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Flor
"Where are you going?" Dad asks as I rush past him to my computer.
"Can't talk now Dad!" I call back, flipping open the clamshell laptop and carefully pulling the wires out of my bra...and the recording device attached to it.
Downloading the file I forward it to Julie K. Brown's email address at the Miami Herald. She has a track record as a journalist who will dig deep and isn't afraid to put in the work, as she showed on the Jeffrey Epstein case.
I ring the Herald and let them know I've just sent over a bombshell. Luckily I'm forwarded back to her desk where I explain the situation. I can hear her chair squeak as she sits up, listening attentively.
"If you're right, this is going to be big," she confirms.
"I know I am. Please, just hurry. My man is locked up right now and probably being harassed because the people involved in this case are starting to find out what he knows."
"On it," she says. "I've got a team here so let me dig and call you back as soon as I can."
We thank each other and then I hang up.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Until it gets the best of me.
"Where are you going now?" Dad asks as I run past him.
"Gotta go!" I say, dashing out the door and catching my Uber which takes me to the police station.
Getting out I try to run inside, but it's not that easy. Frank is no longer an All-Star officer it seems, and he's not being allowed to see anyone.
Pacing the waiting room the desk sergeant does everything in his power to try and persuade me to leave, even offering me money to go get a coffee and wait until Frank is done being questioned.
I decline and when his tone gets more forceful I remind him that my father and I pay taxes, to which he replies that doesn't give me the right to loiter in the police station, threatening to throw me out with force.
Calling his bluff first, he then calls mine, standing and grabbing me by the arm and trying to drag me out the front door, despite me digging in my heels and reaching for anything that will prevent me from being taken away.
But he's just too strong, and I'm not crazy enough to strike an officer. I respect the police a lot, which explains part of my obsession with Frank. Ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine percent of cops are amazing people who truly serve because they love their communities and want to keep them safe.
It's just that one bad apple, which is why I'm here, that I'm after. No one else.
And to see Frank of course.
But as he pulls me past the doors I'm greeted by a different face that I recognize from my Internet browsing.
Suddenly my struggling ends as I stand up straight, brush myself off and look at none other than the woman I emailed and called just a few hours ago.
"You must be Flor," she says, offering me a kind smile.
"And you must be Julie K. Brown," I say.
"You two know each other? Good," the officer exhales. "Please ma'am," he addresses Julie, "Get her out of here."
"Oh, we're not going anywhere, officer," Julie says as I watch two men pull broadcasting equipment from the back of a Miami Herald van.
"Aren't you a newspaper?" I say.
"It's 2022, babe. We do video too. Even TikTok to reach smart young minds like yours."
