Rodney sat at his glass desk, dual monitors full of real estate transfer forms. He was in the middle of executing another fraudulent document.

He froze when he saw the shield on my vest and the officers surrounding his cubicle. The blood drained out of his face, his hands hovering over the keyboard.

“Clear the floor,” I told the tactical lead. “Secure every terminal, every server rack, every physical file.”

Priscilla stepped out of a private glass office in the back. She looked at the officers, then at the boxes filling with their files, then at me. She crossed her arms, and a thin, arrogant smile appeared.

She still thought she held the upper hand, because she believed she’d scrubbed the scene at the house.

“You won’t find a shred of proof that I laid a finger on that crazy old man.” Her voice dripped confidence. “The home security cameras have been broken for a week.