The next day, Ethan arrived early at the office.
The second floor was still half-empty, with that strange quiet before the shift really started. But he wasn't alone.
Near his spot, Detective Mia Sumners—the new addition to the team—was sitting down, going through some old case files. She had taken the only available desk, the one Julia had left vacant.
—Good morning!
Her voice came quickly as she noticed his presence.
—Good morning, Detective —he replied with a slight nod.
Behind him, Mia continued organizing… though now, every so often, she glanced up to look at him.
That policewoman had an uncommon stubbornness. Anyone else in her place would have backed off after realizing her boss didn't want her there—but not her. She was persistent; that much had to be acknowledged.
She stood up and walked over to his desk.
—I want to make something clear from the start —she said, crossing her arms and holding his gaze firmly—. I'm not a snitch, and I'm definitely not here to watch Sergeant Voight's every move. That's not my role, and it's not my intention.
He let out a faint exhale, almost as if it didn't matter, and looked away for a second before replying in a dry tone:
—It doesn't matter. That has nothing to do with me—he said, giving a slight shrug. There's no point in telling me.
Ethan smiled faintly and propped his feet up on the desk.
—Oh, I forgot your name.
Ethan raised his hands in a careless gesture, as if the detail didn't matter at all.
—Mia Sumner.
The woman clenched her teeth at that, holding back her frustration.
—Alright, Detective Sumner.
Ethan gave a slight smile. His eyes moved over her, assessing her in silence for a moment.
—If you really want to be part of this unit, prove it with actions, not words.
He said it while holding her gaze.
—I don't care how you got here. If you want to stay… prove your worth.
Sumner looked at him, confused at first, as if she hadn't expected such a direct response. But that expression slowly faded.
Her posture shifted: her shoulders relaxed slightly, her chin lifted with determination. The frustration was still there… but now it was paired with resolve.
She didn't respond immediately. She simply nodded, then turned and went back to her desk. Ethan ignored her, lowered his feet from the desk, and turned on his computer.
He planned to look deeper into Frank. Remembering what had happened the night before, he wanted to dig further. To his surprise, there was no record of any illegal activity or charges against him—not in the criminal database, not even a traffic violation.
A person with no record could only be explained in two ways: either he was a model citizen, or someone smart enough to never get caught. With Frank, there was no doubt. He wasn't a saint—he just knew how to move without getting caught.
That meant he understood the rules of the game perfectly.
During that time, the rest gradually arrived at the bullpen, and when they saw Sumner, they all looked surprised.
She seemed to have changed her attitude and began introducing herself to everyone; most responded politely.
When Hank saw her, he ignored her completely and walked straight into his office.
With a stranger present and without knowing her background, everyone in the bullpen became more cautious with their words and actions.
—Bzzz… bzzz…
His phone vibrated.
Ethan checked the caller ID; it was the real estate agent from the day before.
He picked up the phone and walked toward the balcony.
—Mr. Reed, I hope you have good news.
—Of course, Mr. Morgan.
Reed's cheerful voice came through the line.
—I've spoken with the owner, and he's more than happy to accept your offer. When are you available so we can sign the contract?
Ethan glanced toward the bullpen; for now, there were no urgent or priority cases.
—At noon, if that works for you.
—At noon?
Reed asked, surprised.
—You mean today at noon? In about three hours?
—Am I speaking another language? If I said noon, just confirm the place.
Ethan lit a cigarette and replied calmly:
—Is there a problem?
—Absolutely not, no problem at all!
On the other end, Reed practically patted his chest in excitement.
At first, he had thought gathering such a large amount of money would take time and had been prepared to wait three to five days, even more than a week.
He hadn't expected him to have that amount of cash ready.
Reed asked cheerfully:
—Do you need me to arrange a lawyer for you?
—No, I'll find one myself.
Ethan declined naturally; he could handle that.
How hard could it be for a cop to find a good lawyer?
—Alright, then I'll see you later —Reed replied quickly.
Ethan hung up.
Shortly after, he found Antonio. The man had connections even with the State's Attorney, so finding a specialized lawyer through his contacts was easy.
Although he didn't know what Ethan was planning, for Antonio, it was just a small favor.
After arranging the lawyer, Ethan returned to his seat.
Not long after sitting down, Erin approached, moved her hands, and dropped a thick stack of documents onto his desk. That sweet girl was really good at desk work.
Ethan uncapped his pen and began signing the documents—he now had to cover Erin's next three shifts.
After lunch, Ethan drove his Tahoe to the address Reed had sent him.
It didn't take long to arrive. It was a commercial office building; it also housed Reed's real estate agency.
He parked slowly in an underground parking space and looked around, checking for cameras or people nearby.
There was no one around, so he waved his hand—and out of nowhere, four duffel bags appeared in the trunk. He had checked the exact amount of money the night before.
As soon as he pulled the bags out, his phone rang, and Reed asked with concern:
—Mr. Morgan, where are you right now?
