Security Chief Greg Dax sat in a small, windowless office, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. Across from him sat a somber-faced district auditor, her pen poised over a notepad. Dax, usually rigid and unyielding, looked like a man whose foundation had just crumbled.
“Kincaid’s political backing has evaporated,” Dax stated, his voice flat. “Julian Baines and his money are gone. Council President Albright is hiding in his office, not returning calls.”
The auditor nodded, making a note. “And your involvement, Chief Dax?”
Dax hesitated, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He thought of the moment he had snapped Chloe Holloway’s white cane in half. The hollow sound of the aluminum tube shattering, the fear in Arthur’s eyes. Kincaid had promised him protection, immunity, a high-level promotion. Now, all of that was gone.
He pulled a small, encrypted tablet from his pocket. “I was following orders. Direct orders.”
“Whose orders, Chief?” the auditor pressed.
Dax pushed the tablet across the table. “Richard Kincaid’s. He personally directed the seizure of the cane. He ordered us to break it. To intimidate the family.”
The auditor took the tablet. “Do you have proof?”
“Internal communications log,” Dax replied, his gaze fixed on the table. “Encrypted, but I have the keys. It details Kincaid’s precise instructions regarding the ‘disruption of the Holloway family’ and the ‘confiscation of sensitive materials’.”
He watched as the auditor’s eyes scanned the detailed entries. There were timestamps, specific directives, and Kincaid’s own initials on several commands. It was damning.
“I was told it was a matter of city security,” Dax muttered, almost to himself. “That they were trespassing with classified material.”
The auditor looked up, her expression stern. “And physically assaulting a visually impaired minor, Chief? That was ‘city security’?”
Dax flinched. The weight of his actions, stripped of Kincaid’s political gloss, suddenly seemed immense. He had blindly followed orders, believing in Kincaid’s untouchable power. Now, that power was gone, and he was left holding the bag.
“I want immunity,” Dax stated, looking directly at the auditor. “For cooperating. For turning over all communications.”
The auditor closed the tablet. “That’s not my call, Chief. That’s for the state prosecutors. But your cooperation, at this stage, will certainly be noted.”
Dax knew then that Kincaid’s fall was complete. His own henchman, the man who had done his dirty work, was now turning against him, desperate to save himself. Kincaid had alienated his allies, and now his enforcers were abandoning him, leaving him isolated and exposed.
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