Nothing lasts forever, but I honestly thought this could. The peace we had experienced during the last week was everything we ever wanted. There was only one problem: we were running on a dangerous line, and we knew that everything could come crashing down on us at any second.

First and foremost, the opiate ring case was taking over my life, but not in the way I had first anticipated. As soon as I arrived for work that Monday morning, I noticed a considerable shift in tone from my partner, Derrick Fulton.

We were assigned other cases and urged to keep fighting for a bright future. Derrick insisted that I did everything I could do, that David and I were two heroes. Suddenly, that word didn’t feel as powerful, and I felt like I was cheating my community.

As I stood before the crowd of fellow officers, I felt like a pawn in a system forced into corruption by its leaders. I could barely look into the chief’s eyes as he awarded me the Medal of Honor for my sacrifice in the line of duty.

As the officers applauded, I looked into David’s eyes. He shook his head but whispered, “Someday, things will change.”

Then, I saw the back door of the auditorium open. My father walked in, proudly wearing his medals and decorations from his time as an NYPD officer.

Chief Flegenheimer pinned the decoration to my uniform. Both of us stared into each other’s eyes. Yes, the chief knew of my plans, and I knew he had ideas of his own.

I also knew better than to trust ceremonies like this. By the end of this month, the chief would oust from my position. I wasn’t sure how they’d justify it, but I knew they’d find a way. They always did.

As much as it broke my heart to see my department hiding something, it didn’t surprise me. The corruption in this city had been around since the beginning. I was the only one too stupid to want to speak up about it.

But I couldn’t stay silent. I had people that were depending on my honesty, and I wasn’t going to let them down.

“Officer Flanagan, you have put yourself at risk for your department. Without you and Officer David Frist’s extreme sacrifice, I’m afraid we wouldn’t have been able to close this case. Thank you for a job well done.”

I walked off the stage and made my way toward my father. He saluted me before giving me a brief hug. “You did well, officer.”

Most of the guys in the department could understand what I was going through. Policing wasn’t just a job for us. It was a legacy that our fathers wished for us to carry on.

The look of pride in my dad’s eyes wasn’t forced. It was more real than anything in the world. For our fathers, love came through our accomplishments.

That’s what broke my heart the most. I wasn’t ever going to cut it as a civilian. As a son. As a boyfriend or husband. Not only did I need to be somebody for somebody else, but I also needed to do it their way.

Even with this pain, I threw my arm around my father’s shoulder and left the building. I couldn’t be like my father because my love didn’t come with conditions.

As we ordered a few drinks at a coffee cart, I listened to the cars whoosh by and honk their horns. I remembered when I first joined the force, but I couldn’t feel the same excitement that I did on that day.

I took a sip of iced coffee and sighed. My father and I hardly talked these days, but when we did, we never went any deeper than the surface level. These days, he wouldn’t even talk about the damn President of the United States.

On this day, in particular, I unexpectedly felt the obligation of telling my father the heavy truth. “Dad, you’ve always known who I was,” I said.

My father swirled his espresso with a plastic spoon, observing as the sugar crystals dissolved to his liking. “Let’s not go there. What you do during your personal hours is up to you,” he said.

“Well, I’ve met someone,” I said.

He stood up and started walking to the crosswalk, forcing me to jog after him. “Dad, come on. For once in your life, talk to me,” I said.

Frenziedly drinking the rest of his espresso, my dad swallowed and then crushed the cup in the palm of his hand. “I said, keep it to yourself.”

The rush of adrenaline spiked my anger. How could someone make a case for justice when they were so busy running from the truth?

“If you can’t accept me for who I am at the base level of my existence, how am I supposed to know you’ll be there for me when everything changes?” I asked.

The two of us walked across the street toward the Metro station. My father was trying to escape this conversation as best he could, but he was having a hard time with it. “What the hell does that mean?”

I grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. I could see the hurt in his eyes, unjustified, but there, nonetheless. “I’ve done my best to live by your standards, dad,” I said. “I’ve put my life on the line to please you. It was never good enough, was it?”

“Son, this isn’t a game to collect achievements,” he said.

“You could barely make it to the conference today! Even if I got that promotion, you wouldn’t feel an ounce of happiness. You’d make up some bullshit about how you were the best cop there ever was, that you were robbed of what you deserved,” I said.

My father stopped me, face turning red with emotion. “I was robbed, dammit!”

“Well, that makes two of us,” I said, dropping my eyes to the dirty concrete sidewalk. “You were robbed of a lifelong career with the NYPD, and I was robbed of knowing what it felt like to have a real father.”

Part of me felt rushed to tell him about the case, that the whole thing was a fabricated publicity stunt meant to confuse the public rather than implement justice. I refrained from doing so.

My father stared at me with hurt as if I was the one to blame, but the truth hit him. That much was obvious. “I’m going home,” he said. “I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

I moved closer to a nearby bench and watched as he walked away. “Fuck me,” I whispered.

Life was hard sometimes, but I had to keep moving forward. People depended on me.

“Officer Flanagan, right?”

Curiously, I looked up to find a man dressed in a casual business suit standing over me. His hair was dirty blonde, slightly disheveled, but professional enough. Though I didn’t expect his presence, I recognized him within seconds.

