Evelyn's dream of securing a scholarship to America's top ballet school shattered when her mother was brutally murdered during her teenage years. Determined to make a difference, she became a detective, ready to take on the world. Assigned to invest...
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Evelyn sat in the worn leather chair of her small office, a slim file open on the desk before her. The words on the pages blurred slightly as her thoughts drifted. Since her last visit to MC territory, life had carried on as usual, though as usual often meant trouble. Wilson had been a persistent thorn in her side, but beyond his constant irritation, things had been running fairly smoothly. She took a slow sip from the coffee she'd picked up after a brief, easy chat with James, the warmth filling her as her eyes scanned the neatly clipped pages in her hand.
Inside one of the larger offices, her boss sat at his desk, a file open in front of him, deep in thought. The lines on his weathered face deepened as he considered his options. Across from him sat Detective Wilson, his posture stiff, his jaw tight, looking as though he were moments away from an outburst. Wilson was well known for his arrogance, a man who thrived on attention and bristled at the faintest suggestion that his authority might be questioned.
"With all due respect, the higher-ups want me on that mission," Wilson said sharply, his voice dripping with irritation. Arms folded tight across his chest, he looked like a child denied his favorite toy. Chief Nelson didn't immediately respond. He studied Wilson with calm, deliberate silence, weighing both the needs of the mission and the potential chaos Wilson could cause. Nelson knew exactly how the higher-ups favored the man, but experience had taught him something else, Wilson's impulsive nature was a liability, one Nelson couldn't afford right now.
"I'm sorry, but I can't give this to you," Nelson said finally, leaning back in his chair, meeting Wilson's glare without flinching. Wilson gave a short, angry snort. His eyes narrowed, his voice climbing with frustration.
"I amthe most experienced detective in this department. The higher-ups want me there, and you're telling me I'm not going?" His tone was almost mocking, as if daring Nelson to contradict him. But Nelson didn't rise to the bait. He kept his expression carefully neutral, his voice even.
"Detective, I recommend you remember your place in this department. I am the chief, and that means I decide who does what. And I see Detective Maxwell as far more suitable for this assignment." Nelson paused just long enough for the words to settle, then added.
"The way you handled the MC leader the other day was... embarrassing. I cannot give you another opportunity to undermine the department- or me. That's why this mission is going to Maxwell." He stood then, his face set with quiet authority, watching as emotion flickered across Wilson's features, anger, disbelief, wounded pride. Nelson felt a flicker of satisfaction. Call it punishment, call it necessary discipline- either way, Wilson had brought this on himself.
"You'll regret this," Wilson said coldly, his voice low but brimming with fury.
"Sure," Nelson said as he moved to the office door, pulling it open with a firm hand. A part of him wished he could throw the arrogant idiot out of the department altogether, but the higher-ups had planted Wilson here like an immovable weed, and there wasn't much the chief could do about it. Wilson huffed like a spoiled child, storming out with heavy steps. His shoulders were tight, his jaw locked. As he made his way through the corridor, he shoved past two officers without so much as an apology, leaving a trail of tension in his wake. Nelson watched him go, knowing full well that in that moment, he had made himself an enemy. Across the room, James glanced at his boss, catching the flicker of concern in the chief's otherwise composed eyes. Nelson stepped back into his office, leaving the door open, his long-standing signal to the department. An open door meant anyone could enter to talk, ask questions, or share concerns. A closed one meant he was occupied. He returned to his desk, picking up the file he'd placed there earlier. The name stamped neatly across the front made his expression sharpen. Flipping it open, a photo stared back at him: Jax West. Nelson studied the image with quiet determination before leaning back in his chair, his gaze sweeping the bustling department outside. He picked up the phone on his desk and called the assistant.
