Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times and placed it face up on the glass table. "That is a draft of the preliminary injunction I was preparing to file soon. But tonight, you gave me a gift. A horrible, painful, humiliating gift. You gave me undeniable, firsthand, irrefutable evidence of systemic constitutional violations."
The chief stared at the phone as if it were a live grenade.
"But here is the twist, Chief Langston," Julian said, leaning in close. "I do not just want a consent decree. Consent decrees take years. They get bogged down in bureaucratic red tape. I want immediate structural removal of your toxic command staff, and I have the leverage to get it."
Julian's eyes locked onto Langston's. "I know about the Miller-Hastings audit."
Langston physically recoiled. The color vanished from his face so rapidly he looked sickly pale. The Miller-Hastings audit was a highly classified internal review conducted a couple of years earlier regarding the disappearance of a significant sum from the department's evidence locker, money tied to a local narcotics ring. The audit had implicated two senior captains, both of whom were Langston's closest allies.
Langston had buried the report to save his command staff, citing inconclusive findings. "You... how could you possibly know about that?" Langston whispered, his voice trembling.
"I am the special prosecutor," Julian reminded him coldly. "I do not knock on the front door. I come through the floorboards. I was going to use the audit to force your resignation in due time, but after what your boys did to me tonight, the timeline just accelerated."
Julian picked up his water glass and took another sip, letting the chief twist in the wind of his own impending destruction. "Here is your ultimatum, Victor. Non-negotiable," Julian stated, ticking the points off on his fingers. "One, Vance is terminated tomorrow morning.
Not suspended pending investigation. Terminated. I will personally pursue the battery case against him through the proper authorities. You will not protect him."
Langston nodded numbly.
"Two," Julian continued, "you will mandate the immediate implementation of the oversight board the mayor has been advocating for. And you will grant them full subpoena power over your Internal Affairs Division."
"The union will strike," Langston protested weakly.
"Let them," Julian countered instantly. "Because if they do, point three goes into effect. I will hold a press conference on my front lawn. I will release the body-camera footage of my assault.
I will release the 911 audio. I will release the findings of your racially biased traffic stops. And I will release the unredacted Miller-Hastings audit detailing how you, Chief Langston, covered up felony theft by your own captains."
Langston grabbed the edge of the glass table to steady himself. His chest heaved. He was trapped in a perfect, inescapable checkmate. If he fought Julian, he would be ruined publicly and face investigation; if he complied, he would have to betray his union and his friends, tearing down the very power structure he had spent his life building.
"You are dismantling my department," Langston said, his voice hollow.
"I am performing a necessary amputation to save the patient," Julian corrected him. "You built a department that operates on arrogance and impunity. Tonight, you found out what happens when that impunity collides with someone who has the power to fight back. Most people Vance slams against a hood do not have a badge shinier than his. I do."
Julian walked over to the front door and opened it. The cold night air rushed into the foyer. The police cruiser was still parked at the end of the driveway, its lights mercifully turned off. Vance and Pierce were still standing by the doors, waiting for their chief.
"You have until morning to issue the termination papers and sign the oversight agreement," Julian said, holding the door open. "If my phone does not ring by then, I call the press and I call the FBI."
Langston walked slowly toward the door. He looked like a man who had aged years in the span of minutes. He stopped in the threshold and looked at Julian Hartwell.
"I thought I was a good cop, Mr. Hartwell," Langston whispered, a hint of genuine despair in his voice. "Somewhere along the line, I just wanted to protect my guys."
"Your job was to protect the public," Julian said softly, his tone devoid of sympathy. "You forgot the difference. Good night, Chief."
Julian closed the heavy mahogany door. The smart lock clicked, flashing a secure green.
Outside, Chief Langston walked slowly down the driveway. Vance stepped forward, his face tight with frantic hope. "Chief?" Vance asked, his voice cracking. "What did he say? Are we... are we okay?"
Langston stopped. He looked at Vance, the hot-headed patrolman who had just burned down his entire world. Langston felt a surge of rage, but it was not directed only at Vance. It was directed at himself.
"Give me your badge, Derek," Langston said, his voice dead and empty. "And your weapon. You are done."
The neon clock on the wall of the precinct bullpen buzzed with a low, agonizing hum. It was early morning. The squad room was mostly empty, smelling of stale coffee, ozone, and old floor wax. Inside Chief Victor Langston's glass-walled office, the air was suffocatingly thick.