Page 150 of Flint’s Strike

“Y’all drove all the way from headquarters for this meeting? I imagine your captain could’ve just called.”

So that’s how this is going to go.

My smile is tight enough, my molars grind together. “I am the captain.”

“Right, right.” He waves a hand. The gesture is quick, dismissive, gone before it means anything. “Forgive me. I meet a lot of law enforcement in this job. Hard to keep the ranks straight when the uniforms keep changing on me.”

Beside me, Nate doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as shift his weight, but I feel him go rigid, clock a muscle ticking once at his jaw.

Osgood motions to a seating area with a large, round conference table and four chairs, all in that same polished cherry. “Shall we sit?”

We follow him over to the table, where he makes it very clear that Nate and I get the two seats with their backs to the door.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Senator. I’m sure you must be very busy.” I offer him a placid smile.

“I’ll always find room in my schedule for the brave men—and women—of our law enforcement organizations,” he says. His smile widens, the sort of practiced warmth meant to look gracious in a photograph. I doubt this guy has ever met a woman he couldn’t charm. Until now. His eyes settle on Nate, then flick briefly to me. “Especially when they come all this way.”

Nate withdraws two sheets of paper from a black folder and sets them in front of the senator. The Ridgeline Policy Partners PFS and a close up of the two wire transfers, complete with date stamps.

Gabe’s smile doesn’t quite disappear. It simply stops reaching his eyes. He looks down at the papers, then back at Nate.

“Senator, we’re investigating a string of arsons in the greater Austin area. We’ve identified one commonality among the four buildings. They were all inspected by a company called Apex Building Solutions. Do you know it?” I ask.

“Sure. I know the name. Good outfit. Does inspection work all over the metro.”

“Can you tell me more about Ridgeline Policy Partners?” I tap the first piece of paper.

“My business.” He gives it a glance, barely—just enough to confirm what he already knew was coming. “Government relations consulting. Been doing it going on eleven years now. Helping good Texas businesses cut through red tape that’d otherwise strangle them before they ever break ground.”

He leans back in his chair, and his gaze finally settles on me. “It’s not exactly complicated work, Captain. You find out who has the authority to say yes, and you make sure they understand why saying yes is good for everyone. You’d be amazed how much of this state runs on people like me knowing which door to knock on.”

I don’t miss the slight emphasis on people like me. The kind of people who don’t wait outside the door. The kind who expect someone to open it for them.

“It’s a matter of public record.” Osgood inclines his head, a smug little smile curving his lips. “Senator Dines has disclosed his ownership interest in Ridgeline on every personal financial statement since its founding. Nothing about the entity itself is concealed.”

I turn the second page toward him. “Ridgeline was the primary capital investor for Apex Building Solutions.”

Gabe reaches for the paper before I can pull my hand away, his clammy fingers closing over mine for a beat too long. He doesn’t apologize.

“Ridgeline’s put money into a lot of things over the years.” One shoulder lifts and falls. “Small businesses, mostly. Local outfits that needed a leg up somebody with deep pockets could offer without a bank breathing down their neck for it.”

“A hundred and forty thousand dollars,” I say. “Wired in two payments, the month before Apex incorporated.”

“Sounds about right for a startup loan.” He glances at Osgood—not for help, but to be sure his lawyer is watching the performance. “I write a lot of checks like that. Job creators, all of them. You start asking me to account for every dollar that leaves Ridgeline’s accounts, we’re going to be here a long while, and I’ve got a floor session Thursday I need to prep for.”

“Did Ridgeline receive any other monies from Apex beyond the loan repayment?” Nate asks. “Dividends, consulting fees, anything with your name attached?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” He says it easily, the patient expression of a man explaining something obvious to a child. “I’m not in the habit of tracking where every dollar I invest ends up five, six years down the line. That’s what accountants are for. And mine will certainly be happy to talk to you when your office subpoenas them, which I assume is coming next.”

His smile widens. He isn’t worried. He’s enjoying the fact that he can make us ask the questions while he decides how much of an answer we’re entitled to.

“It might,” I say.

“I figured.” He folds his hands on the table. “You know, Captain— It is Captain, right? I want to make sure I’ve got that straight. I respect what y’all do. I do. It’s dangerous work, chasing down men who set fires, and I know your office has had a rough few weeks of it. My prayers have been with the families.” He pauses, letting the sympathy settle before his expression shifts. “I just find it interesting that a woman in your position gets sent to sit across from a sitting state senator over a business loan I made most of a decade ago. Seems like a job for somebody with a little more seniority.”

“I have the seniority,” I say. “I’m the ranking officer on this case.”

“Is that right? Well. Good for you.” His smile returns, brighter than ever. “My wife stayed home with our kids, God rest her soul. She never had much interest in a career, and I always thought that was the healthier way to raise a family, but I understand not everybody gets that choice these days.”