Get that filthy creature out of my nursery right now, or I'll have the groundskeeper shoot it, my daughter-in-law, Victoria, snarled as I brought home a bleeding Golden Retriever I had just pulle...
With Buster safely en route to a discreet, high-security kennel under the watch of my most trusted personnel, I turned my attention back to the sabotaged car. The animal control incident had only hardened my resolve. Victoria was ruthless, but she was also predictable in her desperation.
Armed with Marcus Thorne’s detailed photographs of the severed brake lines and his full forensic report, I drove directly to the Newport Police Department. The building was a modest brick structure, reflecting the quiet, historic charm of the town.
I presented my evidence to Chief Kenneth Bradley, a man in his late fifties with a neatly trimmed mustache and a perpetually bored expression. He sat behind a scarred wooden desk, a half-eaten donut on a napkin beside a stack of old files.
He looked at the photos of the car with indifference, barely a flicker of concern in his eyes.
“Interesting,” he drawled, pushing the photos around with a blunt finger. “But this barn you’re referring to… that falls outside our jurisdiction, Mrs. Aldrich. It’s on private land, out past the county line.”
I knew that was a lie. The barn was barely a mile outside the official Newport city limits, well within the county’s purview and certainly within the scope of a serious criminal investigation.
“Chief, these are clearly signs of criminal sabotage,” I pressed, leaning forward. “Someone tried to murder Claire Davenport.”
He picked up my folder, dropping it into a metal drawer with a thud.
“We processed the missing person report four years ago, Mrs. Aldrich. Case closed. She abandoned her family. Tragic, but not a police matter anymore.” He met my gaze, a veiled warning in his eyes. “I suggest you focus on your family, not ghost stories.”
I stood there for a moment, the implication hanging in the air. He wasn’t just indifferent. He was actively shutting me down.
“Fine,” I said, my voice cold. “If your department won’t investigate a potential homicide, perhaps the state authorities will be more interested.”
I turned and walked out, the Chief’s dismissive gaze burning into my back.
Two hours later, back in my office at the Aldrich mansion, my financial intelligence consultant, Sarah, called. Her voice was urgent.
“Mrs. Aldrich, I’ve just flagged something highly irregular.”
“Go on.”
“A wire transfer, ma’am. One hundred and fifty thousand U.S. dollars. Sent from a Montgomery family shell company registered in Delaware, just this morning.”
My breath hitched. “To whom?”
“An offshore bank account in the Cayman Islands. Under the name… Kenneth Bradley.”
My suspicions crystallized into a hard, undeniable truth. Chief Bradley wasn’t just complacent; he was compromised. Harrison Montgomery had moved fast, bribing the Chief to suppress the evidence I had just presented. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars to make a sabotaged car disappear.
“He’s bought,” I said, the words heavy with disgust.
“It certainly appears that way,” Sarah confirmed. “The timing is too precise to be a coincidence.”
I ended the call, my mind racing. The local authorities were completely bought. Newport was an old-money town, and the Montgomery family’s influence clearly ran deep.
There was no point going back to the local police. I wouldn’t get justice there.
I picked up my phone again, my fingers flying across the keypad. This wasn’t just about a hidden car anymore. This was a direct obstruction of justice, a cover-up reaching into the highest echelons of local law enforcement.
“Get me an immediate line to the State Internal Affairs auditors,” I instructed my assistant. “And then contact the State Police. I have a major corruption case to report.”
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