A corrupt Sheriff shot my 17-year-old son, permanently destroying both his kneecaps. "Shouldn't have looked at me wrong, boy," the cop laughed, protected by his union. I rushed into the ER in my cheap janitor uniform. My son wept, "Dad, I'll never walk again." I didn't scream or cry. The arrogant Sheriff thought he had just ruined a powerless janitor's family. I pulled out my phone and called my old team. That was the moment his nightmare began. / Chapter 8 / 20

Chapter 8 - The Cornered RatWhile the news story tore through the state like a wildfire, Roy Miller sat inside his lavish two-story suburban home on the outskirts of town, frantically trying to pack two leather duffel bags with cash, passports, and hard drives.

The television in his living room was blasting the broadcast on a loop. His cell phone was ringing nonstop on the glass coffee table—calls from the State Police, the District Attorney, and union board members frantic for answers.

"Damn it! Damn it!" Miller cursed, slamming a stack of fifty-dollar bills into his bag.

He reached for his coat, grabbed his car keys, and turned toward his front foyer, intent on reaching his sedan in the garage before the federal warrants could be processed.

He threw open his front door—and froze.

Standing on his manicured front lawn in the cold morning mist were Ghost and Dax, wearing matching dark suits, their hands folded neatly in front of them. Behind them, parked across his driveway, sat two dark black SUVs.

"Roy Miller," Ghost said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the quiet suburban street. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Get off my property!" Miller screamed, pulling a small .38 revolver from his coat pocket. "I’m a union official! You touch me and I’ll have every cop in the county on your heads!"

Dax didn't even draw a weapon. He simply took two heavy, deliberate steps forward. Before Miller could raise his arm, Dax’s right hand shot out like a steel piston, catching Miller’s wrist and twisting it upward.

The revolver clattered onto the cold pavement.

Miller shrieked in pain as Dax pinned him against the stone pillar of his own porch, clicking heavy steel restraints around his wrists.

"Your deputies aren't coming, Roy," Ghost said, stepping up the porch stairs and picking up the dropped gun. "Every single officer in the Livingston County Sheriff's Department has been disarmed and placed under administrative suspension by the State Police. You’re all out of favors."

"Who hired you?" Miller sobbed, his face pressed hard against the cold stone. "Was it the state? The federal government? Who are you?"