Chapter 52

Chapter 52
The precinct was a madhouse. Phones ringing off the hook, reporters yelling outside, everyone running around like headless chickens. After what happened to Dave, and then what Rhodes pulled on live TV, it felt like the whole city was just… breaking.

I was trying to make sense of the new chaos, sitting at Dave’s desk, which felt weirdly empty without him. My phone buzzed like crazy with updates, news alerts, and calls from higher-ups who sounded totally freaked out.

Then I saw it. Rhodes’s press conference, playing on the big screen in the bullpen. He was up on the steps of City Hall, supposed to be strong, supposed to make things better. But instead, he looked like he'd seen a ghost. His eyes were wide, darting all over the place. He was sweating like a pig, even though it wasn't hot.

Then the teleprompter messed up. Or someone made it mess up. This old, dusty letter popped up on the screen behind him, right as he was talking. It was a letter from Davies, the old Commissioner, about some dirty money deals. And Rhodes's name was all over it.

Rhodes just froze, staring at the screen like it was gonna bite him. His words just stopped making sense. He started shaking, yelling, not about the Killer, but about "Davies's crew" and "the truth that wouldn't stay buried." He wasn't even talking to the cameras anymore; it was like he was yelling at the shadows in his own head. He just totally lost it, right there in front of everyone.

My jaw dropped. The whole bullpen went silent, then a bunch of cops started mumbling, looking at each other, shocked. This wasn’t just a boss having a bad day. This was a man cracking wide open, spilling secrets he’d probably tried to bury for years. He started talking about "lost souls" and "foundations built on lies." It was wild. It was messy. And it was exactly what Dave had been trying to dig up.

The city went nuts after that. My phone blew up. Protests started popping up everywhere, people yelling, demanding answers, wanting Rhodes out. Online, it was a total firestorm – everyone was talking about how crooked the city must be if the top cop was losing his mind and spilling dirt like that. The whole idea that the city was safe, that the people in charge knew what they were doing, just went out the window.

And Dave… he was still in the hospital. I’d gone to see him that morning. He looked a little better, but still pale, still hooked up to tubes. He was just starting to come around more, asking quiet questions. I knew he’d hear about Rhodes. He wouldn't be able to stay still. This whole mess was probably making his brain work overtime, even from his bed.

The Killer was really playing a dangerous game. First, the dart in Dave, putting him out of commission. Then, this public meltdown with Rhodes. It was like they knew exactly how to push all the buttons. They were pulling strings, making everyone dance. Rhodes was so scared he just blurted out everything. That was the Killer’s plan all along, I bet. To make him so terrified that he’d break and confirm all the awful stuff Dave had been trying to expose.

I looked at Dave’s whiteboard, now a mix of fresh marks and old notes. The connections he’d made, the names he’d written – Davies, Sterling, that Anthony Jameson guy. It was all adding up to something bigger, something way uglier than anyone had imagined. And now, Rhodes had just screamed it out to the whole city.

The precinct was chaos; the city was chaos. But in that chaos, the truth was finally starting to come out. And as soon as Dave was strong enough, he was gonna be right back in the middle of it. This wasn't just a case anymore. It was a full-blown war. And we were right on the front lines.

David

The first thing I really felt was a dull ache in my left shoulder, like someone had punched me hard. Then came the taste of stale hospital air and the quiet beeping of machines. My eyelids felt heavy, glued shut. When I finally forced them open, the bright white ceiling was blinding.

I was in a hospital room. That much was clear. The IV line in my arm, the slight pull from the bandage on my shoulder. Memories slowly trickled back: the metallic clink, the sudden, sharp jab, slumping over my desk, Ben yelling. The Killer. They’d gotten me. Inside the precinct. That hit me harder than the dart.

I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness made me fall back against the pillows. My head felt foggy, like I’d slept for a year. A TV was on in the corner of the room, up high on the wall. It was on a news channel, thankfully. The sound was low, just a murmur at first.

Then I saw him. Rhodes . His face filled the screen. He was standing outside City Hall, on the steps, with a bunch of cameras and reporters in front of him. He looked like hell. His hair was a mess, his eyes were wild, and he kept wiping sweat from his forehead. Even from here, I could tell he was freaking out.

I watched, trying to make sense of it. He started talking about the Killer, about safety, about how the police were doing everything they could. His voice was shaky, not like the usual Thomas Rhodes at all. He was trying to sound strong, but he was failing big time.

Then, the background changed on the big screen behind him. It was a teleprompter, I knew. But instead of just showing his words, this grainy, old-looking letter popped up. It was a scanned document, a bunch of words, and at the bottom, a messy signature. My eyes, still a bit blurry, strained to read it. It was about some shady deal, something about money being moved around years ago. And then I saw it – Davies’s signature. And right next to it, plain as day, Rhodes’s name. His actual signature, too.

Rhodes saw it. Oh, man, he saw it. The color just drained from his face like someone had pulled a plug. He stopped talking completely, mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. His eyes locked onto that screen, wide and full of pure, gut-wrenching terror. The camera zoomed in a little, and you could see the sweat dripping down his temples. He looked like he was about to throw up.

The reporters started yelling questions, a wall of noise. He just stood there, frozen. Then, he started shaking his head, slowly at first, then faster. He looked around wildly, like he thought the Killer was standing right there in the crowd, watching him.

"No! No, it's not –" he stammered, his voice cracking. "That's... that's old! That's Davies! He made me! He made us all!"