Chapter Eight: Decision and Hope

Across the table, Commissioner Henry Smith, a man known for his good authority, looked like a ghost of himself. His daughter, Isabel Smith, had been taken.

The ransom demand had come hours ago—one million dollars in cash, untraceable bills, and no cops—or she died.

Evelyn knew better. This wasn’t about money. It never was, not with criminals, this was calculated.

She asked the commissioner if he suspected anyone, but he shook his head. "No one," he replied. "My daughter has never caused trouble."

 Isabel had been taken from her university parking lot in broad daylight. No witnesses, no surveillance footage—too clean. The kidnappers had either planned this for months or had help from someone inside. Commissioner Henry said

“Detective Cross,” Henry said. “Find her. No matter the cost.”

She nodded, but there was no comfort she could offer. Not yet.

Evelyn went to Isabel’s university, weaving through the bustling campus as she searched for anyone who might have answers. She questioned students, professors, and staff, but most had little to offer beyond the usual—Isabel was bright, well-liked, and had no known enemies.

Just as she was about to leave, a young woman hesitated before stepping forward. "I can show you where she usually parks her car," she offered.

Evelyn followed her across the campus, past rows of vehicles until they reached a secluded corner of the lot. "This is where she always parked," the friend said, her voice uneasy.

Evelyn scanned the area, her instincts kicking in. Something about this spot felt off. The kidnappers had made a mistake—a tire track, deep in the mud near Isabel’s car. Evelyn had forensics rush it, and soon, she had a partial match—a stolen black van used in an armed robbery two months ago.

"That van was last seen in the West District," 

West District. Gang territory.

Too professional for street thugs.

Evelyn and her team went undercover, tracking the van’s movements. A few bribes later, an informant whispered two words: Leroy Campbell.

A known car smuggler, Campbell specialized in supplying criminals with hijacked vehicles—no questions asked. When Evelyn and her team cornered him in his chop shop, he put up a front of indifference, claiming he never kept records of his clients.

But after a grueling interrogation, sweat beading on his brow, Campbell finally cracked. “I don’t ask names,” he muttered, voice shaking. “But… I can set a trap.”

Evelyn exchanged a glance with her team. It was a risk—but it was their best shot.

And so, the trap was set. The kidnappers set a meeting. A warehouse at the docks. Midnight. No cops.

Evelyn went in alone, wired, gun holstered under her leather jacket. The ransom bag felt heavy in her grip. The air smelled of salt and rust.

A masked man stepped forward, dragging Isabel by the arm.

“Money first,” he growled.

Evelyn’s instincts screamed. Something was off.

Then she saw it—Isabel’s eyes weren’t filled with terror. They were calculating.

She wasn’t just a hostage. She was involved.

The moment Evelyn tossed the bag, the lights cut out. Gunfire erupted.

Her team stormed in. The setup had backfired.

In the chaos, Evelyn grabbed Isabel and yanked her to safety.

“You weren’t scared,” Evelyn said. “You knew.”

Isabel's lips parted, hesitation flickering.

“The kidnapping was staged, wasn’t it?” Evelyn pressed.

Tears welled in Isabel’s eyes. “I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered. “They said they’d kill my father.”

 Isabel was safely taken into custody, and Evelyn and her team escorted her back to the commissioner’s estate. The grand house loomed in the darkness, its towering iron gates swinging open as they approached.

The moment the commissioner laid eyes on his daughter, relief washed over his face. He rushed forward, pulling Isabel into a tight embrace, his hands gripping her shoulders as if to reassure himself that she was there. “You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank God.”

Evelyn watched the exchange in silence, arms crossed, her sharp gaze never leaving Isabel. The girl clung to her father, but there was something in her body language—something hesitant. A flicker of conflict in her eyes.

The commissioner turned to Evelyn, his expression full of gratitude. “Detective Cross, I can’t thank you enough.”

Evelyn gave a small nod, but she didn’t linger. She had done her job. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked back to the car, her mind heavy with everything that had unfolded.

As the city lights blurred past her on the drive back to the station, she replayed Isabel’s words over and over in her head.

"I didn’t have a choice… They said they’d kill my father."

The tremor in Isabel’s voice had been real. The fear is undeniable. But fear of whom? If she was just another victim, why had she hesitated before speaking?

Evelyn gripped the steering wheel tighter. Something about this whole situation wasn’t sitting right.

And she wasn’t going to let it go.

By nightfall, Evelyn went to West District, dressed in civilian clothes, blending in with the city’s underbelly. A few well-placed bribes got her the name she needed: Nathan Cole.

Nathan Cole was a ghost. No address, no phone records, no real footprint. But his past? That told a different story.

His sister, Lillian Cole, had been killed five years ago. The official report claimed it was a robbery gone wrong, but the details never added up. Whispers in the streets told a darker truth—she had been silenced for getting too close to something dangerous.

Something connected to Commissioner.

Evelyn’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t just a kidnapping. This was revenge.

 

 Evelyn stepped onto the dimly lit street, the scent of damp asphalt mixing with the faint trace of cigarette smoke. The crime scene had long been cleared, but something told her to come back. A hunch. A feeling.

Then she saw him.

Nathan Cole leaned against a crumbling brick wall, the glow of his cigarette illuminating his sharp features. He looked too calm—too comfortable for a man with so many ghosts behind him.

