Through the thin walls, I could hear the distant rhythm of the bullpen—phones ringing, voices overlapping, the grind of ordinary police work.
"Stone's been at this for years, you said." She tilted her head. "Why hasn't he taken it up the chain?"
"He has. Multiple times." I kept my voice even. "Reports filed, concerns raised, all of it documented and submitted through proper channels. And every time, it gets dismissed. Buried. Labeled as a disgruntled firefighter with an axe to grind." I paused. "Meanwhile, Engine 295 just landed on the shortlist for closure. Budget cuts, they're calling it."
Diaz's expression sharpened. "That's convenient."
"Isn't it? The firehouse that keeps documenting violations suddenly becomes too expensive to keep open." I let that sit for a moment. "He can't go public without losing his career and his crew losing their station. He needed someone outside FDNY who could dig without getting buried."
Diaz leaned back in her chair. The springs protested, a tired squeak that matched the exhaustion in her face.
"So let me make sure I understand." Her voice was careful, measured. "You're telling me someone inside the FDNY is signing off on buildings that should be condemned. Taking money to look the other way while landlords pack tenants into death traps. And when a firefighter tries to expose it, they bury his reports and threaten to shut down his station."
"Yes."
"And now someone—someone who knows exactly which buildings have been getting a pass—is burning them down."
"That's not a theory, Ms. Harper. That's a conspiracy." She was quiet for a long moment. Through the thin walls, I could hear the distant rhythm of the bullpen. Phones ringing, voices overlapping, the grind of ordinary police work.
"City officials taking bribes to bury fire safety inspections. Municipal fraud. A pattern of payoffs connected to preventable deaths." She ticked them off on her fingers, her voice sharpening with each one. "This crosses into federal territory. Public corruption, RICO. That's not NYPD jurisdiction."
She leaned back in her chair. The springs protested.
"I'll handle the federal side. I have a contact at the FBI's field office. Special Agent Keene. He runs public corruption cases out of 26 Federal Plaza." She pulled the folder closer and flipped it open again, scanning the pages with fresh eyes. "I'll start with the inspection records on my end. The financial trail, bank records, shell companies, and property transfers. That's Keene's territory."
"Thank you, Detective."
"Don't thank me yet. We don't have anything but a theory." But there was something in her expression. Interest, maybe. The spark of a detective who'd just been handed a thread worth pulling. "I'll be in touch when I have something."
She unlocked the door and held it open. "And Ms. Harper? Tell Stone someone's finally listening."
I walked out through the bullpen, past the ringing phones and cluttered desks.
Diaz was in. We had a cop. And if Keene bit, a fed.
Now the real work could begin.
Garrett arrived at seven with a banker's box tucked under one arm, stuffed with folders—exactly what I'd asked for when I'd texted him after leaving Diaz's office.
"Hi," I said, stepping back to let him in.
He paused in the doorway, taking in my apartment.
I saw it through his eyes—the corkboard covered in index cards and colored string, the books stacked on every horizontal surface, the case files spread across my coffee table in a pattern that made sense only to me.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"What?"
"Nothing." He stepped inside, his shoulder brushing mine as he passed. "You haven't changed."
"My apartment is perfectly functional."
"I didn't say it wasn't." But he was still smiling. That rare expression that transformed his serious face into something warmer. Something I remembered from years ago, before everything fell apart.
He set the box on my coffee table, careful not to disturb my existing chaos. "Everything you asked for. Plus the incident reports I pulled—fires, injuries, near-misses in any of the targeted properties over the last five years."
I lifted the lid. My breath caught.
