Page 71 of Claimed By the Bikers

“Is it? Because I’ve got metadata, time stamps, phone records. Everything your forensics team would need to verify authenticity.” I look directly at the agents who are wavering. “How many of you signed up to plant evidence on innocent people?”

Two more agents lower their weapons.

“Agent Hayes, you’re making a mistake?—”

“The only mistake I made was trusting you.” I reach into my jacket, making sure everyone can see my movements, and pull out my FBI badge.

I hold the badge up so everyone can see it catch the sunlight. “I’ve been carrying it since the day you told me to plant evidence, Ben. Sometimes in my boot, sometimes in my pocket, sometimes inside my jacket. I told myself it meant I still had a little loyalty left to the Bureau, that maybe the oath I sworehadn’t been a complete lie.” My voice hardens. “But that’s gone now. Every shred of loyalty died the moment I saw what you really wanted from me.”

The gold shield catches the morning sunlight, reflecting everything I once believed in. Justice, law and order, protecting the innocent. All the ideals that brought me to Quantico, that carried me through three years of dangerous assignments.

All the ideals Ben and his operation perverted into something ugly.

“Agent Natalie Hayes, badge number 7429,” I say clearly, holding it up so everyone can see. “Three years of service, four undercover operations, three commendations for bravery.”

I drop the badge onto the gravel at my feet. “And one moment of perfect clarity about what the FBI really wanted from me.”

I lift my boot and bring it down hard on the gold shield, grinding it into the gravel and dirt. The metal scratches and dents, the proud eagle becoming just scrap metal under my heel.

“I’m done,” I announce to the tactical team, to Ben, to anyone who’s listening. “Done with an agency that sees agents as disposable assets. I’m done with superiors who order evidence planting, and a system that frames innocent people to make arrest statistics look good.”

The team is splitting now. Half still have their weapons raised, but the other half have lowered their rifles completely, some stepping back from their positions, others removing helmets and gear.

“This is mutiny,” Ben snarls.

“No, this is conscience,” one of the agents replies, a woman with sergeant’s stripes who’s holstering her sidearm. “We’re federal agents, not corrupt cops.”

“You don’t understand the bigger picture?—”

“I understand it perfectly.” She looks directly at Ben. “You sent an agent into the field with orders to fabricate evidence.”

Two more agents step away from their positions. Then three more. Ben’s authority is crumbling in real time, his team fragmenting as they process what they’ve heard.

“Agent Hayes,” the sergeant addresses me directly. “Are you here under duress?”

“No. I’m here by choice.”

“Are you being coerced or threatened?”

“Only by him.” I nod toward Ben.

“What about the allegations about evidence planting?”

“It’s been recorded, documented, and verifiable.”

She nods, then turns to her remaining team. “Stand down. We’re not arresting anyone today.”

“You don’t have the authority to—” Ben starts.

“I have the authority to refuse illegal orders. Which is exactly what evidence planting is.” She keys her radio. “Dispatch, this is Tactical Team Seven. We’re aborting the current operation pending investigation into operational parameters.”

“Sergeant Lake, what’s your status?”

“Status is we’ve got a clusterfuck of epic proportions. Recommend immediate review by Internal Affairs and Office of Professional Responsibility.”

Ben’s face cycles through several emotions—anger, fear, calculation—finally settling on resigned fury. “This isn’t over, Hayes.”

“Yes, it is.”