Chapter 11 - The Missing Permit
Miller snatched the manila folder back, flipping through the documents until she found a yellowed municipal permit stamped by the city zoning board. Her eyes scanned the text, and for the first time since the investigation began, I saw genuine alarm flicker across her face.
"What is it?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"The permit," Miller said, looking up from the paper. "It wasn't filed yesterday. It was approved three months ago—the exact week you finalized the purchase of this house."
Brian stepped closer, reading over her shoulder. "That’s impossible. The city council requires a six-month review period for any industrial tie-in to the municipal grid."
"Unless," Harold whispered from the corner, a thin smile touching his lips, "the zoning commissioner was an old student of mine who trusted my calculations implicitly. The secondary valves aren't just connected to your basement, children. They were integrated into the city’s central distribution manifold forty-eight hours ago."
Miller didn't waste another word. She slammed the van door shut, turning to her radio with urgent precision. "Dispatch, this is Miller. Code Black on the Fourth Street municipal junction. I need bomb squad and hazardous materials units deployed to the main reservoir immediately. Repeat: The containment grid has been compromised at the source."
The van shifted as the driver put the vehicle into gear, preparing to transport Harold to the county detention center. As the vehicle pulled away down the snow-slicked road, Harold’s face remained visible through the rear window, watching us with unblinking eyes until the cruiser disappeared around the bend.
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"We have to go to the hospital first," Brian said, turning to me. "Chloe is still there. We need to make sure she's okay before we do anything else."
"We go to the hospital," I agreed, "and then we go straight to the water board. We don't wait for Miller's team."
