Jack opened the folder and scanned the first page. Then he read it again, slower, making sure he understood what he was seeing.
The pills they'd recovered in the locker room… the results were damning.
Oral anabolic steroid. The lab had identified the specific compound, though Jack's eyes skipped over the chemical name, since that meant nothing to him. What mattered was the conclusion typed in bold at the bottom of the page… Illegal for minors. Schedule III controlled substance. Possession and distribution subject to federal prosecution.
Jack felt something cold settle in his chest. “Jesus,” he muttered.
Mark leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. “Keep reading.”
Jack flipped to the second page. The lab notes were technical, full of terms Jack only half understood, but the key points jumped out at him.
Pill composition is distinctive enough to narrow sourcing. Marking and coating suggest specific manufacturing batch. Cross-reference with DEA database indicates limited distribution channels.
“They can trace where it came from,” Jack said, looking up at Mark.
“Not down to an individual,” Mark cautioned. “But they can narrow it to regional distributors. Maybe even specific pharmacies or suppliers if we're lucky.”
Jack sat back in his chair, the folder still open in front of him. This was it. This was the moment when everything shifted from suspicion and worry into something concrete and actionable.
This wasn't a rumor anymore. This wasn't kids being paranoid or adults overreacting. Someone on the Shore was distributing illegal anabolic steroids to minors. Someone was telling those kids it was legal, safe, and would make them better athletes. And those kids, desperately wanting so badly to succeed, were taking them.
“We need to tell Colt,” Jack said.
Mark nodded. “Already sent him a message. He wants to see us in his office in ten minutes.”
Jack closed the folder and stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. His hands were steady, his breathing controlled, but underneath the professional calm, anger simmered hot and fierce.
He thought about Carson, Robbie, and Ben. Those boys had done the right thing. They'd trusted Jack with information that scared them, that made them feel responsible and helpless all at once. And now Jack had proof that their instincts had been right.
Jack knocked once on the doorframe and stepped inside with Mark right behind him.
“What've you got?” Colt asked.
Jack handed him the folder. “Lab results on the pills I recovered from the locker room.”
Colt opened the folder and read in silence. Jack watched his dad's face and saw the moment when the same cold realization hit. Colt's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening into something sharp and dangerous.
“Anabolic steroids,” Colt said quietly. “Being distributed to minors.”
“Yes, sir,” Jack said.
Colt set the folder down and leaned back in his chair. For a long moment, he was silent, his gaze distant as he processed the information. Then he looked at Jack. “Those boys put a lot of trust in you,” Colt said. “But this is bigger than one man distributing pills in a locker room. If he's doing it with one student, he's doing it with others. We need to find out who he is, who his supplier is, and how many kids have been affected.”
Mark spoke up from where he'd been standing quietly by the door. “The lab notes say the pill composition is distinctive. If we can cross-reference with DEA databases, we might be able to narrow down where they came from.”
“Do it,” Colt said. “And Jack, I want you to go back through every conversation you've had about this. Every detail, every name mentioned, every connection. Write it all down. We're going to need a solid case before we move.”
“What about the school?” Jack asked. “Do we notify the administration?”
Colt's expression darkened. “Talk to the school’s resource deputy. I want them in on this. I’ll talk to the principal. She’ll keep her mouth shut, but I’ll let her know that it’s an official investigation now.”
Jack felt the weight of that settle on his shoulders. “Understood.”
Colt held his gaze. “You two did good work here.”
Jack nodded, not trusting his voice. Because standing here in the sheriff's office, Jack felt the full weight of what it meant to be a detective. What it meant to protect people. What it meant to be the person others trusted when they were scared and didn't know where else to turn.
This was the legacy his dad had built. Not just in solving crimes or catching criminals, but in being the kind of man people could turn to when they needed help. The kind of man who showed up, who listened, who believed kids when they said something was wrong.
