"And I need you to know I didn't mean for it to go this far." Vivian set her bag down slowly, reading the fear in his posture before he'd even finished the sentence. ""What did you do, Nate?" He swallowed hard, glancing down the hallway to make sure nobody else was in earshot. "Dawson cornered me a few days ago," he said. "In the parking lot after my shift ended. Asked me directly if you'd been asking questions about the old Hartwell case." "I tried to dodge it, told him I didn't know anything specific, but he already knew half the answer before he even asked. He just wanted confirmation.
He said he'd seen us talking near the diner, said he'd noticed you pulling old files during your night shifts. And you gave it to him. "I didn't think it would matter," Nate said, his voice cracking with something close to shame. "I thought he'd just get annoyed, maybe make things harder for you for a few weeks. Everybody in this department's had a rough few weeks under Dawson at some point.
I didn't think he'd actually do something with it. Not something like this." What did he do, Nate? Nate looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "He went to Dorothy's diner yesterday," he said, his voice low. "Told the health inspectors there'd been complaints about unsanitary conditions.
Filed it under his own name, official channels, hard to trace back to spite instead of procedure. They're sending someone out this week to inspect. If they find anything, even something small, they can shut her down." Vivian's hands curled into fists at her sides. "That's not all," Nate continued, his voice dropping even lower. "There's a report circulating says you used excessive force during an arrest last week.
Says a suspect's complaining about injuries that supposedly happened during processing." "That's a lie," Vivian said sharply. "I haven't made an arrest in 10 days that required anything beyond standard cuffing." "I know," Nate said miserably. "But it doesn't matter if it's true. It matters that it exists on paper now with a witness statement attached supposedly from another officer on scene. Whose statement?
Nate hesitated, and in that hesitation Vivian already knew the answer before he said it. Mine, he admitted. He wrote it. Handed it to me already typed up and told me if I didn't sign it, he'd make sure everyone in this department knew I was the one feeding information to a rookie who's trying to dig up dirt on a senior officer. He made it sound like I'd be committing career suicide either way, and signing was at least the version where I still had a job tomorrow.
And you signed it. Nate's silence was answer enough. He looked like a man who had spent the entire night arguing with himself and lost. Vivian didn't yell. She didn't even raise her voice.
She simply looked at him for a long moment, disappointment settling into something quieter and heavier than anger. I understand fear, Nate, she said finally. I've stood in rooms where the wrong decision meant somebody didn't come home. I understand it better than you know. But understanding fear doesn't mean I have to pretend it makes betrayal disappear.
I'm sorry. Nate said it his voice barely above a whisper. I really am. I believe you, Vivian said. That doesn't fix what's already been signed.
She walked past him into the bullpen, her spine straight, her face unreadable though inside something had gone very cold and very still. She was called into Chief Higgins's office less than an hour later. Higgins sat behind his desk, a folder open in front of him, his face gray with exhaustion that seemed to have doubled overnight. On the wall behind him hung a framed photo of his own graduating academy class decades old. Now faces young and hopeful in a way that felt almost painful to look at given everything sitting on the desk between them.
Sit down, Officer Hartwell, he said quietly. She sat. There's a formal complaint against you, he said sliding the folder across the desk. Excessive force during the Miller arrest last week. Corroborated by a fellow officer's statement.
Vivian opened the folder and read it slowly, her expression unreadable even as her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at the details fabricated within it. Injuries that had never occurred. A timeline stretched to suggest force where there had been none. And beneath it, Nate's signature shaky but legible. It's fabricated, Chief.
I believe you, Higgins said surprising her. I've read this report three times and it doesn't match anything in your history, anything in your file, anything in the way you've handled every single call I've watched you take since you walked through that door. I've been doing this job 35 years, Officer Hartwell. I know what a true report reads like. This isn't one.
Then why does it matter? Higgins rubbed his eyes looking older in that moment than she had ever seen him. Because it's on paper, he said. Because there's a signed statement attached. Because I'm 2 months from retirement and if I ignore a formal complaint with supporting testimony that's a decision that follows me long after I've handed in my badge.
There are lawyers involved. The second something like this gets challenged without proper process I have to suspend you pending investigation. I don't have a choice. Not one that protects either of us. He paused something almost pleading in his tired eyes.
I wish I had been braver 15 years ago. He added quietly. I wish I'd asked harder questions when the story about your father didn't sit right with me. Maybe if I had none of this would be happening to you now. I'm sorry that my cowardice back then is costing you something today.
Vivian looked at him for a long moment. Something in her chest loosening slightly at the honesty in his voice, even as the weight of everything else pressed down harder. It's not too late to be brave now, Chief. She said quieter now. Higgins held her gaze, something shifting behind his tired eyes, though he said nothing more on the matter.