nobody move. Dempsey fumbled frantically with his lighter, his hands shaking so badly he dropped it onto the carpet.
He cursed, dropping to his knees to search for it, the scent of lighter fluid filling his office. Before his fingers could grasp the plastic lighter, the reinforced wooden door to his office exploded inward. The deadbolt splintered the doorframe, sending shards of wood flying across the room. Through the cloud of dust and smoke stepped Special Agent Rebecca Shaw. She was clad in full tactical gear, an M4 carbine raised and leveled directly at the space between Dempsey's eyes.
A red laser dot painted itself onto his forehead. "Don't even breathe, Roy," Agent Shaw commanded, her voice slicing through the chaos like a razor blade. Behind her, half a dozen tactical agents flooded the room. Dempsey froze, still on his knees, his hands hovering inches above the lighter. He looked at the laser sight on his chest, then at the trash can full of ledgers dripping with lighter fluid.
He slowly, agonizingly, raised his hands into the air. "Smart choice," Shaw muttered, stepping forward and kicking the trash can away. She glanced down at the soaked ledgers and smiled grimly. "Grab those. Bag them.
That's the crown jewel." Agents swarmed Dempsey, slamming him face-first into his own mahogany desk. As they wrenched his arms behind his back, Dempsey turned his head, catching a glimpse of the bullpen outside his office. It was a massacre of authority. Every single corrupt deputy in Briggs's inner circle was on the ground, their hands zip-tied behind their backs.
The federal agents were already moving with terrifying efficiency, securing the armory, taking control of the server rooms, and physically unspooling crime scene tape across the evidence lockers. "Where is Sheriff Briggs?" Dempsey spat, blood trickling from his lip where it had hit the desk. "He won't let you get away with this." Agent Shaw leaned down, her face inches from Dempsey's.
"Sheriff Briggs is currently sitting in the back of a federal transport crying like a child. Your kingdom is gone, Roy." Simultaneously, 3 miles away in an upscale gated community, another FBI tactical team was dismantling the iron gates of Thomas Briggs's sprawling $2 million estate. Neighbors peeked out from behind drawn curtains in shock as federal agents flooded the perfectly manicured lawn. They used a battering ram to breach the custom oak front doors.
Within 20 minutes, the house had been completely secured. In the master bedroom, behind a false wall in the walk-in closet, agents discovered a massive floor-to-ceiling Mosler safe. When the FBI safe crackers finally drilled the locking mechanism and swung the heavy steel door open, even the seasoned agents had to pause in disbelief. Stacked inside were rows upon rows of shrink-wrapped hundred-dollar bills totaling over $3 million in stolen cash. Beside the money were dozens of illegal unregistered firearms, kilos of seized narcotics that had mysteriously vanished from the county evidence room, and external hard drives containing the digital blueprints of a massive extortion ring.