Chapter 8 - The Lies They Put on Television
“THE MAN WHO ATTACKED MY WIFE IS WALKING FREE, AND NOW THE SHERIFF IS CALLING ME A THREAT TO PUBLIC SAFETY?”
I stared at the television mounted on the wall of the hospital waiting room.
Sheriff Nathan Cole stood behind a polished wooden podium.
Two American flags hung behind him.
Several deputies formed a line at his back.
He wore a carefully arranged expression of concern.
“We are investigating disturbing allegations involving a recently returned military serviceman,” Cole announced. “Our department takes threats to public safety extremely seriously.”
A reporter raised her hand.
“Sheriff, are you referring to Blake Dean?”
Cole lowered his gaze.
“We will not comment on individual suspects during an ongoing investigation.”
But a photograph of my face had already appeared on the screen.
Beneath it, a headline suggested I was connected to a violent disturbance at the military airfield.
I stared in disbelief.
I'd never threatened anyone at the airport.
I hadn't touched a deputy.
I'd simply refused to leave with men who couldn't explain why they wanted to detain me.
Now the county was making me look dangerous.
Naomi entered the waiting room and switched off the television.
“Blake, don't respond publicly.”
I turned toward her.
“He's destroying my reputation.”
“He's trying to provoke you.”
“People will believe him.”
“Some will.”
She sat across from me.
“But others will ask why the sheriff is spending so much time discussing you while your wife's attackers remain uncharged.”
I rubbed my face.
“My mother is going to see that.”
Naomi nodded sympathetically.
“We'll make sure she knows you're safe.”
That afternoon, my mother called from North Carolina.
She was seventy-one and had spent most of my adult life worrying about me.
“Blake, honey, what's happening?”
I closed my eyes.
“Mom, Emily was attacked.”
“I know. I saw the news.”
“She's alive.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Not right now. She's recovering.”
My mother was silent.
Then she asked, “Are you going to do something foolish?”
I almost laughed.
Even at seventy-one, she could still read me better than anyone.
“No, Mom.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She sighed.
“Your father used to say that anger makes a poor compass.”
I remembered hearing those words as a boy.
My father had been a mechanic.
He believed in hard work, honesty, and repairing things instead of throwing them away.
He died when I was twenty-three.
Sometimes I wondered what he'd think of the man I'd become.
That afternoon, I thought I knew.
He'd tell me to protect Emily.
And leave the punishment to the law.
When I returned to her room, Emily was sitting upright with assistance.
A wheelchair stood beside the bed.
She noticed my expression immediately.
“What happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Blake.”
I sat beside her.
“Sheriff Cole held a press conference.”
“About me?”
“About us.”
She listened as I explained.
Then she reached for the television remote.
I stopped her.
“You don't need to watch it.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Emily—”
“Blake, somebody is telling lies about what happened to me. I want to know what they're saying.”
I handed her the remote.
She watched the recording without speaking.
When Cole described the allegations against me, her face changed.
Not to fear.
To anger.
“He's trying to make you look like the criminal.”
I nodded.
She switched off the television.
“Then we tell the truth.”
“We've already told investigators.”
“Then I'll tell it again.”
I looked at her.
“You've barely survived surgery.”
“And I'm still here.”
She reached for my hand.
“I don't want Cameron Voss deciding when I'm allowed to speak.”
The next day, Emily gave a carefully scheduled, recorded statement to federal investigators and prosecutors.
Her doctor limited the session.
A victim-witness specialist remained nearby.
She described the parking garage.
The threatening vehicles.
The invasion of our home.
The men who broke her legs.
And the terrifying hours when she believed she'd never see me again.
When she finished, Naomi asked one final question.
“Emily, why didn't you withdraw your report after the threats began?”
Emily thought for a long moment.
“Because Serena was already scared.”
Her voice trembled.
“And I knew that if I stopped speaking, the next person they hurt might not survive.”
The room became very quiet.
She continued.
“I was afraid every day. I'm still afraid. But I don't think being afraid means they should get to decide what's true.”
Naomi nodded.
“Thank you, Emily.”
Afterward, Emily was exhausted.
I helped adjust her pillows.
She looked toward the window.
“Do you think they'll believe me?”
I sat beside her.
“I do.”
“Even if the sheriff says I'm lying?”
I took her hand.
“Especially because he's trying so hard to stop you.”
Meanwhile, federal investigators were examining Deputy Brooks's evidence.
The files showed multiple unauthorized assignments.
Some involved protecting Voss properties.
Others involved surveilling witnesses.
Several payments had passed through the same shell companies Serena identified.
Most disturbing was a series of dispatch notes showing that officers had been instructed to delay responding to complaints involving Cameron Voss.
Naomi believed the evidence could support additional charges.
But the federal leak remained unresolved.
Special Agent Lewis Trent was assigned to review the hospital security protocols while investigators checked access logs.
He seemed helpful.
He met with administrators.
He reviewed badges.
He assured everyone the protected wing was secure.
That evening, he stopped outside Emily's room.
“Mr. Dean?”
I looked up.
“We've strengthened the safeguards,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Your wife should be able to rest without worrying about unauthorized visitors.”
I nodded.
He smiled politely.
Then walked away.
Ten minutes later, Nora Bell entered with Emily's medication.
She checked the door.
Then whispered, “Blake, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Did someone from the sheriff's office get permission to review our staff schedules?”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“This afternoon, administration received a request for shift records. They said it came through a federal liaison.”
I stood.
“Who made the request?”
Nora hesitated.
“I don't know. But someone downloaded the entire protected-wing schedule.”
I reached for my phone.
Before I could call Naomi, Emily's bedside monitor flickered.
The lights dimmed.
Then returned.
Nora looked toward the hallway.
“That isn't normal.”
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I opened the message.
YOU CAN MOVE HER TO ANOTHER FLOOR, SOLDIER. BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE HER FROM US.
I looked toward the door.
Then the ceiling lights went out completely.
Somewhere down the hallway, a woman screamed.
The emergency lighting switched on.
And through the narrow window of Emily's room, I saw a man wearing medical scrubs slowly approaching.
He wasn't carrying a medication tray.
He wasn't wearing a hospital identification badge.
May you like
But I recognized his face.
He was one of the men who had dragged Emily out of our house.
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