I adjust the microphone on the table in front of me and lean forward. “Ma’am, as I said before, Camden Snyder’s death is not my team’s responsibility. It was not my team who stormed the house and initiated the firefight,” I tell her. “As for how I characterize my team’s actions as a success in that operation, it’s because we arrested the people who actually put the mass shooting in motion that brought us to Atlanta in the first place—”
Graves cuts me off with a dismissive wave of her hand, then quietly confers with the two men on the panel with her. The hearing room is empty, save for the four of us. Clearly, they don’t want eyes or ears on what’s taking place inside our session. It’s something I find exceedingly odd and ominous since the case itself was so high profile. Given that my team’s investigation into the mass shooting in Atlanta a few weeks ago led to the arrest of almost every member of the executive board of a major international pharmaceuticals company, there’s intense public interest in what was one of the toughest, most convoluted cases of my career.
“Chief Wilder,” Graves begins again. “Walk us through the events that led up to the firefight at the cabin that took Mr. Snyder’s life.”
I clamp my jaws shut to keep the snarky response that’s sitting on the tip of my tongue from flying out. I’ve related this story half a dozen times already. It’s all in my report. There is no need to make me repeat it yet again unless it’s to annoy me—which seems to be her intent. Quietly drawing a breath, I hold it for a five count, then let it out silently as I try to clear my thoughts. I know what she’s doing. She’s searching for inconsistencies—searching for anything that will allow her to call me a liar. But my recounting of what happened hasn’t changed one iota in all the different versions of it that I’ve told.
I want to tear this woman a new one, but I hold my tongue and don’t give in to my childish, petty desire to verbally devastate Lydia Graves. After all my years on the job, I’m finally learning how to politic like Astra said I needed to. She’d be so proud of me.
“Chief Wilder? We’re waiting,” Graves presses.
“As I stated in my report, as well as in oral testimony, several times already, my team arrived on scene with a SWAT team in a complementary capacity. We surrounded the cabin, and I engaged Mr. Snyder verbally. I was attempting to end the standoff without bloodshed—”
“It would appear your efforts were unsuccessful,” Graves says, her voice thick with sarcasm and scorn.
“Yes. They were. And that is because Vincent DeClerk, the former ASAC of the Atlanta field office, charged in with a SWAT team behind him without warning and opened fire,” I tell her. “The former ASAC disregarded my calls to cease fire. He had no regard for the safety of my team and blew up any chance of resolving the situation peacefully.”
“ASAC DeClerk—”
“Former ASAC DeClerk,” I say, cutting her off.
“Pardon me?”
“It’s former ASAC DeClerk, actually. My understanding is that after the fiasco at the cabin, he was demoted and sent to another field office,” I say, quietly high-fiving myself for getting that in on the official record.
Graves’s face darkens, and her eyes narrow as she icily glares at me. I’m doing my best to keep from poking the bear too hard, but I know on some level, it doesn’t really matter. Graves is quite obviously a friend and ally of DeClerk and clearly has a bias, which should have made her unfit to sit on this panel in the first place. Even though DeClerk has been demoted and reassigned to somewhere in Outer Mongolia, the fact that his friend can sit here in judgment of me shows he still wields some bit of power and influence. My only hope right now is that Deputy Inspector Graves doesn’t have the final say over the proceedings here, or I may be joining DeClerk in Outer Mongolia. And that would surely make for an awkward reunion.
“As I was saying, Chief Wilder, former ASAC DeClerk’s accounting of the events at the cabin that night differs wildly from yours,” Graves said sourly.
“That’s not surprising given that his actions were reckless and—”
“Thank you, Chief. But we don’t need your conjecture.”
“That’s an absolute load of crap, Deputy Inspector. And you know that.”
My face grows hot, and a sneer curls my lips. I’ve been trying as hard as I can, but something inside of me finally snaps. This woman’s ignorance and obvious agenda have finally worn me down, and the words flew out before I could stop them. For a brief moment, Graves looks stunned, and she recoils like I just slapped her across the face. She quickly regains her equilibrium, though, and levels a harsh look at me. Eyes narrowed and jaw muscles flexing, she leans forward, her gaze fixed on mine as if she’s trying to burn holes straight through me.
