Tina Cole Williams – POV
Everything Chief Devon Michael said in his office sounded true, yet a part of me kept rejecting it, searching for any reason to believe it wasn't real.
By the time I got home, I felt completely drained and detached. Maybe it was the chase for Waller Greene earlier today… or maybe I'm just overwhelmed by everything collapsing around me at once.
FLASHBACK – Four Years Ago, New York City
Rain hammered against the broken windows of the old garment factory in Brooklyn. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, too far to help, too late to matter.
Detective Tina Cole Williams—a detective in the NYPD already feared for her instincts—moved through the shadows with her gun drawn. Her breath came out steady, controlled. She'd been hunting this ghost for months.
Detective Mark Halperin.
Her partner.
The one she trusted.
The one who sold intel to the very gangs they were chasing.
A metal clang echoed ahead.
Tina called out, "Mark! Don't make this worse. Step out."
He appeared from behind a pillar, soaked and unshaven, eyes wild. "Tina… put the gun down. We can talk."
"You leaked witness files," she fired back. "You got Sergeant Peña killed. And for what? A cut from the Kingsmen cartel?"
His jaw tightened. "You don't understand the game in this city."
"Oh, I understand it," she said, advancing. "I just refuse to play dirty."
He smirked. "You won't shoot me. You're not built like that."
She answered by shifting her aim a hair to the left and firing.
The bullet struck a loose steel beam behind him, sending it crashing to the floor inches from his leg.
Mark flinched hard.
"That was your warning shot," Tina said. "Your one."
He went for his gun.
She was faster.
A rush forward—
A twist of his wrist—
A heavy elbow to his ribs—
They crashed to the concrete, rain blowing in through the cracked roof as they grappled.
Mark swung wildly. She ducked, hooked his arm, and slammed him flat on the wet floor.
He groaned, pinned and defeated.
Tina cuffed him, breathing hard but steady. "You always underestimated me, Mark. That's why you're the one on the ground."
Backup stormed in behind her, stunned to see Halperin down and Tina standing over him like a storm that had learned to fight back.
That arrest made Tina a name in the department.
It also made her watch her back.
It was the first time she learned how deep corruption in New York could run.
---
BACK TO PRESENT – NEW YORK
The memory dissolved as i stared at my ceiling, the weight of the chief's words still pressing on my chest.
If i survived taking down one corrupt cop before…
I could survive finding the truth about Waller Greene now.
Because I've distinctively learned long ago:
New York always hides something.
And am the one who always uncovers it.
I stood up, then dropped back into the chair at my work table, frustration pushing the air from my lungs. I powered on my computer and loaded the complete file on Detective Waller Greene. His profile filled the screen—every line, every detail—yet the longer I stared, the more I realized this case was already slipping through my fingers.
This wasn't going to be simple.
Not with someone like him.
My instincts were already buzzing—he knew I was on his trail. He'd vanish, fade into the cracks of the city, become a ghost. But ghosts are my specialty… and I'm very good at dragging them back into the light.
I'd been close to him earlier today—too close. Something in the air shifted at the last second, a quiet warning that this case wasn't what it looked like. That there was something darker beneath the surface I needed to uncover before making Greene my prime target.
I switched tabs and opened the personnel files of Greene's old unit.
Sarah Lee.
David Moore.
Ethan Barnes.
Jeremy Ross.
Valerie Dean.
Names with spotless records.
Commendations from high-ranking officials.
A team assembled with precision—almost too perfect.
I frowned, unease crawling up my spine.
Why would a government agency stack a single investigative unit with agents of this caliber?
What exactly were they preparing for?
Or… what were they trying to contain?
Because one thing was clear:
something big was happening in the shadows of this city.
And whatever it was—
it was already in motion.
I glanced out my window. Night had swallowed the city whole—too late to visit any precinct contact, too late to chase leads without blundering straight into trouble. I sighed, closed the case files, and pushed away from the desk.
Then the hairs on the back of my neck rose.
A sound—soft, almost polite—like a footstep muffled on carpet.
In my apartment.
I froze.
Another creak.
My hand drifted toward the drawer where I kept my off-duty weapon, fingers brushing the metal—
when the door to my bedroom exploded inward.
Two men dressed in black tactical gear stormed through, masks covering their faces, guns raised.
"Target located," one growled.
Adrenaline surged through me.
I flipped the worktable and dropped behind it as bullets shredded the air, splintering wood, ripping through screens, shattering the lamp beside me. Sparks flicked across my cheek.
"Kill her before she calls it in!" the second man barked.
Kill.
Not scare.
Not warn.
Kill.
I wasn't dealing with thugs.
This was a professional cleanup.
