"Excuse me."
Marcus waited until Sergeant Victoria Hayes finished speaking before addressing her. He stood at a respectful distance, holding the transfer envelope in one hand and his duffel bag in the other.
Hayes did not immediately look at him.
"Officer, if you're here about the patrol schedule, take it to the duty lieutenant. If it's about equipment, talk to supply. If you have a complaint, fill out the proper form."
"I'm here about my transfer assignment."
She finally turned.
Her eyes moved over his uniform, his plain jacket, and the duffel bag hanging beside his leg. Instead of asking his name, she studied him with the expression of someone trying to determine how much trouble an unfamiliar person might cause.
"Your transfer assignment?" she repeated.
"Yes, Sergeant."
"You're a little late, aren't you?"
Marcus glanced at the clock above the dispatch window. It was 8:19.
"My paperwork lists eight-thirty as the reporting time."
Hayes folded her arms.
"Then you should have arrived early. People who want to work in this precinct learn quickly that the clock doesn't care what your paperwork says."
"Understood."
She appeared almost disappointed by his calm response.
"What's your name?"
"Marcus Reed."
"Rank?"
"Officer," he answered.
It was technically true. His formal appointment as chief had not yet been announced, and the badge in his bag would soon establish the rest. He had deliberately chosen to arrive without the special escort or ceremonial introduction normally associated with a new chief.
Hayes gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Another rookie. Wonderful."
"I'm not a rookie, Sergeant."
"Really? Then perhaps you should know that when a supervisor is speaking, you don't stand there questioning everything she says."
"I'm not questioning your authority. I'm clarifying my assignment."
The two officers who had been standing beside Hayes exchanged a quick glance. One suddenly became very interested in the papers on his desk. The other stepped away, apparently deciding that whatever happened next was none of his business.
Hayes noticed their reaction.
"Is there something amusing about this conversation?" she demanded.
"No, Sergeant," both men answered.
"Then get back to work."
They disappeared into the busy precinct.
Hayes turned back to Marcus.
"Listen carefully. This department has procedures, and I expect everyone to follow them. I don't care where you transferred from, who recommended you, or how impressive you think your previous experience was. Around here, you start at the bottom and earn your place."
Marcus studied her face.
"That sounds reasonable. I agree that everyone should be accountable for their work."
"Don't interrupt me."
"I apologize."
"You'll learn," she continued, stepping closer. "I've seen officers like you before. You arrive thinking you're special. You believe a few years somewhere else means you can walk into my precinct and tell everyone how things should be done."
Marcus remained still.
He had heard similar words before, although rarely from someone who had bothered so little to learn whom she was addressing.
"Have you reviewed my transfer documents?" he asked.
Hayes snatched the envelope from his hand before he could respond.
She glanced at the first page, then the second. Her expression shifted from impatience to irritation when she found no detailed explanation of his assignment beyond the official authorization.
"These administrative people are getting worse," she muttered. "They send us officers without explaining anything and expect us to figure it out."
"The assignment was approved by the commissioner."
That statement made her look up.
"The commissioner?"
"Yes."
Hayes studied him more closely for the first time.
"Do you personally know the commissioner?"
"I've worked with several people in that office."
It was another carefully worded truth.
Instead of asking a follow-up question, she thrust the papers back at him.
"Well, that doesn't change anything. I'm responsible for this shift, and I decide where you go until someone tells me otherwise."
She pointed toward an empty desk near a filing cabinet.
"Put your bag there. Then report to the patrol briefing room. We'll find something useful for you to do."
Marcus glanced at the desk.
A handwritten label on its surface read TEMPORARY ADMINISTRATION β RESERVED.
"That desk appears to be reserved for someone," he observed.
Hayes's face tightened.
"Are you refusing an instruction?"
"No. I'm asking whether there's another place I should put my belongings."
"You're making this unnecessarily difficult, Officer Reed."
"I don't believe asking where to store my property is difficult."
For a moment, the noise of the precinct seemed to recede around them.
Hayes stepped closer until she was standing directly in front of him.
"Let me explain something, since apparently nobody bothered to teach you how this department operates. I don't have time for sensitive newcomers who need every instruction explained twice. You do what you're told, you keep your opinions to yourself, and you don't challenge your superiors in front of other officers."
Marcus met her eyes.
"Respectfully, Sergeant, I believe respect should work in both directions."
Her expression hardened.
"Then you're going to have a very difficult time here."
Marcus did not argue.
He simply picked up his duffel bag, moved it away from the reserved desk, and waited for her next instruction.
Inside the bag, beneath a folded uniform and several personal documents, rested a dark leather binder.
On its cover were five gold words that would soon transform Sergeant Hayes's confidence into disbelief.
OFFICE OF THE CHIEF.
And beside it lay the badge that would establish exactly whose authority she had been questioning.