Where police vehicles formed a perimeter around the building. Officers in tactical gear positioned themselves behind barricades weapons trained on the main entrance. He spotted Sophia near the command vehicle and rushed over. What happened? He demanded.
Simmons never made it inside," she explained. "Security spotted him in the garage and called it in. When officers arrived, he fired twice and escaped through a service corridor." "And Jamal?" "Secure.
They locked down the studio when the first shots were reported." Relief washed over Marcus, quickly replaced by frustration. He was so close. "How does he keep slipping away?" "Because he knows exactly how we operate," Chief Wilson interjected, joining them with a grim expression.
"The security footage confirms it was Simmons. He's becoming more brazen." Marcus's phone rang, a number he didn't recognize. He answered cautiously. "You can't protect him forever, Brooks."
Derek's voice, tense and ragged. "This ends only one way." "Derek." Marcus kept his tone measured, signaling frantically to the officers around him. "You need to turn yourself in before someone gets hurt."
A bitter laugh. "Like you care about people getting hurt. You and your crusade, destroying good officers to make your name." "This isn't about me," Marcus countered. "This is about accountability."
"Accountability?" Derek's voice rose. "Where was your accountability for Andre Mitchell? You failed him, too." The name struck Marcus like a physical blow.
"How do you know about Andre?" "I know everything about you, counselor. Your time as a public defender. How you lost case after case against our task force. How Mitchell killed himself after you couldn't save him."
Derek's voice dripped with contempt. "You're not pursuing justice. You're chasing redemption." The call ended abruptly. Marcus looked up to find Wilson and Sophia watching him.
"Did they trace it?" He asked. Wilson shook his head. "Burner phone. Signal bounced between multiple towers."
"He mentioned Andre Mitchell." Marcus said quietly. "How would he know I represented him?" "The reporter." Sophia suggested.
"If she found the connection." "No." Marcus interrupted. "This is something else." "He spoke like he's been watching me for a long time." Back at the DA's office, Marcus sat alone staring at a five-year-old case file he'd retrieved from storage.
Andre Mitchell, 17. Arrested for possession with intent to distribute. The police report, signed by officer Derek Simmons, described finding drugs in Andre's backpack during a routine search near a known dealing location. Andre had insisted the drugs weren't his. Marcus had believed him.
But without evidence of planting, the case had seemed unwinnable. He'd advised Andre to take a plea deal. 18 months instead of five years. Three months into his sentence, Andre had fashioned a noose from bed sheets. A knock interrupted Marcus's thoughts.
Sophia entered with coffee and concern. "You've been staring at that file for an hour." She observed. "I keep thinking about what I missed." Marcus admitted.
"The task force's methods, their templates for fabricating evidence. It's all here. I just didn't see it then." "You couldn't have known." "Couldn't I?"
Marcus's voice hardened. "I knew something was wrong with these cases. The patterns were too convenient. The evidence too neat. But I was overwhelmed handling 80 cases at once.
I took the easy path." He closed the file. "Andre paid the price for my expediency. And that's why you're doing this now, Sophia concluded. Jamal's case is your second chance.
It started that way, Marcus acknowledged. But now it's bigger than any one case. Derek seems to think this is personal. Maybe it is. Marcus stood, resolution firming his features.
But that doesn't make it wrong. Across town, Captain Laura Reeves sat in her darkened living room, a glass of bourbon in one hand, her service weapon on the table before her. The day's events had left her shaken, caught between loyalties that once seemed perfectly aligned, but now pulled her in opposite directions. Her phone lit up with a text. We know you're talking to Brooks.
Last chance to make this right. No signature needed. The threat was clear enough. Laura picked up her weapon, checking it methodically, a habit formed over decades of service. She had built her career on navigating department politics, on knowing which corners could be cut, and which lines never crossed.
But somewhere along the way, the distinctions had blurred. Her doorbell rang, startling her. Through the peephole, she saw Chief Wilson waiting on her porch, alone. Chief, she greeted him cautiously after opening the door. I wasn't expecting you.
This isn't an official visit, Laura. His expression was unreadable. May I come in? In her living room, Wilson declined a drink, sitting stiffly on the edge of her sofa. I received an interesting call today, he began.
Former Chief Miller. He's concerned about the direction of the Simmons investigation. Specifically, about the sealed task force files. Laura's pulse quickened. Those files were opened by court order.
Yes, for the purpose of locating Simmons, Wilson agreed. But Brooks is using them to construct a broader case against department practices. Practices that preceded my tenure but occurred under Miller's watch. And under mine, Laura admitted. That's why you're here, isn't it?
To find out how much I've told Brooks. Wilson leaned forward. Miller has friends on the police commission. Friends concerned about the department's reputation. They're prepared to close ranks, Laura.
To contain this. Contain it how? By limiting the scope of the investigation. By ensuring certain historical contexts remain appropriately contextualized. Laura understood immediately.