“What happened?”
“Footage disappeared.”
“How?”
“System failure.”
Ethan stared at her.
“System failure.”
“Yes.”
“Was it investigated?”
“Yes.”
“Result?”
“Technical malfunction.”
Ethan slowly closed his notebook.
“Do you believe that?”
Hayes didn't answer immediately.
“No.”
That was the first time Ethan saw fear in her expression.
Not fear of him.
Fear of what she might discover.
“What was on the footage?”
Hayes looked toward the door.
“A confrontation between Mercer and a civilian.”
“Who was the civilian?”
“A sixteen-year-old boy.”
Ethan's face hardened.
“What happened?”
“He filed a complaint.”
“Against Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“What did he allege?”
“Mercer struck him during an arrest.”
“Any witnesses?”
“Two.”
“Did they support the complaint?”
“One did.”
“What happened to the witnesses?”
Hayes closed her eyes briefly.
“One moved away.”
“And the other?”
“Changed his statement.”
Ethan was silent.
“And the footage?”
“Missing.”
He looked at her.
“Did the boy withdraw the complaint?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Hayes shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Ethan knew what he was going to do next.
“Find me the case number.”
Hayes gave it to him.
He wrote it down.
Then he looked at the clock.
“It can wait until tomorrow.”
Hayes looked relieved.
Ethan stood.
“Unless someone tries to move it tonight.”
Her expression changed.
“You think they will?”
“I would.”
He left her office.
At 5:18, the station began to empty.
Officers finished shifts.
Doors closed.
Phones became quieter.
Ethan remained in his office.
He was not ready to leave.
The first day had given him too many questions.
He needed answers.
At 6:03, his office door opened.
Lieutenant Collins stood there.
“Still here?”
“Yes.”
She closed the door.
“I checked the records room.”
“And?”
“The Mercer file is still there.”
“Good.”
“But someone opened the cabinet.”
Ethan looked at her.
“When?”
“Between three and five.”
“Were you watching it?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I left a paper in a specific position.”
She placed the paper on his desk.
The edge was folded differently.
Ethan understood.
“Someone opened the drawer.”
“Yes.”
“Did they take anything?”
“No.”
“Then why open it?”
Collins looked at him.
“To see whether we knew.”
Ethan leaned back.
“Or to find something.”
Collins nodded.
“There is more.”
She took out another document.
“This was behind the cabinet.”
Ethan unfolded it.
It was a disciplinary memo.
The name at the top was not Mercer.
It belonged to a former detective.
James Holloway.
Ethan read the date.
Twelve years earlier.
The allegation involved evidence tampering.
He looked at Collins.
“What happened to him?”
“Retired.”
“Voluntarily?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“He resigned.”
“Why?”
Collins shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Ethan read the final line.
“Evidence insufficient.”
He looked at her.
“Where did you find this?”
“Behind the cabinet.”
“Why was it there?”
“I think someone hid it.”
“Why?”
Collins looked at him.
“Because the original case disappeared.”
Ethan felt the pieces beginning to connect.
Mercer.
Missing footage.
Old complaints.
Evidence.
A hidden disciplinary memo.
Someone accessing cameras.
Someone monitoring employees.
The department wasn't simply resistant to a new chief.
It had a history.
A history someone had worked very hard to bury.
At 6:27, Ethan decided to go home.
He locked his office.
Then he stopped.
He looked at the corridor.
Something felt wrong.
The hallway was too quiet.
He walked toward the records room.
The door was closed.
He opened it.
The lights were off.
Ethan turned them on.
The cabinet was open.
He walked toward it.
The Mercer file was gone.
The folder Collins had hidden was gone.
The old disciplinary memo was gone.
Everything was gone.
Ethan stood completely still.
Then he heard footsteps behind him.
He turned.
No one.
He walked into the hallway.
At the far end, a door closed.
Ethan moved quickly.
He reached it.
Locked.
He checked the handle.
Nothing.
Then he heard the elevator.
The doors closed.
Ethan walked toward it.
By the time he arrived, the elevator was already moving downward.
He pressed the button.
Nothing.
He looked toward the stairwell.
Then he heard his phone vibrate.
One message.
Unknown number.
“YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE FILE ALONE.”
Ethan stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
“THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.”
He didn't respond.
Instead, he took a screenshot.
Then he called Commissioner Hayes.
She answered.
“What happened?”
Ethan looked at the empty hallway.
“The files are gone.”
Silence.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Who took them?”
“I don't know.”
Hayes sounded frightened now.
“Chief, leave the building.”
Ethan frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if someone can access those files, they can access almost anything.”
Ethan looked toward the security camera.
The red light was blinking.
“I think they want me to leave.”
“Then leave.”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
He rarely heard her use his first name.
“This isn't a joke.”
“I know.”
“You need to get out of there.”
Ethan looked around.
“No.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stay.”
“Why?”