I drew my weapon and fired two quick shots. One bullet grazed the first attacker's arm, forcing him behind the hallway wall. The second man dove behind my couch.
Glass burst behind me. A bullet had missed my head by inches.
"Okay, Tina," I whispered to myself, steadying my breathing. "Think."
If I stayed pinned down, I was dead.
I reached for the metal floor lamp—thick, heavy, perfect—and yanked the cord free. The moment the shooter behind the couch reloaded, I hurled the lamp across the room.
It crashed into the window, drawing both attackers' eyes for a fraction of a second.
My opening.
I vaulted over the flipped table and launched myself at the nearest man. We slammed into the wall. His gun flew from his hand. He elbowed me in the ribs, hard, but pain could wait—I grabbed his mask and slammed his head into the doorframe.
He dropped.
The second man charged, knife out now, fast and silent. I barely dodged the first swing. The blade sliced a line across my jacket.
He raised it again—
I caught his wrist—
twisted—
and drove my knee into his stomach.
He staggered, but recovered quicker than I expected, sweeping my legs. I hit the floor hard, breath knocked out of me. He moved in for the kill.
I rolled, grabbed the fallen gun, and pointed it at him.
"Drop it," I hissed.
He hesitated.
A second too long.
I fired into his shoulder. He screamed, collapsing sideways.
The room fell silent except for his ragged breathing and my pounding heart.
I stood, gripping the weapon to steady my shaking hands.
Someone had sent these men.
Someone who knew exactly where I lived.
Someone who wanted me gone before I dug any deeper.
I stepped over the unconscious attacker and grabbed my badge and phone.
Staying here was no longer an option.
As I backed toward the door, I whispered to myself, and to whoever was listening:
"You want me dead?
Then I'm closer to the truth than I thought."
My hands were still trembling, but my mind had already switched into survival mode. I holstered the gun, stepped into the hallway, and shut my ruined apartment door behind me. Sirens would be here soon—but not because I called them. Someone would have reported the gunshots.
I couldn't be here when uniforms arrived.
Not tonight.
Not when I didn't know who to trust.
I hurried down the emergency staircase and exited through the back alley. The cold night slapped my face awake. I kept moving—head down, hood up—until I reached a street crowded enough to swallow me.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I stopped under a dim streetlight, thumb hovering over the screen.
Should I answer?
The phone buzzed again—persistent, urgent.
I inhaled and picked up.
A distorted voice crackled through. "Detective Williams… you weren't supposed to survive tonight."
My chest tightened. "Who is this?"
A low chuckle. "You're getting too close. Walk away."
"I don't walk away."
"Then you'll end up like Moore."
The line went dead.
A cold wave washed over me. They knew David Moore. They knew me. They knew everything.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and kept walking, faster now. I needed help—but not from anyone inside the department. Too risky.
There was only one person I could trust to assess a threat like this: Captain Renee Carver, my former mentor, now retired and living off the grid in Queens. She'd been through black-ops cases, shadow work, covert investigations—work most officers never survived.
If anyone would understand what just happened, it was her.
I caught a cab and kept my eyes on the mirror the entire ride.
---
Ten Minutes Later – Captain Carver's House
I knocked twice, a code she taught me years ago.
The door flew open, and Carver pulled me inside before I could speak. Her gray hair was tied back, her eyes still sharp enough to cut granite.
"You brought trouble with you," she said, locking three separate deadbolts.
"I didn't have a choice."
She studied me—my torn jacket, my scraped cheek, the stiffness in my stance. "Tell me everything."
I took a deep breath. "Two men broke into my apartment tonight. Professionals. They tried to kill me."
Carver didn't flinch. "And who did you piss off this time?"
"Someone connected to Waller Greene and David Moore."
At the mention of their names, something flickered behind her eyes—recognition.
"Carver," I said slowly, "what do you know?"
She walked to her old desk, opened a drawer, and slid a dusty file across the table. "I warned the department years ago about the people Greene's team was investigating. I told them to shut the operation down before it got out of hand."
My pulse hammered. "Why?"
"Because the people they were chasing aren't regular criminals." She leaned in. "They're connected to a rogue division inside the government. The kind that erases problems instead of solving them."
"And Greene and Moore were the problem," I breathed.
Carver nodded. "And now you are too."
A silence settled between us—heavy, dangerous, final.
I swallowed.
"What do they want?" I asked.
She exhaled slowly. "To bury the truth. And anyone who digs."
I clenched my fists. "Then let them try."
Carver cracked a faint, grim smile. "Good. You'll need that fire. Because you're not just chasing a fugitive anymore…" She slid another file toward me, one thicker and darker than the rest.
"You're stepping into a war."
My eyes immediately widened, indeed it's my job to tear this all down, they just crossed a line.