Chapter 11 - The Rot in the Precinct
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Two federal tactical medics arrived on the scene with an emergency stretcher, quickly wrapping Vance’s wounded shoulder in pressure bandages.
They hoisted the international financier onto the gurney under heavy armed escort, wheeling him toward an awaiting armored ambulance.
Commander Hayes stood completely motionless under the dim garage lights, his eyes fixed on the damp concrete floor.
For an honest police veteran who had dedicated thirty years of his life to the badge, that single line in the ledger was a devastating blow.
“Thomas,” I said, placing a steady hand on his soaked shoulder.
“You didn't know.”
Hayes looked up at me, his eyes filled with profound sorrow and white-hot anger.
“I handpicked the leadership of the Eighth Precinct two years ago, Arthur,” Hayes said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.
“I vouched for Captain Reynolds in front of the Police Board.”
“And all this time, he was taking fifteen thousand a month to provide private security and interference for human traffickers and foreign cartels.”
“Then we clean house tonight,” I said firmly.
“No cover-ups, no quiet administrative resignations, and no municipal pensions.”
“We drag every single badge that took Vance’s money into the federal courthouse at noon.”
We rode the freight elevator back up to the main floor, the heavy black briefcase handcuffed securely to my own left wrist now.
When the doors parted into the lobby, the atmosphere had transformed entirely into an operational command post.
Federal prosecutors from the Northern District of Illinois were already arriving with stacks of pre-signed federal search warrants.
Special Agent Sarah Lin was sitting behind the Grand Waverly reception desk, extracting surveillance footage directly from the hotel’s mainframe.
Across the room, sitting on an ornate velvet sofa with two federal agents flanking him, was Officer Derek Channing.
He hadn't been transported yet; Hayes had ordered him held in the lobby until we surfaced from the basement.
When Channing saw Commander Hayes and me approach, he stood up abruptly, his eyes swollen and red from crying.
“Commander, please... my captain is on his way right now,” Channing blurted out, clinging to a false shred of hope.
“Captain Reynolds called dispatch and said he’s taking personal command of this jurisdiction!”
Hayes stopped three feet from the young officer, his expression darker than thunder.
“Captain Reynolds isn't taking command of anything, Derek,” Hayes said coldly.
At that exact moment, the front revolving doors spun open once again.
A heavyset man in a gold-braided police captain's uniform stormed into the lobby, flanked by two plainclothes detectives.
Captain Gregory Reynolds scanned the federal agents with an expression of manufactured outrage.
“What is the meaning of this federal circus in my precinct?” Reynolds bellowed, marching straight toward Hayes.
“You have no authority to detain one of my patrolmen without CPD union representation present!”
Reynolds reached out to push past one of my tactical agents, attempting to assert his municipal territory.
Before his hand could make contact, Marcus Vance stepped into his path, leveling his rifle barrel directly at the captain’s chest.
“Step back, Captain,” Marcus ordered, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen.
Reynolds scoffed, turning toward Commander Hayes.
“Hayes! Order these feds to stand down immediately! This is Chicago jurisdiction!”
I stepped forward from behind Marcus, lifting the black leather briefcase into plain view.
May you like
“Not anymore, Captain Reynolds,” I announced with icy precision.
“Your monthly fifteen-thousand-dollar retainer expired ten minutes ago.”
