As everyone knows, George was merely the deputy chief of New York's 13th Precinct, and above him, there was, of course, the actual chief.
The caller at this moment was none other than Damon Jones, the chief of the 13th Precinct and George's long-time superior.
George stared at the phone held by an officer, his expression shifting for a while before he finally picked it up.
"Chief..."
Before George could say another word, a weary voice from the other end interrupted him.
"Listen, George, hand this case over to them. I know what you're trying to do, and I understand how you feel right now, but this case involves unknown creatures, far beyond our jurisdiction. This isn't something we should be handling, and besides, orders have come from higher-ups. Even if you want to fight for it, you can't win."
George, unwilling to accept it, responded, "Chief, this is New York. We're the NYPD. Is there anything happening in this city that we're not allowed to handle?"
As the economic hub of the US, the NYPD wielded significant authority within its jurisdiction. Even when facing agencies like the FBI, they hardly felt inferior.
The FBI's strength lay in its vast scope of jurisdiction, but when it came to enforcement authority, local police departments like the NYPD were not necessarily weaker.
It was precisely this that gave George the confidence to stand firm against the FBI.
Hearing George's words, Damon sighed tiredly on the other end.
"George, you know the string of strange cases lately has drawn significant federal attention. After the news that you took down one of those creatures, the FBI, Homeland Security, and more than five other agencies called me—and the calls keep coming. They all want the corpse of that creature you killed. This case is beyond us, and since we don't have any research departments, keeping the creature's body serves no purpose. I'm retiring in six months, George. I don't want any trouble now."
Damon paused before adding, "George, I mentored you and chose you as my successor for the 13th Precinct. Trust me, let this one go. I wouldn't harm you."
George gradually fell silent.
Meanwhile, across from him, Grant Ward's smirk grew wider.
Just as Ward prepared to signal his team to take over, several vehicles bearing FBI insignias arrived at the scene.
What's going on?
More FBI vehicles?
Could these reinforcements have been called by Ward and his group?
Seeing the vehicles, George's already sour expression darkened further.
But when he looked up, he was surprised to see that Ward, rather than looking pleased, seemed visibly unsettled—even awkward.
What's happening here?
Soon, a group of people stepped out of the vehicles.
Among them was a portly man who opened his arms with a smile and approached George.
"Hey, George, long time no see!"
Seeing the overly familiar man, George frowned. "Joaquin?"
The man, Joaquin, was a veteran FBI agent George had worked with on several occasions.
Noticing George's expression, Joaquin feigned hurt. "Hey, buddy, don't look at me like that. I didn't do anything to offend you."
George gave him a cold glance and sneered, "You didn't offend me, but someone in your FBI sure did."
With that, he shot a cold look at Ward and his group across from him.
Joaquin, adept at reading people, quickly picked up on George's implications.
He frowned, scrutinizing Ward and his team. "You're FBI too? I don't recall seeing any of you before."
Ward replied coolly, "We're with the Special Operations Division."
Joaquin scoffed, "Nonsense. I'm the operations chief for the FBI's New York division. Any FBI operation in New York requires my authorization. How is it I've never heard of your so-called Special Operations Division?"
Turning to his team, Joaquin gestured. "Check their credentials. I suspect these people are impersonating FBI agents."
"Yes, sir."
As several agents moved toward Ward's team, the latter's forced composure began to crumble.
Gritting his teeth, Ward stepped forward. "Chief Joaquin, can I have a word with you in private?"
...
Minutes later, faced with Joaquin's unyielding stance and unable to secure reinforcements, Ward had no choice but to retreat with his group of fake FBI agents—agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. in disguise.
When impostors meet the real deal.
Normally, S.H.I.E.L.D. using the FBI's name to operate wasn't a big deal. After all, they paid a hefty "branding fee" to the FBI every year. But the moment their missions clashed, the FBI wouldn't hesitate to put them in their place.
After driving Ward's group away, Joaquin turned to George with a grin. "Hey, buddy, don't let those impostors ruin our relationship, okay?"
"Yeah, right," George rolled his eyes. "Aren't you here to steal this case too?"
Shrugging, Joaquin replied helplessly, "What can I do? Our boss specifically wants the creature you took down. But I can promise you this: as long as it's not classified, I'll share all the follow-up intel with you unconditionally."
Hearing Joaquin's assurance, George's mood improved.
At least Joaquin's approach was far more agreeable than Ward's arrogance.
Still thinking about the retreating group, George asked, "Who exactly were those people? Using your FBI banner to operate like that, and you just let them go? Since when has the FBI been so lenient?"
Joaquin's face darkened as he thought about how close S.H.I.E.L.D. had come to hijacking their case.
"Sorry, George, I can't tell you who they are. But I'll report this to my boss and let him handle those people."
"You can't say either?"
George looked at Joaquin in surprise.
(End of Chapter)
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