"Congratulations," I said evenly.
"You know what the funny thing is?" Santoro continued, clearly savoring the moment. "BC Evans told me the deciding factor was your 'lack of professional judgment.' Something about letting your personal relationships interfere with your duties. Amazing how quickly these things can turn around, isn't it?"
My blood turned to ice. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, you don't know?" His expression was all false concern, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper. "Your boyfriend wrote a letter to Evans. Three pages about what a wonderful firefighter you are. Really touching stuff."
The world tilted sideways. Jimmy. Jimmy had written a letter. About me. To my battalion chief.
"Problem is," Santoro continued, his voice like poison, "it just proved what we've been saying all along. You can't handle your own battles. You need a man to fight for you. Evans knows what the brass wants, and they don't want officers who let their boyfriends interfere in department business."
I felt something die inside me — not break, but calcifyinto something harder and colder than anything I'd ever felt before.
"I don't believe you," I said quietly.
"Ask Evans yourself. He's got the whole thing printed out in his office." Santoro's smile was vicious now, triumphant. "Three pages of your boyfriend explaining how the mean old department is being unfair to his poor girlfriend. Really sealed the deal."
He walked away, leaving me standing there with the wreckage of my career scattered at my feet. Around me, the reception continued — firefighters sharing memories of Cap, talking about his legacy, his impact on the department. But all I could hear was the sound of the last pillar holding up my world crashing down around me.
I found Evans in his office, looking uncomfortable and deliberately avoiding my eyes. The coward's guilt was written all over his face — the carefully averted gaze, the way his hands fidgeted with paperwork he wasn't actually reading.
"I want to see the letter," I said without preamble.
He sighed deeply, the sound of a man who'd been dreading this conversation. "Izzy, I can explain — "
"Show me the letter."
Evans wouldn't meet my eyes. He simply pulled a manila folder from his desk drawer with the reluctance of someone handling evidence of his own corruption. The letter was three pages long, printed on Metro General letterhead, and signed by James Dalton, RN.
I read every word, feeling something inside me crystallize into perfect, cold clarity. Jimmy's love for me was evident in every line — his admiration for my competence, his respect for my leadership, his passionate defense of my character. And there, in the second paragraph, the poison that had destroyedeverything: his naive account of Santoro's threats, his well-intentioned belief that exposing the political maneuvering would somehow help my case.
It was the most beautiful, loving thing anyone had ever written about me.
And it was the weapon they had used to destroy me.
"With Cap gone," I said, my voice deadly quiet, "you finally let this happen, didn't you?"
Evans couldn't meet my eyes. "Izzy, that's not fair. My hands were tied — "
“No,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Your hands were free. You just chose not to use them. With Cap gone, you figured you could finally let this happen without looking him in the eye, didn’t you? With him gone, there was no one left to defend me, no one whose opinion you actually respected.”
"The promotion board made the decision based on multiple factors, but, yes … they reviewed it,” Evans mumbled. “They felt … they felt it showed a lack of professional boundaries. That your personal relationships could compromise your command decisions.”
"You’re a coward," I said, my voice cutting through his excuses like a blade. "You know I'm the better candidate. You know Santoro's promotion is about politics, not merit. But you chose the easy path because that's what cowards do. You took the ammunition my boyfriend handed you and used it to justify what you were always going to do anyway."
"Izzy — "
"Don't." I stood, looking down at him with something that might have been pity. "Cap believed in you. He thought you were better than this. But he's not here to see what you really are, is he? How convenient for you."
I left him sitting there, unable to defend himself because we both knew I was right. The second pillar of my life — my career, my future, everything I'd worked for — lay in ruins behind me. But I wasn't broken. I was something else entirelynow, something harder and more focused than I'd ever been before.
There was still one more pillar to demolish.
I found Jimmy waiting by his car in the station parking lot, looking lost and uncertain. The reception was winding down, firefighters heading home or back to their stations, the normal rhythm of the fire service resuming despite the loss of one of its own. He straightened when he saw me approaching, hope flickering in his green eyes like a candle in the wind.
"Izzy," he said softly. "How are you holding up? I know today was — "
"Did you write a letter to my battalion chief?" I asked, my voice perfectly controlled.