Evelyn’s pulse quickened. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Nathan exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching her with unreadable eyes. “Neither should you.”

She didn’t wait for his next move. In a flash, she closed the distance between them. Nathan dodged her first strike, but she anticipated his counter, twisting his arm behind his back. He struggled, but Evelyn was faster. More determined.

A scuffle. A curse. Then, with a sharp twist, she had him pinned.

“Looks like you’re coming with me,” she said, her breath steady despite the rush of adrenaline.

At the station, Nathan sat cuffed to the metal chair, his expression unreadable under the cold, flickering light. He hadn’t said a word since she brought him in, but Evelyn wasn’t interested in what he had to say—not yet.

Instead, she reached for her phone.

She dialed the number, pressing the receiver to her ear.

The line rang once. Twice. Then a voice answered.

“Commissioner Henry,” she said, her tone clipped. “I need you and your daughter down at the station. Now.”

A pause. A beat too long.

Then, finally, Henry's voice came through. Low. Cautious.

“This had better be worth my time, Detective.”

Evelyn glanced at Nathan. His smirk was gone.

“Oh,” she said, her grip tightening around the phone. “It is.”

The tension in the station was thick enough to cut with a knife. Commissioner Henry sat stiffly in the interrogation room, his hands clasped together on the metal table. Beside him, his daughter, Isabel, shifted comfortably, her wide eyes betraying the fear she tried to mask.

Evelyn stood by the door, arms crossed, watching them. “Bring him in.”

A moment later, the door swung open, and Nathan Cole stepped inside, wrists bound in cuffs. His usual cocky demeanor was gone, replaced by something unreadable. But the second Isabelle laid eyes on him, her entire body stiffened. Her breath hitched, and her fingers curled into fists on her lap.

She was shaking.

Evelyn didn’t miss it. Neither did Nathan. His gaze flicked toward her, something dark and knowing passing behind his eyes.

Evelyn took a step forward, her voice steady but firm. “At this point, you all need to start talking.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Nathan exhaled slowly, then tilted his head toward Evelyn.

“I will,” he said, voice calm. “But first—you need to take these off.” He lifted his cuffed wrists, the metal catching the light. “I don’t talk in chains.”

Evelyn studied him, weighing her options. Around the room, the tension only grew.

Nathan’s breath came in ragged, uneven gulps, his chest rising and falling as if he were drowning. His fingers twitched at his sides, fists curling and uncurling, desperate for something—anything—to hold on to. But there was nothing.

“The only family I had left,” he choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper. “They were killed by this man.” His throat tightened, his words breaking like fragile glass. “And he gets to live… with his family. Laughing. Smiling. Happy.”

His vision blurred, but not from tears. No, there were no tears left. Just the crushing weight of emptiness, of loss so deep it hollowed him out from the inside.

The commissioner sat back, his fingers drumming against the desk, as if this were just another routine conversation. His lips parted, and Nathan clung to the smallest, most foolish hope that maybe—just maybe—he would hear something human, something real.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the commissioner said, his voice flat. A pause. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Let’s talk numbers. How much do you want?”

For a moment, Nathan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then his whole body trembled. His nails bit into his palms, and his pulse pounded in his ears. The room was suddenly too small, too suffocating, the walls pressing in on him.

His head lifted, slow, deliberate. His eyes burned—a deep, furious red, not from grief anymore, but from the kind of rage that turned men into monsters.

“You don’t even have a dime of sympathy,” he whispered, each word laced with venom, with the kind of pain that could break bones. His voice shook, not with fear, but with the weight of something dark, something unstoppable.

The commissioner met his gaze, unmoved.

Nathan swallowed hard.

Money. That’s all it was to him.

Nathan pulled out a gun, leveling it at Henry's chest. “You took my sister from me. I’m just returning the favor.”

Isabel turned sharply, eyes flashing. “No. You said he’d suffer, not die.”

Evelyn’s blood ran cold. Isabel wasn’t just a hostage—she was part of this.

Before Evelyn could react, Isabel yanked free from Nathan’s grip and grabbed the gun from his hand. In an instant, she turned the barrel toward her father.

“Do you know how long I’ve known, Dad?” she whispered. “How many nights have I had to pretend I didn’t see the blood on your hands?”

Henry remained still, his expression unreadable. “You don’t understand, Isabel.”

Evelyn took a careful step forward. “Isabel put the gun down. We can take him in. Make him pay the right way.”

Isabel’s hands trembled, but her eyes were wild with fury. “The right way? How many men like him walk free because of the ‘right way’?”

Nathan reached for the gun, but Evelyn was faster. In a swift move, she disarmed Isabel, shoving her back against the crates. Nathan lunged, but Evelyn had already drawn her weapon. “Enough.”

Evelyn had to call for backup, taking out Isabel and Nathan from the room and leaving Evelyn and Commissioner only in the room.

Henry exhaled, adjusting his suit. “You made the right call, Detective.”

Evelyn turned to him, gripping the file tighter. “Did I?”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, Henry smirked. “I can make this go away, you know. Make you bigger than you ever imagined.”

Evelyn stared at him, heart pounding. The weight of the recording in her hands felt heavier now. This wasn’t just about the case anymore. This was about a choice.

One that could change everything.