Behind her walked Beverly and Trevor, their wrists secured behind their backs in heavy tactical zip-ties, escorted by two plainclothes FBI agents who loaded them into the rear of an unmarked black Suburban.
I stood on the front porch steps, wearing my old brown canvas barn coat, watching the cruisers pull away into the dusk, their red taillights disappearing toward the county jail in Hendersonville.
Special Agent Marcus Vance walked up the steps, holding a heavy clipboard containing the official military recovery manifest.
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"Captain Whitfield," Agent Vance said softly, his tone devoid of official stiffness, carrying the warm, grounded respect of a brother in arms. "The state magistrate has remanded all three to the county detention center under a seventy-five-thousand-dollar secured bond. Arthur Vance is currently being booked at the federal holding facility in Asheville on international racketeering charges. The fifty-five thousand dollars has been impounded as federal criminal evidence."
