Pittsburgh Branch, internal detention area.
The interrogation room door at the end of the hallway was tightly closed.
Kevin stood at the end of the hallway, pressing himself tightly against the wall, trying to become invisible.
But he knew that was impossible.
There were too many people packed in here.
On one side were a dozen or so trench-coat-wearing FBI agents.
They wore sunglasses, had earpieces in their ears, and stood with their arms crossed, exuding an air of standoffish arrogance.
On the other side were over twenty local Pittsburgh police officers in blue uniforms.
Just then, the phone in Kevin's pocket vibrated.
He glanced at the federal agents, who were focused on the standoff, then stealthily slipped his hand into his pocket, unlocked his phone, and ducked his head for a quick look.
Kevin's fingers flew across the screen, tapping out "Got it," before he deleted the message.
