Chapter 3
The afternoon sun cast long, angular shadows across the polished oak floors of Arthur’s office as Elena slid a thick manila folder across the desk. The cover was stamped with public records requests and digital metadata markers. Arthur opened it, revealing a dense mosaic of personnel files, payroll audits, and citizen complaint logs tied directly to the Third Precinct.
“It took some digging through secondary databases, but Redding’s file is quite a read,” Elena reported, leaning against the edge of a leather chair. “Carl Redding has been with the department for twelve years. Three commendations for valor, but also seven internal affairs investigations—all quietly dismissed or closed due to insufficient cooperating witnesses.”
Arthur scanned the pages, his eyes pausing on a familiar pattern of civilian altercations near downtown commercial districts. “Always near construction sites or high-traffic pedestrian zones,” Arthur observed. “Always involving individuals carrying briefcases, laptops, or valuable equipment. He targets people he assumes won’t risk the time or public exposure to fight back.”
“There’s more,” Elena added, tapping a printed financial summary. “Redding filed for personal bankruptcy two years ago. High debt-to-income ratio, multiple overdue vehicle loans, and a pending foreclosure notice on a suburban home in Cook County. He’s financially cornered, Arthur. And desperate men make careless mistakes.”
Arthur closed the folder, resting his fingertips together. The image of the shattered photo frame flashed briefly in his mind—the smiling woman and the child. Beneath the uniform and the aggressive posture, Redding was a man holding onto a fraying life by a thread of institutional immunity. But that did not excuse the violence, nor did it excuse the casual destruction of private property. Accountability did not care about personal financial strain.
“Has he been assigned to the same beat this week?” Arthur asked.
“Yes. Third and Wabash. Morning and early afternoon shifts,” Elena confirmed. She hesitated, watching him closely. “What are you planning to do, Arthur? You can’t just patrol the streets looking for an officer who assaulted you. That crosses a line from victim to vigilante.”
May you like
“I have no intention of breaking the law, Elena,” Arthur replied evenly, standing up to adjust his jacket. “I am merely a citizen exercising his right to walk the public sidewalks of his city. Sometimes, the best way to expose a systemic flaw is to give it enough room to repeat itself under proper observation.”
He retrieved his briefcase—the exact twin to the one that had been kicked into the gutter earlier that morning—and checked its contents. Inside lay a high-definition micro-camera disguised as a fountain pen, primed to record both audio and video with pristine clarity.
