The clock on the precinct wall read exactly 08:00 AM when Officer Rourke slammed the file onto the table.
His eyes were cold, filled with a rehearsed hatred that felt far too personal.
He wanted to break me.
He wanted me to believe that my life was over.
"Hand it over," he barked, his voice echoing through the sterile, fluorescent-lit room.
I looked at him, my pulse racing, but I kept my face as still as a stone.
He thought I was just another civilian he could intimidate into silence.
He had no idea who he was dealing with.
He called me 'black face' like it was a weapon meant to diminish my existence.
Little did he know, he had just handed me the very evidence I needed to destroy him.
The paper in his hand was supposed to be my ruin.
Instead, it was the key to my long-awaited revenge.
I felt the familiar, icy calm wash over me that I hadn't experienced since my days in the shadows.
He sneered, clearly enjoying the power he thought he held over me.
His partner, a woman in a sharp suit, watched from the corner of the room.
She looked nervous, clutching her folder like a shield.
She knew something was wrong here.
She could sense the shift in the air.
Rourke didn't see it, though.
He was too busy basking in his own arrogance.
I took a slow breath, feeling the weight of the hidden recorder strapped against my ribs.
Every word he uttered was being archived, every insult a nail in his professional coffin.
I had spent three years preparing for this exact moment.
I had tracked his corrupt dealings from the docks to the precinct basement.
I knew about the money, the bribes, and the secret accounts he thought were invisible.