“Ezra Elmsworth? Are you following me?” I asked.

“Look above you,” he said.

Standing up, I glanced at the building’s sign. The New York Post shined in bright neon, lit up from the scrolling news headlines of the day. “I came from the press briefing,” he said.

I was still clearing my head from talking with my father. I shook his hand and quickly put those thoughts to rest. “Forgive me. I don’t normally talk to the press,” I said.

There was a knowing look in his eyes, a quick smile, and a glance toward the inside of the building. “Care to take a walk upstairs with me? I think there’s something you should see.”

I leaned my balance on the back of my heel and took a step back. If I wanted to, I could have gone straight back to Theo’s flat. However, my curiosity was pushing me to follow him.

“I should be going,” I said. But as the words came tumbling from my mouth, I found myself biting my tongue. “Is it something important?”

Ezra took off his glasses and cleaned the dust off the lenses with a handkerchief. “It’ll take five minutes of your time,” he said.

“Lead the way,” I said.

Ezra led me to the upstairs of the building, back through the rows of journalists eagerly typing up their next story. I never liked these places. Most of the guys at the station, labeled them as agitators of the public, spreading lies and deceit across the city. But now that my ideas were starting to change, I felt like taking a chance.

Shutting the door to his office behind me, he pointed his hand to a seat. I sat down and cleared my throat. “What do you have?” I asked.

Judging by the look on Ezra’s face, I knew exactly what he knew. “Derrick Fulton was transferred to your department quite recently. What do you know about him?”

My throat turned dry, and my stomach lurched. To my embarrassment, a feeling of nausea crept inside of me. Fuck. I grabbed a small trash bin and held it over my mouth as I felt my coffee and lunch exit my body. Clearly, the stress was getting to me.

Ezra merely kept his eyes on me, unnerved by my vomiting. Leaning forward, he handed me his handkerchief, and I wiped my face clean.

“Jesus,” I whispered. “Sorry. I’ve been feeling odd all day.”

“Look, Mr. Flanagan, we know about the payments. We’ve been trailing the money laundering for months now,” he said.

My eyes met his, harsh and severe like fire. I suddenly remembered what I told East Side Jimmy in his prison cell at Rikers. “I’m not your white knight.”

No, I wasn’t Jim Garish’s white knight—the charges against him were real. Everybody lauded the case as closed, but no one wanted to delve into the fact that most of the charges had been dropped before trial. A court would never prove whether or not Jim Garish was the head of a multi-level opiate ring.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about money laundering,” I said.

Ezra was the city’s white knight. He took down the mayor two years ago, and now his aim was at the top levels of our department. “Okay, sure. But you know something, don’t you?”

When I didn’t speak, he continued. “Don’t hold out on us, Mr. Flanagan. We’ve been talking to officer David Frist. He’s told us about your little scavenger hunts, searching for clues,” he said. “There have been more than enough mysterious suicides and unreported deaths, both in the city and upstate, all doctors whose main job seemed to be prescribing patients with prescriptions.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “And you want me to tell the Post what I know. Do you honestly believe an officer of the law would stoop that low?” I asked.

Ezra’s tone changed. “Oh, come now, Marcus. You’re miles away from the department now. Once the guys see you bring that hot new boyfriend of yours to the Christmas party, they’ll make your life unbearable until you’re forced to take a leave of absence.”

He was right. Of course, he was. Everything I had anticipated happening had indeed happened. “They’ll just have to accept it,” I said.

“They won’t. And once you get pregnant, they’ll throw you in the file room as a secretary,” he said.

“Pregnant?”

Ezra’s eyes moved down to the vomit-soaked trashcan. “Who knows? Could be food poisoning, right?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No, I thought. I’m not pregnant.

“Ezra, I don’t know as much as you think. It’s all just scattered bits and pieces,” I said.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick stack of files. Spreading a few on the table before me, he waited for it to all sink in. Documented on each paper was a complicated money trail that led to the chief of police himself.

According to the Post’s investigation, Farza manufactured the pills, a pharmaceutical company based in the United States. Not by chance, the report continued to suggest that Chief Flegenheimer had invested heavily in this company by buying shares.

“Most of those doctors were happy to play ball. Over time, some of those doctors wanted out. That’s where Derrick Fulton comes in,” Ezra said. “He’s been the department’s go-to guy for the last twenty-five years. He’s been moved over fifteen times.”

I felt my heart pump solidly against my chest, rocking my body back against the chair lightly. “You think Derrick killed those doctors?” I asked. “That’s a heavy charge.”

A multitude of realizations was hitting me in every direction. They were the ones keeping David on those pills. They were the ones who turned Sawyer’s parents into addicts. And East Side Jimmy was just another criminal willing to help.

“When we talked to men and women in the suburbs, more than enough people seemed to tell a bad story about Derrick Fulton. Why was he being transferred so often? We looked into it, Marcus. In every county that they found a body, he was moved.”

I folded the papers back together and handed them back to the journalist. “I’ll help you under one condition,” I said.

“Shoot.”

“You get this to the front page.”

A smile formed on Ezra’s face. “You bet.”