Chapter 2 - The King of Red Creek
Dominic controlled Red Creek through favors, fear and carefully chosen acts of humiliation.
He rarely needed to arrest anyone.
A restaurant owner who complained about free meals suddenly received daily health inspections. A rancher who questioned missing county funds found his trucks stopped repeatedly for “safety checks.” A local reporter had her office searched after an anonymous caller claimed she possessed illegal substances.
No evidence was ever found.
The message was enough.
At Ruby’s Diner, Dominic occupied the same booth every morning. Coffee appeared before he ordered it. His meals never reached the register.
At the hardware store, employees carried his purchases to his truck without asking for payment.
At town council meetings, council members looked toward him before voting.
Amelia dismissed everything I noticed.
“That’s just how small towns work,” she said.
“No,” I replied. “That’s how intimidation works.”
She sighed.
“You’ve spent too long seeing enemies everywhere.”
Her criticism was unfair, but it was also useful. It reminded me not to underestimate her resistance to the truth.
During my second week in Red Creek, I met Deputy Noah Bell.
Noah was twenty-eight, quiet and constantly exhausted. He approached me outside a grocery store after checking to make sure Dominic’s vehicle was nowhere nearby.
“You’re Colonel Mercer,” he whispered.
I did not confirm it.
Noah swallowed.
“I saw your photograph in a National Guard legal bulletin two years ago.”
“That sounds like a dangerous thing to remember.”
His eyes shifted toward the street.
“I have records.”
“What kind of records?”
“Inventory transfers, federal grant forms and vehicle logs. Dominic makes deputies sign blank documents. Later, the equipment disappears.”
“Why haven’t you reported it?”
“I tried.”
Noah’s voice dropped lower.
“My father owns a repair shop. After I asked questions, Dominic had the shop cited for twelve violations. Then somebody broke every window.”
“Do you have proof Dominic ordered it?”
“No.”
“Do you have proof of the missing equipment?”
“Yes.”
I told Noah not to give me anything yet.
My orders required patience. We needed the complete network, not just one frightened sheriff. Someone at the state level had approved altered records. Someone in the Guard had signed false inspection reports.
Noah looked disappointed.
“He’s hurting people now.”
“I know.”
“You don’t act like it.”
That accusation followed me home.
Military investigations demanded discipline. You collected facts, established patterns and waited until the evidence could survive every attack.
But civilians living under Dominic did not experience his crimes as evidence.
They experienced them as ruined businesses, frightened children and doors that no longer felt safe at night.
That evening, I found Amelia standing on the porch, typing quickly on her phone.
When she saw me, she locked the screen.
“Who were you messaging?” I asked.
“Claire.”
“Can I see?”
Her expression hardened.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“I’m asking a question.”
“You’re interrogating me.”
She walked inside and slammed the door.
A few minutes later, my secure phone vibrated.
A surveillance analyst had sent me a photograph taken outside Dominic’s private hunting cabin.
Amelia’s car was parked beside his truck.
The time stamp was from the previous night—the same evening she claimed to have attended dinner with Claire.
I sat alone on the porch until the temperature dropped.
May you like
I had come to Red Creek believing Dominic might be stealing federal property.
Now I had to consider that he might also be stealing my wife.
