Chapter 24: Strings of the Puppet Master
The 12th Precinct was a fortress of blue steel and corruption. For twenty years, it had operated as a private security firm for the Vittorio Syndicate. Captain Miller, the man in charge, was less of a police officer and more of a mob capo with a badge.
It was 2:00 AM. Captain Miller was in his office, nursing a scotch and trying to ignore the reports of burning stash houses.
The door to his office didn't open. The blinds simply closed. The lock clicked.
Miller spun around, hand reaching for his service weapon.
Max was sitting in the leather chair in the corner, entirely obscured by shadows.
"Don't reach for the gun, Captain," Max said. "I calculated the draw time. You're point-four seconds too slow."
"Who are you?" Miller barked, though his hand hovered, trembling. "How did you get in here?"
"I walked in," Max said, stepping into the dim light. "Your security system runs on a truncated algorithm I cracked in the parking lot. Your men are asleep at the front desk—sleeping gas in the ventilation. A bit cliché, I know, but effective."
Miller stared at him. "You're the kid. The Bomber."
"I prefer 'The Audit'," Max said. He tossed a thick manila folder onto Miller's desk.
"What's this?"
"That," Max said, "is your life. Every bribe you took. Every murder you covered up. The offshore accounts in Panama. The mistress in District 9. And... the cancer diagnosis you're hiding from the department so you don't lose your pension."
Miller went pale. "You... you can't prove any of this."
"I don't need to prove it to a judge, Captain. I just need to send it to the Vittorio family. You see, I noticed you've been skimming off the top of their bribes. Taking a little extra. The Don doesn't like thieves."
Miller slumped in his chair. The fight left him instantly. He poured himself another drink, spilling half of it.
"What do you want?" Miller whispered. "Money?"
"I have money," Max said. "I want the law."
Max leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk.
"Tomorrow morning, you are going to issue a warrant for Kaelen Thorne. Racketeering, murder, arson. You are going to freeze his legitimate assets. You are going to pull every patrol car off the South Ward and send them to raid the Vittorio docks."
"That's suicide," Miller said. "The Don will kill me."
"The Don might kill you," Max corrected. "But I am standing right here. And I promise you, Captain, my version of justice is far less bureaucratic than the state's."
Max's eyes flashed black. The room seemed to stretch. Miller felt the crushing weight of Max's Intimidation stat, amplified by his Warlord status. It felt like gravity had doubled.
"I... I'll do it," Miller gasped, clutching his chest.
"Good choice," Max said, standing up. "Oh, and Captain? One more thing."
Max tapped the folder.
"I own you now. If you ever hesitate, if you ever think about calling Kaelen... I won't send this file to the Don. I'll send it to your wife."
Max walked to the window, opened it, and vanished into the rain-slicked night.
Miller sat alone in the silence, realizing that the city had traded a gang of wolves for a single, terrifying tiger.