Chapter 7 - THE CONSPIRATORS IN THE CROSSHAIRS: WHY THE MAYOR AND THE POLICE CHIEF SUDDENLY NEEDED EXPENSIVE LAWYERS
While Dominic Ward was learning the bitter taste of total insolvency in federal holding, the shockwaves of Operation Iron Gavel were tearing through the local political establishment like a Category 5 hurricane.
At 11:00 AM, an emergency closed-door meeting of the county council was abruptly interrupted when six federal agents in full tactical gear and dark windbreakers walked right through the double doors of the municipal chambers.
Mayor Thomas Sterling (no relation to Victoria, though the coincidence had always amused her) stood at the podium holding a stack of municipal zoning permits, his face draining of all color as the lead FBI agent stepped forward.
“Mayor Thomas,” the agent announced loudly, holding up a federal arrest warrant. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit honest services fraud, municipal bribery, and accepting illicit campaign contributions from Dominic Ward’s smuggling syndicate.”
“This is an outrage!” Mayor Thomas shouted, slamming his fist against the wooden podium. “I am the mayor of this city! I demand to call my attorney! You can't just barge in here—!”
“You can call whoever you like from the federal holding facility downtown,” the agent interrupted coldly, snapping heavy steel cuffs around the mayor’s wrists before marching him out past a dozen stunned local journalists.
Simultaneously, down at the county police precinct, Police Chief Robert Vance (again, no relation) was sitting in his executive office reviewing a department budget report when his office door was kicked open.
Three U.S. Marshals stood in the doorway.
“Chief Vance, hand over your badge and your service weapon,” the senior marshal commanded, placing a federal indictment notice squarely on top of the budget report.
Chief Vance stared at the paper, his hands trembling as he saw his own signature on forged police reports that had covered up Dominic Ward’s violent assaults and import violations for over three years.
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“On whose authority?” Chief Vance croaked, his voice pitching upward in sheer panic.
“United States District Judge Victoria Sterling,” the marshal replied without a shred of emotion. “Your arraignment is at two o'clock this afternoon. Wear comfortable shoes; you won't be coming back here.”
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