Liam's Pov
'Now,' I thought, eyes narrowing. 'Let's talk game plan.'
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, eyes fixed on the highlighted words lactose powder burning in my HUD.
[I'm listening.]
'First, I need to talk to the cops who arrested Hale. Get their reports firsthand. If they're sloppy, they'll contradict themselves. If they're clean, I'll know what I'm up against and if possible ask them to recheck the traffic cam's'
[Names?']
I scrolled through the folder. 'Detective Raymond Cross. Officer Daniel Ruiz. Tag them both for interview priority.'
Two names popped up in my HUD, crisp and highlighted.
Eve chimed, [And you'll want their body cam footage.]
'Exactly. If it exists, I'll find the cracks. If it doesn't, that tells its own story.'
I tapped the milk powder highlight again. 'Second—get a sample of the lactose powder from evidence. But not rely on the state lab. I want it tested independently. Something tells me the obvious answer isn't the right one.'
Eve gave a soft, skeptical hum. [It's still milk powder. Unless Hale was hiding Oreos in his glove box, this feels like a stretch.]
I smirked. 'Maybe. But hunches win cases. And this one stinks.'
She logged it in. [Noted. Third?]
'Marcus Hale himself. I need everything on him. Who he trained, who he pissed off, and who might benefit from seeing him fall. Media's already bought his "I was framed" line. If I can find the cracks in his story—or the hand pulling the strings—it flips the board.'
Eve displayed the list, clean and sharp:
Marcus Hale Case – Game Plan
1. Interview Cross & Ruiz, pull body cam footage and traffic cam's
2. Acquire a sample of lactose powder from evidence, test independently.
3. Deep dive on Marcus Hale's background, connections, and enemies.
She added, [That's it? Only three steps?']
Leaning back in the chair, eyes half-closed, Sharingan fading away. 'That's it for now. Don't worry. Three moves are all I need to checkmate. I think?'
I slid the last document back into the folder and shut the box. No need to keep it open anymore—I'd already burned everything into my mind. The Sharingan didn't forget.
I grabbed my bag, ready to move. Step one: the cops. No reason to waste time.
But the moment I pulled the door open, I almost bumped into a man standing outside. Mid-forties, sharp suit but a little worn around the edges—like it had seen too many late nights and not enough dry cleaning.
His face was lined, not with age alone but with exhaustion. Beth was beside him, introducing him with her usual warmth. "Mr. Harper, this is Prosecutor Daniel Briggs."
I offered a polite smile and extended a hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
Briggs didn't bother. His eyes met mine, steady, measured, and his voice carried none of the pleasantries.
"Let me save you the trouble, kid. There's no further evidence. Nothing else exists outside of that box. This case was always destined to be a loser."
I kept my composure, listening.
"They pushed it onto me because my career's already circling the drain. One more loss doesn't matter, but then you showed up… and for reasons I'll never understand, Cameron handed it to you."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "I am in no position to question his decision, but frankly—you're walked into quicksand."
There was no bitterness in his tone, just resignation. A man at the end of the road, already making peace with the fall. That honesty made me respect him more than his words.
As he turned to leave, I called out. "Briggs."
He stopped, half-turning, a faint trace of curiosity in his eyes.
"Can you do something for me?"
A beat passed before he asked, "What is it?"
"Get me a sample of the lactose powder from evidence."
That made his brow twitch upward. He studied me for a long second, then let out a low breath that was half a chuckle.
"You're either desperate or insane," he muttered but there was the faintest ghost of a smile.
"Fine. I can't deny a dying man's request." And with that, he walked away down the hall, his shoulders heavy but his steps a little lighter.
I exhaled slowly, then glanced at Beth. "Come in, Beth."
She followed me inside
"I need meetings set with two names immediately: Detective Raymond Cross and Officer Daniel Ruiz—the ones who arrested Hale."
Beth gave a small nod, scribbling it down in neat, practiced strokes. "I'll handle it."
"Good." I grabbed my bag and adjusted the strap over my shoulder. "I've got some work to take care of, set up the meeting as soon as possible"
Her eyes flicked up at me, calm and professional, but I caught the faintest glimmer of intrigue.
She'd seen plenty of young prosecutors flame out. Maybe she was curious if I'd burn the same way.
I didn't wait for her response. With the case in my head and the first threads of a plan forming, I walked straight toward Cameron's office.
Anna was at her desk when I walked up, tapping something into her computer.
"Is he in?" I asked.
She glanced up, then picked up the phone. A short exchange, then she nodded at me.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Cameron was in his chair, half-turned toward the window. A case file rested open on his desk, and in his other hand was a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. He didn't look surprised to see me. His smirk was already there.
"It's just been an hour, have you already given up?" he asked, voice dripping with amusement.
I didn't bite. Wordlessly, I pulled a folder from my bag and set it on his desk.
His eyes narrowed slightly. He tilted the glass back, drained the last sip, and leaned forward to open the folder.
"Resigning?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Disclosure. Informing you of my investment. I'm a silent partner in a game development company."
His eyes flicked from the document back to me. "Video games?" The word came out sharp, almost incredulous.
I didn't flinch.
He gave a quiet huff, half a scoff, half a laugh. "Fine. I'll have it logged in."
I gave a curt nod, then turned for the door.
"It's an interesting case." I said and left without waiting for a response. But I could feel his eyes on me as I walked out, weighing, measuring, maybe even amused.
I needed air and food because there was nothing else to do right now, so i took my bike and left for an early lunch.
The ride across the city cleared my head, the hum of the bike vibrating through my gloves as I cut through traffic.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled onto a quieter street, where the familiar green-and-white cart stood at its usual corner.
"Tony's Quick Bites."
Tony Marquez, the owner, was already working the grill, spatula clinking against metal as the smell of grilled onions and toasted bread filled the air. I parked the bike, unstrapped my helmet, and walked over.
Tony spotted me immediately. "Harper! Right on time—thought you'd forgotten me this week."
"Not a chance," I said, leaning casually on the cart's counter.
He grinned, hands busy stacking meat and cheese. "How's life treating you?"
"Complicated," I replied. "But manageable."
"And business?" I asked back, watching him flip the sandwich bread with his usual precision.
"Can't complain. Office workers, students, cops—everybody wants a sandwich sooner or later." He smirked, then added, "Except Mondays. Mondays are dead."
I chuckled. "And your son? Still glued to his computer?"
Tony's expression softened with a father's pride. "Yeah. Coding day and night."
"Sounds like he's on the right path," I said.
Tony wrapped my usual—grilled turkey and cheese with his special sauce—and slid it across. I paid in cash, nodded a thanks, and carried it over to a bench near the cart.
I sat, unwrapping the sandwich, and Eve's voice cut in smoothly.
[What are you thinking?]
I chewed, watching the traffic roll by. 'The case. Going over the pieces in my head.'
[Worried?]
'No,' I answered. 'I believe I can win. Something's off with this case, Eve. I can feel it.'
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