Outside Honolulu Airport, beside a black luxury car offering high-end transport services, the chauffeur was loading luggage into the trunk when Jack approached a middle-aged white man settling into the back seat.
"Hello, Stan Edwards?"
"Can I help you?" Stan Edwards' face turned serious the moment he spotted the FBI badge in Jack's hand.
Danny's ex-wife's current husband was still a classically handsome man despite the lines on his face—chiseled features, deep-set eyes, high-bridged nose, and a well-maintained physique that clearly reflected his status and resources.
Once Jack had him seated in the front passenger seat of the Camaro and Stan noticed Danny crammed awkwardly in the backseat, he finally exhaled in recognition. "Danny? Why… why are you doing this?"
He glanced at Jack, who'd already pulled away from the curb and was navigating through traffic, then looked at Danny, squished childishly into the back. He was clearly confused.
Well, it couldn't be helped. Despite being labeled a four-seater, this type of muscle car barely had usable back seats. Jack stood at 6'1", and Stan wasn't far behind—over six feet himself. That left only Danny, a sub-5'7" guy, to take the cramped spot.
"You know, Stan," Danny said, leaning forward from the back to stick his head into the front cabin, trying to make himself a little more comfortable.
"Since I became a dad, I've had to deal with a lot of things I never expected—buying toys, dresses, chatting every day, and racking up massive cell phone bills no matter what plan I choose.
But one thing I never imagined was that my daughter—not even ten years old—would ever experience a carjacking. So I'm only going to ask you once: what the hell have you gotten yourself into?"
"This has nothing to do with me, Danny. I was just as shocked when I heard about it. You know me—I've always treated Grace like my own—"
"Shut up, Stan," Danny cut him off mid-sentence. His tone wasn't aggressive, but his words left no room for misinterpretation. "Let me just tell you something up front. The guy driving right now? He's an FBI profiler. He's taken out more terrorists and cartel scum than you've seen in every TV series you've ever watched."
He turned to Jack, eyes burning. "Tell him, Jack. Tell this idiot—what do you see? Is he afraid? Is there fear hiding in his soul?!"
Being used as a human lie detector was a new one, even for Jack. He gave Stan a half-smile and said, "Mr. Edwards, I'm technically on vacation. This isn't even a federal case."
He paused. "But Danny is family. Grace too. And if I wanted to make it federal, that wouldn't be difficult. So let me remind you—lying to an FBI agent is a federal offense. As a well-traveled businessman, you should know that."
"If this had happened a while back," Danny added, voice low and dangerous, "I'd have shown up alone, in public, and beaten the truth out of you."
He glanced at Jack. "You should be thankful for this guy. He talked me down. Told me not to complicate things. Told me I should give you a chance—ONE chance—to come clean. So here it is."
He leaned back heavily, his words final. "Someone pointed a gun at my daughter. Because of you."
Silence filled the car. Stan's forehead began to glisten with sweat. He opened his mouth twice before finally speaking, his voice low and hesitant.
"You know I'm in real estate. Not long ago, I had dealings with Bruce Hoffman, the local housing commissioner. That guy handed me a… a 'menu,' like at a fancy restaurant."
He swallowed. "Every item on it had a price—bribes, permits, approvals. I agreed to the amounts, but he kept trying to squeeze more out of me. Excuses, new fees, veiled threats."
"So during our final meeting, I recorded our conversation with a pen mic… and I told him I'd go public if he didn't stop."
"That's what they were looking for?" Danny slammed a fist against the back of Stan's seat, startling him. "That recording?"
"Danny, I swear to God—I didn't think…"
"Why didn't you come to me?" Danny's voice was low now, almost dangerous.
Stan turned to face him, genuinely surprised. "You're kidding, right?"
Danny glared. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"I mean… I don't know how to explain. Damn it, Danny—you've gotta believe me—I never thought that bastard would actually threaten my family. You know I love Rachel. I love Grace. I would never risk anything that could hurt them. I already backed out of the deal."
He was rambling now, desperate.
"Enough," Danny said, cutting him off. "Here's what you're going to do: give me the recording. Then you're going to sit in my office, under protection, until this whole thing is over."
"Rachel and Grace will be staying at the Hilton until then."
——
"What's your next move?" Jack asked as they stood next to the Camaro outside the Five-O office, having dropped Stan off under protection.
This case wasn't complicated. Under federal law, Hawaii operated under the "one-party consent rule" for recordings—meaning only one participant in a conversation had to consent to being recorded for it to be legal.
Stan, being that one participant, had the legal right to record his conversation with Hoffman—and that recording was valid as evidence.
A few states, like California and Florida, followed the stricter "all-party consent" rule, but Hawaii wasn't one of them. Which meant this whole mess didn't even require FBI involvement. Danny could handle it solo.
Still, by the look on his face, Jack could tell Danny wasn't finished yet.
"I'm going to have a chat with a certain scumbag," Danny said, pulling out his phone. After a brief call, he reached for the car keys Jack had been holding.
Half an hour later, Danny picked up a file from HPD, studied the photo inside, and made several calls. Then he and Jack headed to a high-end restaurant in downtown Honolulu.
As they entered, Danny spotted a balding middle-aged man in a linen suit, just paying the bill at the counter.
"Excuse me," Danny said, smiling like a long-lost friend. "You wouldn't happen to be Commissioner Bruce Hoffman, would you?"
The man turned, extended his hand instinctively. "Yes, that's me. Bruce Hoffman."
______
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