—Right downstairs in the building's parking garage.
—Do you need me to arrange security for you?
—No, I'll be up in a moment.
—Alright, your lawyer has arrived. We're waiting for you in the office, fifteenth floor.
He hung up, picked up the four heavy duffel bags—each weighing over fifty pounds—and started walking. The strain was evident in his hands.
The echo of his footsteps bounced off the concrete of the underground garage.
Ethan moved toward the exit ramp, still under the structure, bags in hand, when the security guard stepped out of the booth and signaled to him.
—Sir, do you need help? Those look really heavy.
The guard approached quickly, curious—maybe a little too trusting.
—Thanks, but I'm good —Ethan replied with a smile, not slowing down.
But at that very moment, something changed.
A sharp sound. Ethan turned his head slightly.
Not far away, a work van parked along one of the side rows slid its door open with a harsh screech that cut through the space like an alarm.
Five men stepped out almost at the same time. They wore black hoods and carried rifles.
—Watch out! —Ethan roared.
The bags hit the ground with a heavy thud as he let go of them. In the same motion, he dove behind the nearest concrete pillar.
The first burst of gunfire thundered through the parking structure. The shots echoed between the columns, turning into a deafening roar.
The guard barely had time to turn. The bullets struck him directly. His body jerked violently before collapsing to the ground, motionless.
Chaos erupted in seconds.
—Bang! Bang! Bang!
Glass shattered. Metal tore apart. Sparks flew from the columns.
Ethan slid behind the pillar, pressing his back against the concrete as impacts chipped pieces around him. He felt the bullets whizz past inches from his head.
He took one breath. Just one.
And activated his radar.
Five points moving straight toward him.
The bags.
They were after the money.
—Damn it…
He drew his gun and flicked off the safety with his thumb, almost on reflex. Leaning slightly, he peeked from the edge of the pillar.
—Bang! Bang!
Two clean shots.
One of the attackers dropped instantly, hitting the ground without even understanding what had happened. Another took a hit to the shoulder and stumbled back, dropping his rifle with a shout.
The others hesitated—they hadn't expected armed resistance.
Ethan took advantage of that moment. He moved, crouching low, slipping between parked cars while changing angles.
He pulled out his phone without losing sight of them.
—Detective Morgan, badge number 99527. I've got a 10-33, repeat, 10-33. 11-99, officer under fire. I'm in an underground parking garage on West Archer Avenue, between 14th and 15th. 10-71 in progress, five suspects armed with rifles. One civilian down.
Gunfire.
—99527, copy. Units en route. ETA three minutes. SWAT is on the way. Stay alive.
Ethan dropped the phone.
No time. The attackers regrouped quickly. Bullets started sweeping the area, hitting the booth, the cars, and the ground. Concrete chipped apart. Metal rang.
Ethan dropped flat against the cold asphalt.
He couldn't peek.
In the distance, faint at first, sirens began to wail.
The attackers heard them too, because the gunfire paused briefly.
—The cops—how did they get here so fast?! —One shouted.
Ethan used the brief pause and ran low, zigzagging between vehicles until he reached his SUV.
Bullets followed him.
They struck the body with sharp impacts, punching through metal.
He yanked open the rear and ducked behind it.
Next to him—the case. Hard plastic. He opened it without thinking—it held the rifles. He grabbed an AR-15, inserted the magazine, and pulled the charging handle with a clean, solid sound.
At that moment, under covering fire, two of the men ran toward the bags.
They thought it would be easy. One crouched and, in a single motion, tried to lift a bag—but the weight stopped him cold… and that mistake cost him.
Ethan leaned out slightly, bracing the rifle on the edge of the vehicle.
—Son of a bitch!
He pulled the trigger.
A short burst.
The rounds hit the man directly in the head. He dropped instantly. The second barely had time to react before Ethan tracked him between the cars and took him down.
The remaining two froze. This wasn't what they expected.
They reacted late… and badly.
They fired wildly, more out of panic than aim. Bullets ricocheted across the parking structure, hitting car bodies and columns, sending sparks and debris flying that forced Ethan to take cover again.
He didn't stay still. He moved immediately, circling a car and shifting position before they could lock onto him again.
The sirens were close now. Very close.
The van's driver shouted something. One was already inside, firing blindly outward. The last one ran low, weaving between cars, and jumped into the vehicle.
—Let's go, let's go!
The engine roared.
Tires screeched against the concrete as the van sped toward the exit, still firing as they retreated.
And within seconds…
They were gone.
Through the radar, he watched them escape out of range. He left his weapon in the vehicle and ran toward the fallen security guard.
He didn't dare move him too much; he could only press the wound—the man had already lost too much blood.
—Hang on, man. The ambulance will be here soon.
But the guard couldn't hold on. His body twitched twice, and the light faded from his eyes.
Slowly pulling his hands away, Ethan knelt on the ground.
He looked at his palms… completely covered in blood.