Chapter 1 — The Wrong Man
The night was unusually quiet on the outskirts of Chicago.
A thin layer of fog drifted across the empty parking lot, illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights of a patrol vehicle. The surrounding streets were nearly deserted. Storefronts had closed hours earlier, and the occasional passing car disappeared into the darkness before its headlights could fully illuminate the scene.
Beside the patrol vehicle stood a man in a perfectly tailored black suit.
His name was Daniel Cross.
He appeared to be in his late thirties, with neatly combed dark hair, a clean-shaven face, and an expression so controlled that it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. A small detective badge was clipped discreetly to his jacket.
His hands were secured behind his back with handcuffs.
His chest was pressed against the side of the patrol car.
Standing behind him was Officer Ryan Mitchell, a white police officer in his early forties. Mitchell had a broad build, a tightly clenched jaw, and an increasingly hostile expression.
"Keep your hands where they are!" Mitchell barked.
Daniel did not struggle.
"I believe there's been a misunderstanding, Officer."
"Did I ask you to speak?"
"No."
"Then keep your mouth shut."
Mitchell pushed Daniel's shoulder against the vehicle again, making the metal door rattle.
Daniel slowly turned his head enough to look at him.