Chapter 77

I was pulled out of the haze of fatigue as the phone rang loudly in the dark office. "Agent Richards," I said while massaging my temples.

Even at this unearthly hour, my partner's clipped and businesslike voice said, "Decker here. We've got movement on Monroe."

I quickly sat up in my chair, forgetting about my tiredness. "What kind of movement?"

Decker hesitated. "Something significant. But listen-HQ wants you to pull the plug on him. They don't think the heat is worth it."

"What?" My voice echoed louder than I meant when I snapped. "Pull the plug? After how far we've come?"

"You know how it works, Richards," Decker said with a sigh. "An order is an order."

Without saying another word, my chest heaved as I slammed the phone down. How were they able to? How could they now ask me to leave?

That evening, I failed to return home. These days, it wasn't unusual. Years ago, Melissa stopped inviting me to dinner. Oh, Mia... When I walked through the door, Mia hardly raised her head from her phone.

Melissa had once said, frustrated, "You'll work yourself to death, John," as I snatched up my coat for yet another late-night shift.

I had responded, "Better me than someone else."

However, tonight's dinner was not cold on the table, and Melissa wasn't waiting. The weight of the file on Ethan Monroe sitting in front of me, and the constant hum of my mind.

You could feel the eerie silence pressing against your eardrums in the graveyard. The coldness of the air encircled me like a scold. I stared at the gravestone, my breath visible in the crisp evening air.

"Hey, Dad," I murmured, my voice cracking.

I knelt, brushing the leaves off the headstone. Samuel Richards. Beloved Father.

"You told me to always do the right thing. To fight for justice, no matter the cost." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "But what do you do when justice isn't clear? When the system you serve doesn't care about what's right?"

A breeze rustled the branches, as if delivering some kind of answer.

"I promised you," I muttered, tears welling in my eyes. "I promised I'd make things better. That no one else would have to suffer due of greed and corruption." My claws dug into my palms as my fists tensed. They're now requesting that I cease. in order to release Ethan Monroe. Following everything..."

Unbiddenly, I was reminded of my father's hospital room-his ragged breathing, the beeping machines, the doctor's words replaying in my head. If we'd been better off financially...

More money. Funding that Monroe Enterprises had ripped away.

I jerked to my feet, clenching my jaw. With a raspy voice, I said, "I'm not sure if I can let this go, Dad." "If I do, I'm not sure if I can live with myself."

I was left alone with the darkness as the wind grew stronger and carried my words away.

When I returned to the office, the file looked back at me as if to challenge me silently. From the top of the heap, Ethan's well-groomed face made fun of me.

Earlier that week, Decker had rolled his eyes and muttered, "Richards, you're obsessing."

Perhaps I was. But wasn't that the point?

I turned to find Decker leaning against the door frame as it creaked open behind me.

He said, "You're still here," in a softer than normal voice.

I pointed to the jumble of papers before me. "I can't let it go."

Decker's demeanor was unreadable as he crossed his arms. "You must. HQ's not going to back you on this."

I averted my eyes as my jaw tensed. "What if I don't care what HQ thinks?"

Decker let out a deep sigh. "Then you'd better be ready to burn bridges, John. And maybe yourself along the way."

Without saying anything else, he departed, leaving me by myself once more.

Just myself and my thoughts. alone with my father's disappointment's ghost.

Ethan Monroe was most likely sleeping comfortably someplace out there, unaware of the storm that was building all around him.

Not for long, though.