Chapter 4 - The Arrival
The black sedan didn't park in the visitor lot; it pulled directly into the restricted police sally port, tires screeching slightly against the wet pavement before coming to a dead stop.
Before the security detail could even step out to open the rear door, Dante pushed it open himself. He stepped out into the harsh fluorescent light of the garage, his face carved from granite. Tony flanked him immediately, followed by two armed associates who moved with silent, lethal efficiency.
The precinct duty sergeant nearly fell out of his chair when Dante Thorne walked through the double doors. The atmosphere in the front office dropped twenty degrees instantly. Telephones stopped ringing; officers instinctively rested their hands on their utility belts, though none of them dared to make a move.
"Mr. Thorne," the desk sergeant stammered, standing up so fast his rolling chair slammed into the back wall. "We... we weren't expecting you. This is a restricted municipal facility—"
"Where is she?" Dante cut him off. His voice was dangerously low, carrying a terrifying stillness that commanded absolute obedience.
"Sir?"
"Cora Walsh," Dante said, stepping closer to the desk until the sergeant was forced to lean back. "Where is she being held?"
Before the sergeant could answer, Detective Miller stepped out of the back office holding a sheaf of printed documents. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Dante standing in the lobby. A flicker of panic crossed Miller's face, quickly masked by professional defiance.
"Mr. Thorne," Miller said, stepping forward. "If you're here regarding the Walsh case, I must inform you that this is an active police investigation. The suspect has been charged with animal cruelty and criminal negligence—"
"She didn't do it," Dante stated flatly.
"With all due respect, Mr. Thorne, the physical evidence—"
"The physical evidence was planted," Dante interrupted, his dark eyes locking onto the detective with a gaze that felt like a physical blow. "And you are about thirty seconds away from discovering how quickly an internal affairs audit can dismantle this entire precinct if you don't unlock that holding cell right now."
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Miller swallowed hard, looking around the room for support, but his fellow officers had all conveniently found paperwork to occupy their attention. Dante Thorne didn't make idle threats; everyone in the city knew that crossing him meant your career—and sometimes your life—ended before nightfall.
"Bring him back," Miller muttered to the desk sergeant, holding up his hands in a gesture of reluctant surrender. "Just... keep it quiet. No reporters."
