I remember this morning — the day the 'job agency' offers to sponsor my visa.

Detective Miller didn't look like a cop from a television show; she looked like a woman who had spent twenty years hunting corporate predators and taking no prisoners. She wore a sharp trench coat, her badge pinned clearly to her lapel, and her eyes were fixed like heat-seeking missiles on Marcus Vance.

"Marcus Vance?" Detective Miller asked, her voice a low, gravelly authority that cut through the silence of the conference room. "And Leo Vance?"

Marcus swallowed hard, his throat bobbing frantically. He tried to force a weak, pathetic smile. "Detective... there must be some mistake. We run a legitimate immigration consultancy—"

"A consultancy that hasn't held a valid business license in Illinois since 2021, and has active complaints from forty-seven foreign nationals who were scammed out of their life savings under the guise of 'visa sponsorship fees,'" Miller finished for him, pulling a thick folder from under her arm.

She stepped into the room, her officers moving with practiced, silent efficiency. One of them immediately stepped beside the door, blocking any exit, while the other walked straight toward Marcus, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his belt.

Leo panicked. He backed up against the glass window, holding his hands up defensively. "I didn't do anything! I’m just an junior associate! Uncle Marc handles all the financial accounts! I just make the phone calls!"

"Junior associate or co-conspirator, the federal prosecutor will let you explain that to a judge, Mr. Vance," Detective Miller said coldly, snapping the cuffs around Marcus’s wrists with a sharp, echoing click.

Marcus let out a furious, strangled curse as the cold metal locked into place. He glared at me with pure, unadulterated venom, his eyes promising murder. "You set us up! You little rat, you planned this the entire time!"

"I didn't set you up, Mr. Vance," I replied, walking toward the door with my backpack slung over my shoulder. "I just decided not to be your victim twice."

Detective Miller turned her attention toward me, her hard expression softening just a fraction into a look of professional respect. "Ms. Evans? We’ll need you down at the precinct to formally submit your audio recording and your statement as the primary whistleblower."

"I'm ready," I said.

As the police officers led Marcus and Leo out of the conference room in heavy steel handcuffs, I paused at the threshold. I looked back at the walnut table, the un-signed visa papers, and the silver fountain pen rolling uselessly across the mahogany.