Chapter 5 - Stripping the BadgeBy noon, the shockwave hit the Fourteenth District precinct like a physical blow.
Officer Derek Mitchell was sitting at his desk when two Internal Affairs investigators in plain suits walked past the bullpen, stopping directly in front of him.
“Officer Mitchell,” the lead investigator said, his voice flat and devoid of professional courtesy. “Hand over your service weapon and your shield. You are suspended pending a formal disciplinary and criminal investigation.”
Derek stood up so fast his chair slammed backward against the filing cabinet. “Are you out of your mind? On whose authority? This is absolute bull—!”
“Step away from the desk, Derek,” a cold voice echoed from the doorway.
Captain Vance stood at the entrance of the bullpen, looking older, paler, and entirely defeated. He wouldn't even meet Derek’s eyes. “Turn in your gear. There’s an active warrant for domestic battery and witness intimidation signed by Director Reed herself.”
The surrounding patrolmen froze, their pens hovering over paperwork as they watched one of their own being systematically dismantled in broad daylight. The realization swept through the room with terrifying speed: Derek wasn't just in trouble; he had been completely abandoned by the brass. The shield that had protected him for years had just been tossed into the trash.
Trembling with rage and sudden, blinding panic, Derek unbuckled his holster, dropped his Glock onto the desk, and unpinned his silver badge.
“You’ll regret this,” Derek hissed, glaring at the investigators. “My uncle will have every single one of you pounding pavement in the outer districts by Monday morning.”
“Your uncle is currently answering questions down at headquarters,” the investigator replied coldly, snapping handcuffs onto Derek’s wrists. “You’re done, Officer. Welcome to the other side of the law.”
As Derek was hauled out through the precinct lobby in full view of his peers, his phone buzzed continuously in his pocket—unanswered text messages from frantic colleagues asking what happened.
Within two hours, the news had trickled through the underworld channels straight to Lorenzo Duca’s desk.
Tony Messina stood before the walnut desk with a satisfied smirk. “It’s done, boss. Internal Affairs moved fast. He’s locked in a holding cell downtown, and his uncle has barricaded himself in his suburban home, refusing calls from the press.”
Lorenzo didn't smile. He simply closed the manila folder containing Maria’s case file and slid it into a secure drawer.
“And Maria?” Lorenzo asked.
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“She’s upstairs in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Chun,” Tony replied. “She doesn't know yet.”
“Let her finish her shift in peace,” Lorenzo instructed quietly. “Then bring her to the study.”
