Chapter 1 - The Weight of the BadgeThe heavy brass doors of St. Jude’s Chapel groaned shut behind Daniel Voss and Celeste, sealing the sudden vacuum of suffocating silence they had dragged inside with them. Every head in the pews had turned. Some eyes were wide with disbelief; others burned with a bitter, simmering rage. But Daniel didn’t shrink. He wore the attention like an expensive cologne, his posture straight, his black lapels crisp.
I didn’t lower my gaze. I let him walk right down the center aisle, his boots clicking softly against the marble floor where my sister’s blood—though scrubbed away from their home—still echoed in our memories.
"Daniel," I said again, my voice cutting through the thick, incense-heavy air like a surgical scalpel. "You really thought I wouldn’t find out?"
His eyes flickered down to the gold shield resting in the palm of my hand. The light from the stained-glass window caught the eagle emblem, turning it the color of molten brass. For a fraction of a second, the blood drained from his face, leaving his skin the shade of wet lime. His fingers tightened around Celeste’s bare arm so hard she winced, though she managed to keep her artificial smile plastered across her face.
"You’re abusing your position, Lena," Daniel hissed, leaning forward just enough so the back rows wouldn’t hear. "A funeral is a private grief. You’re making a scene because you can’t handle losing your sister."
"My sister didn't just lose her life, Daniel. Her heart stopped beating because her blood pressure spiked to catastrophic levels while you sat in a private suite at the Grand Hotel with Celeste," I stepped off the raised platform, my boots matching the rhythm of my heartbeat—steady, cold, and relentless. "And the baby? The autopsy report came back from the federal forensic lab three hours ago. High concentrations of a chronic uterine stimulant. Administered daily. Micro-dosed."
Celeste’s smirk vanished entirely. Her grip on Daniel slackened. "What is she talking about?" she whispered, her voice cracking slightly under the sudden weight of the chapel's collective stare.
"She’s talking about a grieving sister who has lost her mind," Daniel spat, raising his voice so the congregation could hear the manufactured hurt in his tone. "Lena, put the badge away. Show some respect for Maya."
"Respect?" My laughter was dry, devoid of warmth. "I spent the last twenty-one days tearing apart your corporate portfolio, Daniel. I know about the offshore accounts in the Caymans. I know about the embezzlement from Voss Technologies. And most importantly... I know that Maya found your ledger two days before she died."
The color didn't just drain from Daniel’s face this time; it vanished. He realized, with a sudden, bone-chilling clarity, that I wasn't just grieving. I was an investigator holding a wrecking ball, and he was standing directly in the demolition zone.
"You have no jurisdiction here," Daniel muttered, his voice dropping an octave, laced with panic. "This is local parish ground. You’re federal."
"Financial crimes division, yes," I replied, stepping so close I could smell the expensive cedarwood scent on his skin—the same scent Maya had cried into just weeks ago. "But when financial fraud intersects with suspicious prenatal mortality, it becomes a multi-agency federal RICO case. And guess who just signed the warrant?"
Behind us, the heavy oak doors of the chapel swung open once more.
This time, there was no sound of designer shoes. There was only the heavy, disciplined thud of tactical boots. Four federal agents in dark tactical windbreakers stepped silently into the back of the chapel, their faces impassioned and blank.
Daniel looked over his shoulder, his eyes darting toward the exit. Blocked.
"You can't do this here," Celeste whimpered, her polished composure cracking wide open as she looked at the agents. "Daniel, tell them! Tell them who you know!"
Daniel didn't answer her. He looked back at me, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure, unadulterated venom. "You think this makes you a hero, Lena? You think destroying me brings Maya back?"
"No," I whispered, lifting the pale pink ribbon from my sister's casket and letting it slip through my fingers. "It just ensures you don't get to enjoy the afterlife she died for."
"Agent Voss," the lead tactical officer called out, his voice echoing off the high vaulted ceilings. "We have the primary residence secured. Shall we process the suspect?"
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"Process him," I said, turning my back on Daniel Voss for the first time in my life. "And check every single pocket. He’s carrying flash drives with the asset transfers. Don't let him touch a thing."
As the heavy metal click of handcuffs echoed through the holy silence of the chapel, my mother wept into her handkerchief, and I walked past the casket, whispering into the quiet air: Round one is finished, Maya. Watch how the empire falls.
