"FBI! You're under arrest!"
Aubrey and Clay, wearing baseball caps and jackets emblazoned with the FBI logo, quickly stepped forward and pinned down two NYPD patrolmen who were issuing traffic tickets.
The two patrolmen were so stunned they forgot to resist until they were handcuffed. They
suddenly woke up and cried out in their defense. Taylor, jogging along behind Jack, quickly pulled out his camera to capture the scene.
Meanwhile, at NYPD headquarters,
Simmons Patrick watched with a sullen face as several detectives were escorted out of the office by FBI agents and white-shirted Internal Affairs officers, then handcuffed. A cold sweat streamed down his back, seemingly unstoppable.
The sudden attack had caught him off guard, and he even felt dizzy. Earlier, when an FBI agent approached him, he had nearly offered his hands to the agent, but the agent had only just brushed past him.
After a long moment of composure, Simmons made sure the FBI agents and Internal Affairs officers had left and quickly found an empty break room.
As he pulled out his phone, he realized his hands were shaking violently, as if he'd been transported back to the first time he'd shot a suspect, over 20 years earlier.
"Sir, there's an incident. Yes, it's all ours. I'm not sure I'm safe yet, but the situation is dire. Yes, I trust you. Got it. I won't do anything. I'm completely loyal, rest assured. Got it."
After hanging up, Simmons returned to the hallway, making sure no one was paying attention. He lowered his head and quickly entered the elevator, pressing the button for the second floor.
"Vosco is the bravest detective I've ever met, and a friend I could trust with my life."
In the large office on the second floor of police headquarters, Danny, his arm around Detective "Doudou"'s shoulder, boasted to the other detectives about their experiences the previous night.
Detective Danny Reagan was, for the most part, a reserved individual. After all, with a father who was the boss of everyone here, a good job was his due, but a poor performance would make him a troublemaker. A
retired soldier from Marun, Danny had always been hot-tempered and intolerant. He had solved countless cases over the years, but he had also gotten into a fair share of trouble.
While his colleagues in the Serious Crime Unit didn't exactly keep their distance from him, few, with the exception of his former partner, Jenny, who was pregnant and had gone into labor, were particularly close. It wasn't
until Jack showed up that Danny, with his string of major case-solving and numerous media appearances, finally established his authority and became a kind of "big brother" to his colleagues.
While he was grateful to Fusco for taking the blame for him, under normal circumstances, Danny wouldn't have done the lavish boasting he was doing now.
But there was no way someone had already written the script. Everyone was now just part of the "play." Whether the FBI and NYPD Internal Affairs let Simmons-Patrick go, it was all for Fusco's fame.
As Jack put it, to uncover the true leaders of "HR," they had to elevate Detective "Bean"'s status and importance as much as possible.
Fusco's face was practically breaking with laughter. While he knew the scene before him was half-truth, there was no mistaking the fact that
he had taken a bullet for the chief's son. Regardless, his attempt to atone for his sins was now just a sham. Chief Reagan would surely not hold him accountable for his minor mistake.
Unfortunately, his good mood vanished upon seeing Simmons winking in the hallway. This unfortunate undercover mission had to continue.
Finding an excuse to leave the office, Fusco walked into the underground parking garage, opened the door of his plainclothes police car, and got in.
But the next second, the cold muzzle of a gun was pressed against the back of his head. "Congratulations, Leonard (Fusco), how does it feel to rise through the ranks by betraying your colleagues?"
A drop of sweat rolled down Fusco's forehead. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to calm down. "Listen, Simmons, I've never betrayed HR. Otherwise, I wouldn't have come down to see you.
And you wouldn't have been so safe and sound to threaten me."
Although Jack had warned him before, and the two had even played out the possible scenarios—Jack's speculation, of course, with Doudou just acting—
anyone would be nervous to have a gun pointed at the back of their head, even though he had experienced it once before.
"When you gave me the safe house address, weren't you betraying your good partner?" Simmons scoffed in the back seat and put away his gun.
"Don't be scared, it was just a joke."
Unexpectedly, Fusco exploded the next moment. "A joke? Are you kidding me?"
Turning around, he reached over the back of the chair, grabbed Simmons by the collar, and pulled him close, spraying him with spit.
"Did you know I almost got beaten to death last night? If I wasn't wearing a bulletproof vest, you'd be damned if you tried to joke with me now."
Fusco suppressed his voice, even inside the car, wanting to avoid attention, but the fury in his eyes was undeniable.
"I don't understand why you'd work with that self-righteous mafia bastard. The FBI told me he paid a fortune to hire criminals to target the families of all the 'HR' members he'd worked with.
Now, in order to secure a reduced-charge deal, he's sold the 'HR' list to the FBI."
Putting all the blame squarely on Laija, Fusco angrily let go of Simmons' collar and sat in the driver's seat, panting heavily, his back soaking wet.
Simmons was even more nervous than him when he heard this at first, but a moment later he showed a suspicious expression, "It was Lai Ya? But that doesn't make sense. Then why are you and I okay?"
Fusco glared at him angrily, "How should I know? I only contacted you. Maybe he's not smart enough to remember so many names, or maybe the FBI has other information channels."
He paused, a mysterious expression on his face, "But I heard that Lai Ya hid a ledger that records all his financial flows, including those who received cash."
Simmons' face changed drastically, and he subconsciously reached out to press Fusco's shoulder, "Are you sure?"
"Not sure." Fusco slapped his hand away, "I've been threatened to work for you, and I've never received a penny. I'm definitely not on that list."
Unexpectedly, Simmons pulled out his gun again and put it to his head, his tone grim, "Although 'HR' has been shut down, it's not out yet. Some senior executives are still there, and the boss is still there.
We are working on a behind-the-scenes deal. If it succeeds, we can ensure that most people can land safely and maybe even keep their pensions."
(End of this chapter)