Chapter 7 - The Trap Snaps
Jonathan Sterling didn't flinch. He didn't even raise an eyebrow. A cold, dangerous smile spread across his weathered face—the smile of a predator who had anticipated every move of a much smaller animal.
"Harlan Croft," Jonathan mused softly, tapping his fingers against the table. "I wondered how long it would take Vance to run to his wife’s family. Croft has sat on the district bench for twelve years. He owns three car dealerships and a commercial strip mall outside of town. All funded through loans underwritten by Sterling First National Bank."
Jonathan looked at Arthur. "Did Vance take the hard copies of the manual punch logs from the safe in the back office?"
"No, sir," Arthur answered. "Our security locked the manager's office within five minutes of your call. The physical logs detailing the wage theft are intact."
"Good," Jonathan said. "Then let Judge Croft’s bailiffs come. Open the front doors for them. In fact, offer them coffee."
Emma felt a surge of panic. "Mr. Sterling, if they take the records, Vance will get away with it! He's done this to dozens of people! Mary in the deli lost her apartment last winter because Vance shaved twenty hours off her check, and she couldn't prove it! If they destroy the evidence—"
"Emma," Jonathan interrupted gently, resting a calming hand on the table. "In retail, when a thief tries to pocket a candy bar, you don't stop him at the shelf. You wait until he walks past the final point of sale. You wait until his intent is unmistakable, absolute, and undeniable."
He looked at his chief operating officer. "Arthur, is the federal prosecutor for the Northern District still on retainer for our antitrust review?"
"Bradley Vance is the United States Attorney for this district," Arthur answered, a sharp glint in his eye. "No relation to Derek, but an old classmate of David's from Harvard Law."
"Call Bradley," Jonathan ordered. "Inform him that a county judge is actively attempting to obstruct an ongoing federal interstate commerce fraud investigation by executing an illegal state injunction against corporate assets. Tell him to have FBI agents accompany the state police."
Fifteen minutes later, the screech of tires echoed from the front parking lot once more.
Two black unmarked sedans pulled up to the front entrance of the supermarket. Three men in cheap suits and gold badges strode into the brightly lit store, led by a tall, heavy-set man with a thick mustache and an arrogant swagger. Behind them, lurking in the shadows of the doorway with a smirk plastered across his bruised ego, was Derek Vance.
"Where is the store server?" the mustache-wearing bailiff demanded, waving a paper with a county seal in the air. "I have a court order signed by the Honorable Harlan Croft demanding the immediate impoundment of all digital recording media and administrative logs."
Jonathan Sterling stepped out of the back office hallway into the main aisle.
The bailiff stopped, his swagger faltering slightly at the sight of the old man flanked by four federal security agents wearing earpieces.
"You must be Bailiff Miller," Jonathan said smoothly. "And Derek... you came back quickly. I admire your punctuality."
Vance puffed out his chest, emboldened by the presence of his brother-in-law's enforcers. "You think your money makes you untouchable, Sterling? This is our county! Judge Croft runs this district! You can't come in here from Chicago and make up false accusations against honest managers!"
"Is that so?" Jonathan asked calmly.
"That's right!" Vance snarled, pointing an aggressive finger at Emma, who stood behind Jonathan. "And that girl is getting charged with petty larceny and conspiracy! She colluded with you to steal store property and falsify register balances! I’m going to make sure she never gets a job in this state again!"
"She didn't steal anything, Derek," Jonathan said quietly. "She offered a five-dollar bill. Which you rejected. But as it happens, you won't need to worry about Emma's employment."
"Seize the servers!" Vance shouted to the bailiffs. "Do it now! Don't let them touch the hard drives!"
The bailiffs took two steps forward toward the customer service desk.
"I wouldn't touch that equipment if I were you, gentlemen," a booming voice echoed from the front entrance.
Everyone turned.
Walking through the sliding glass doors was a tall man in a dark trench coat, flanked by six armed agents wearing blue windbreakers with bold yellow letters across the back: FBI.
Behind them walked two uniformed State Police captains.
Derek Vance’s smirk vanished so fast it looked as if his face had collapsed. The bailiff with the mustache dropped his arm, the court order fluttering from his fingers like an autumn leaf.
"Bailiff Miller," U.S. Attorney Bradley Vance said, stepping into the center of the register lanes. "Judge Croft was taken into federal custody twenty minutes ago at his residence in Oakridge Hills. He is currently charged with accepting over four hundred thousand dollars in commercial kickbacks and facilitating wire fraud. Your state injunction is null, void, and recognized as federal obstruction of justice."
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The bailiff went white as a sheet, backing away with his hands raised.
Bradley turned his piercing gaze toward Derek Vance. "Derek Vance. You are under arrest for multi-state wage conspiracy, grand theft, and witness intimidation. Put your hands behind your back."
