The pounding on the glass door came before sunrise.
Brandon looked up from the desk, eyes bleary from another sleepless night. The rhythmic thud grew louder—three sharp knocks that carried authority, not impatience. Before he could move, the lock turned with a metallic snap.
“Brandon Hughes?” a man’s voice barked.
He rose slowly, pulse already racing. “Who’s asking?”
“Metro Police. We have a warrant to search these premises.”
The door burst open, and half a dozen officers flooded into the small office, their black jackets bearing the seal of the city. Behind them, two men in suits trailed with briefcases and clipped expressions.
Julia’s chair was empty. Thank God.
Brandon straightened. “There must be a mistake.”
The lead officer handed him a folded document. “Order signed by the co
