Detective Daniel stood in the sterile office of his superior, Chief Inspector Mew. The room reeked of bureaucracy and secrets—the kind that could bury an entire case. The investigation into the city's most notorious crime syndicate had consumed his life, and he'd come too far to back down now.
Mew, a portly man with thinning hair and a penchant for expensive cigars, leaned back in his leather chair. His eyes bore into Wayy's, assessing his resolve. "Daniel," he said, his voice gravelly, "you're treading dangerous waters. This case—it's bigger than you realize."
Wayy clenched his fists. "With all due respect, sir, I've uncovered connections to high-ranking officials, dirty cops, and money laundering. We're on the precipice of something massive."
Mex scoffed. "And what do you think will happen if we pull that thread? Chaos. Anarchy. The very fabric of this city will unravel."
Daniel's jaw tightened. "I didn't sign up to protect the corrupt. I signed up to serve justice."
Daniel leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Justice is a luxury, Daniel. Sometimes, we have to make sacrifices for the greater good."
Daniel's mind raced. he'd seen the victims—the broken families, the lives shattered by greed and violence. he'd promised them closure. But now, he own career hung in the balance.
"Listen carefully," Mew said, tapping his cigar ash into a crystal ashtray. "You keep digging, and you'll find yourself suspended. Or worse."
Daniel's resolve hardened. "Are you threatening me?" He smirked
They didn't know Daniel's real identity or family background because he changed everything,even his name. As I said before, Daniel's (wayy) family are involved in shaddy business, and they are one of the richest family in the country. They have power.
Mew chuckled. "Consider it a friendly warning. You're a talented detective, Daniel. Don't let idealism cloud your judgment."
Daniel's fingers brushed against his holster. he'd sworn an oath—to protect and serve. But this was no longer about duty; it was personal. he'd lost too much—his partner, his sanity—to turn back now.
he leaned across the desk, his voice low and steady. "I'll say this once, Chief. If you shut down this investigation, I'll go public. I'll expose every dirty secret, every backroom deal. And you'll be the one who pays."
Mew's face reddened. "You're playing with fire."
"Maybe." Daniel straightened, his gaze unwavering. "But you know what? You have to know a persons identity before you threaten that person."
As he walked out of the office, the weight of his decision settled on his shoulders. The city's fate hung in the balance—a tightrope between justice and compromise. Detective Daniel was about to tip the scales.
The case involved some politicians and wealthy people, and they are the prime-suspect.
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The dining room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. The mahogany table, polished to a mirror-like sheen, bore the weight of memories—of laughter, tears, and shared secrets. The air hummed with anticipation as the family gathered for dinner.
The room buzzed with conversation—the clinking of cutlery, the clatter of dishes. Pete surveyed the faces around him—the next generation, the torchbearers of the Montgomery legacy. His gaze lingered on Yihwa, his niece-in-law, who sat across from him.
"Pass the gravy, would you?" Pete nudged Yihwa, breaking her reverie.
She blinked, her hazel eyes meeting his. "Of course, Uncle Pete." She reached for the porcelain gravy boat, her fingers brushing against his.
Tharn raised his glass. "To family," he said, "in all its messy, beautiful glory."
They clinked glasses, the crystal ringing out—a symphony of love and acceptance.
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Detective Wayy stood in the dimly lit room, the flickering fluorescent light casting eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The air smelled of dampness and desperation. Across the table sat the prime suspect,Kuea , a man with eyes as cold as the steel cuffs that bound his wrists.
Daniel had been chasing this case for months—following leads, piecing together evidence, and losing sleep over the victims. But now, frustration gnawed at the edges of his resolve. The dead ends, the false alibis, the unanswered questions—they were all pushing him to the brink.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" Daniel leaned forward, his knuckles white against the tabletop. "Playing games, leaving breadcrumbs for me to follow. But I've had enough."
Kuea was the one who killed the three ladies, but he was ordered to do so.
Kue smirked, his lips curling into a cruel line. "You're just like the rest of them, Detective. Barking up the wrong tree. You'll never catch me."
Daniel's patience snapped. He'd seen too much suffering, too many lives shattered by this killer. The victims deserved justice, and he was their last hope. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled photograph—the latest victim, a young woman with haunted eyes.
"You see her?" Daniel slammed the photo onto the table. "Her name was Achara. She had dreams, a family who loved her. And you took that away."
Kuea's eyes flickered, a hint of uncertainty breaking through his facade. "She just knewsome secretsthat cost her life."
Daniel leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "I've been lenient, kuea. Patient. But I'm done playing nice. You're going to tell me everything. Every detail. Or I swear, I'll shut this investigation down. No more warrants, no more surveillance. You'll walk free, and Achara's blood and the other two will be on my hands."
Kuea wavered. "You can't do that."
"Oh, I can." Daniel's fingers traced the outline of his gun. "I've seen darkness, Kuea. It's consumed me. But I won't let it win. So, spill. Who's pulling your strings? Who's the puppet master?"
Kuea hesitated, then leaned back, defeated. "Fine. But you won't like what you find."
"What do you mean?" Daniel asked
Kuea didn't give any other information,so he was used as a scapegoat and sent to jail. The case was closed, but Daniel continued to investigate.