“This is Officer Miller of the Federal Customs Unit,” a deep, gravelly voice snapped back. His voice was dripping with authority. “Do you have any idea how serious this is, Mrs. Lemley? Your name is attached to a package containing falsified passports and narcotics. We have a warrant being processed for your residence as we speak.” Evelyn let out a small, jagged gasp. She clutched the receiver with both hands, pulling it tight against her ear. “A warrant? Oh, dear Lord, no. There must be a mistake. I’m just a pensioner, I live alone.”
“The system doesn’t make mistakes,” Miller interrupted, his voice dropping into a menacing, clinical rhythm. “But there is a window for resolution before the local authorities arrive at your door. You are currently under investigation. If you cooperate, we can seal the file. If you hang up, or if you call anyone else, the warrant is executed immediately.”
Evelyn began to weep—soft, disjointed sounds of terror. “Please, Officer. I’ll do whatever you need. Just tell me what to do. I’m so frightened. My hands are shaking, I can hardly hold the phone.” She looked at her laptop, which sat open on the desk, the cursor blinking rhythmically.