Made me out to be some kind of monster. The lawyer's just doing his job, Donovan said cautiously. No. Derek's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. He's trying to destroy the whole system. Making it impossible for cops to do their jobs.
And he's using me as his example. The room fell silent. Finally, Mercer spoke. What are you thinking, Derek? I'm thinking it's time someone stood up for what's right.
Derek pulled out the bailiff's confiscated gun, checking it methodically. Before there are no real cops left. At the District Attorney's office, Marcus stared at his computer screen in disbelief. The sealed files on the Central Tactical Task Force contained far more than anyone had anticipated. Hundreds of excessive force complaints systematically buried, evidence tampering, coordinated testimony to protect unit members.
And at the center of much of it, Derek Simmons. My God, Marcus whispered, opening another document labeled Operation Clean Sweep. Sophia peered over his shoulder. What is it? It's a playbook, Marcus said.
A literal playbook for covering up misconduct. Look, standard practices for disabling body cameras, consistent language for reports to justify force, even scripts for testimony. Sophia's expression darkened as she read. This wasn't just bad officers. This was institutional.
And Simmons was one of their star players. Marcus opened another file. Look at these performance evaluations. He was commended for maintaining control of high crime sectors and aggressive pursuit of quality of life enforcement. Coded language, Sophia noted.
But here's what's really interesting, Marcus continued, pointing to a signature block. Who signed off on all these glowing reviews? Sophia leaned closer. Captain Laura Reeves. The same Captain Reeves who testified against him.
Marcus sat back, pieces falling into place. The same Captain Reeves who suddenly developed concerns about his behavior after the task force was disbanded. She's covering herself, Sophia realized. And she knows more than she's telling. Marcus reached for his phone.
We need to talk to her. Now. As night fell over the city, news helicopters circled, searchlights swept through neighborhoods, and citizens locked their doors against the threat of a rogue officer. What had begun as a trial was evolving into something far larger. An unraveling that would expose not just one man's prejudice, but a system built to protect it.
Dawn broke over the city as Marcus paced his makeshift war room at the DA's office. Evidence boxes from the sealed task force files surrounded him. Their contents spread across tables, whiteboards covered with names, dates, and connections. Sophia entered with coffee and concern etched on her face. Did you sleep at all?
She asked. Couldn't, Marcus replied, accepting the cup gratefully. Not with what's in these files. He gestured to a photo board displaying 18 officers, the complete Central Tactical Task Force at its peak. Red X's marked four faces, including Derek Simmons.
These four were directly implicated in at least 20 excessive force complaints. All buried. Marcus tapped another eight photos. These officers provided cover or false testimony. And the others?
Administrative. Primarily handled paperwork. Ensuring reports were properly formatted before submission. So the entire unit was corrupt. The entire unit was designed to be corrupt, Marcus corrected.
That's what makes this different. This wasn't bad apples. The barrel itself was rotten. District Attorney Eleanor Grant pushed through the door, immaculately dressed despite the early hour. Tell me you have something we can use to find Simmons.
I have something bigger, Marcus replied. A conspiracy that goes all the way up to the former chief of police. Eleanor's expression hardened. Marcus, I asked for Simmons' location, not an institutional critique. They're connected, Marcus insisted.
Look at these property records. The task force maintained three processing sites, off-the-books locations for interrogations that wouldn't hold up in court. Black sites, Sophia translated. Exactly. And they're not on any official inventory.
One was supposedly decommissioned, but the utilities are still active, paid through a shell account. Eleanor examined the address. You think Simmons is hiding there? Or someone hiding him knows about it. These sites were the task force's most closely guarded secret.
Only insiders would know about them. Eleanor grabbed her phone. I'll dispatch tactical units. Wait, Marcus interrupted. If we raid all three simultaneously, we lose our advantage.
The task force had signals, ways of warning each other. We need to be smarter. What do you suggest? Let me work with Captain Reeves. She was their administrative head.
She knows how they communicated, how they operated. Eleanor hesitated. Reeves is already under internal investigation for her testimony. She may not be reliable. She's scared, Marcus countered.
That makes her useful. She knows the department can't protect her from what's in these files. Her best option is full cooperation. Fine, Eleanor conceded, but I want regular updates. If Simmons isn't found in the next 24 hours, I'll have no choice but to involve federal agencies.
After she left, Sophia voiced what they both feared. If the feds step in, controlling the narrative becomes impossible. Everything we've found could be buried all over again. Then let's make sure they find him before that happens. Marcus gathered key documents.
Call Captain Reeves. Tell her to meet us at the Howard Street coffee shop. Not here, not the police station. You don't trust her coming to official locations? I don't trust anyone right now, Marcus admitted, and after what I've read, neither should you.
Across town, Derek Simmons paced the small bedroom of the safe house, sleep deprived and increasingly agitated. The television droned continuously, his only window to the outside world and the massive manhunt underway. Police sources confirm Officer Simmons may have received assistance in his escape, the news anchor reported. Internal Affairs is investigating possible accomplices within the department. They're closing in, Derek muttered, pulling back the curtain slightly to scan the quiet street.
Ray Donovan entered with a burner phone. Got a message from Mercer. They're setting up search parameters using your known locations. Your apartment, gym, usual haunts. They won't find me here, Derek stated, though his confidence was weakening.
That's not all, Donovan continued. The sealed task force files have been opened. That prosecutor, Brooks, he's going through everything. Derek froze. What?
Emergency court order. They're using it to establish patterns, predict where you might go. It's not about finding me, Derek snarled, slamming his fist against the wall. It's about destroying everything we built. Everything we protected.