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Puffs of steam still drifted from the twisted wreckage of the car as Trooper James Kincaid was completing his assessment of the accident scene in the darkness of that frosty November morning.
In his twenty-two years as an Illinois State Police officer, Kincaid had responded to numerous calls like this. Here, a gray Chevrolet Camaro had veered off the southbound lanes of Interstate 55, crashed through the highway fence, crossed the frontage road, and crashed into a large oak tree.
Upon peering inside the vehicle, he saw the lifeless body of the male driver. Kincaid requested an ambulance and performed his other obligated duties. Once the body was removed, Kincaid radioed for a tow truck and started filling out the tow-in report.
During the inventory of the accident vehicle, Kincaid discovered two duffle bags in the truck of the vehicle, which were full of cash, likely belonging to a drug cartel.
Dazed, he slowly walked back to his squad car and sat down. His mind was whirling and his thoughts racing as he tried to mentally process the previous couple of minutes. Knowing his first wife was going to get half of his police pension and his second wife was currently getting $800 a month in child support, his retirement was looking bleak.
At that moment, Kincaid made the choice. He climbed out of his squad car, grabbed one of the duffle bags of money, and dropped it into the truck of the squad car, and slammed the lid. Who was ever going to know?