She seems to think she can intimidate me, but I’ve been face to face with some of the worst killers this country has ever seen and never flinched. I’m certainly not going to let some pencil pushing bureaucrat with an ax to grind scare me—especially not when I’m fighting for my career. This is the time I shouldn’t be afraid to speak up and not worry about being politically correct. Okay, so maybe Astra wouldn’t be as proud of me as I thought. But I’m not going to sit back and let this woman drag me or my team through the mud.
“Chief Wilder—”
“Conjecture, Deputy Inspector? Tell me something: Were you there?”
“Frankly, I don’t appreciate your attitude or your tone, Chief Wilder.”
“Frankly, Deputy Inspector, I don’t care,” I fire back. “You weren’t there that night. I was. And so were a lot of other decorated agents whose reputations are above reproach. Former ASAC DeClerk came storming onto the scene and immediately initiated the firefight. There was nothing I could do, so I removed my agents and the SWAT team who came to back us up from the scene. DeClerk was reckless and violent. His only goal that night was to kill Camden Snyder, and if you doubt my version of events, speak with the others who were at the scene, all of whom have extensively documented this on their reports as well.”
As my voice tapers off, the silence that descends over the hearing room is deafening. The two men flanking Graves glance at her, then look away, making me think maybe it isn’t such a united front after all. Maybe I do stand a chance of surviving.
“Chief Wilder, how do you account for the discrepancies between your story and former ASAC DeClerk’s story?” Graves says, trying to recover.
“The former ASAC knew what he did was reckless and put a lot of lives in danger,” I reply. “He’s obviously doing damage control by downplaying his actions.”
“That’s a very serious charge you’re making.”
“I wouldn’t be making it if it weren’t true.”
“Do you have any proof to back up these claims?”
“As I said before, since you won’t take my word for it, you can speak with any of the SWAT team members who were there in a support role,” I tell her. “I mean, have you bothered following up with any of them?”
“This isn’t about them. This is about you and your actions, Chief Wilder. And I have to be honest, I find your continued attempts to deflect from the issue at hand troubling.”
I look to the two men beside her, searching their faces, trying to find some bit of help from them. Graves is out of control, and this hearing is anything but impartial. Her conclusions have been predetermined, but neither of them will meet my eyes, telling me she’s got them under her thumb and they’re going to be of no use to me. I suddenly feel like my chances of escaping these hearings unscathed have taken a nosedive as the odds of my taking a potentially fatal hit to my career have skyrocketed. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to hold my tongue though. I feel like I’ve got nothing to lose now, so if I go down, I’m not going down without a fight.
“Deputy Inspector, I’m not deflecting from any issue. If anything, I’m downplaying what happened in the Atlanta field office,” I tell her. “While there, the office we were using was bugged, the executives at Wellburn Pharmaceuticals were tipped off about our investigation, misinformation meant to discredit our work was leaked to the press—”
“I certainly hope that you are not accusing Vincent DeClerk of these things. He’s a highly decorated veteran of the Bureau with a sterling reputation—”
“A reputation so sterling he was demoted and reassigned,” I cut her off. “The fact of the matter is, there is no proof now-SSA DeClerk did these things, or that he was in the pocket of Wellburn Pharmaceuticals; but there were enough hints of impropriety that he was in fact punished for what happened. Personally, I think he should have been criminally investigated, but that’s not my call to make.”
“Chief Wilder, need I remind you that we are here to review your actions, not Vincent DeClerk’s?” she hisses. “You would do well to remember that you are the one whose conduct in Atlanta is being questioned right now.”
“It seems to me that you’ve already come to a conclusion regarding my actions, Deputy Inspector, which, in my opinion, taints these proceedings and should disqualify you from running this hearing. But I’ll table that for now since it gives me grounds for appeal when you lay down whatever punishment you’ve already decided to slap me with,” I growl. “My only question for you is, what has brought you to that conclusion? Your close, personal relationship with SSA DeClerk? Or are you in the pocket of what’s left of the executive board at Wellburn?”
“How dare you,” she replies, her face purple with rage as she gets to her feet.
The man to Graves’s right seems to finally pull himself out of whatever stupor he’s been sitting in. Clearing his throat, he puts a hand on Graves’s arm, a stern expression on his face.
