"Sir, the police are here," Virgo said, his voice hushed but urgent as he stepped into the grand office, his eyes scanning the room with concern.
The governor didn't turn around. He stood by the tall, arched window of his lavish estate, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the mahogany floor. Seated behind him were two others, members of the elusive and powerful underground syndicate known only as The Hallow Syndicate.
Governor Thomas Gall exhaled slowly, the cigarette in his hand glowing as he took another drag. "Farewell… Gonzales," he murmured, addressing two of the syndicate's lieutenants. "They can't catch you here. But it's time to vanish."
Farewell, a tall woman with piercing eyes and a voice that commanded attention, stepped forward. "How exactly do we 'vanish' from a place crawling with officers? Do you have a secret way out, or are we to disappear through the chimney?"
Governor Gall turned from the window, the tension on his face now unmistakable. "Virgo," he said sharply. "Pack the drugs. Get them out of sight. Use the back entrance to move our guests. I'll stall them."
Without another word, the governor straightened his suit, rubbed the sweat off his brow, and made his way toward the grand foyer, where the echo of boots on marble floors signaled the arrival of Detective Charles and two uniformed officers.
"Ahhh… our beloved Governor Gall," Charles greeted with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Gall lit another cigarette, feigning composure. "And to what do I owe the honor, detective? Would you care to step inside? I'll have the nannies whip up something delightful for you and your men."
Charles declined politely but firmly. "We have a few questions for you, Governor. We can speak inside."
The men entered the sitting room, a tastefully decorated space of leather, crystal, and control. Gall reclined in his chair, exhaling a cloud of smoke that lingered like his deception.
"What exactly do you want to ask?" he said, his tone cool, almost amused. "And why does it concern me?"
Charles didn't hesitate. "What's your relationship with Mr. Lockwood?"
For a split second, the governor's eyes narrowed. He wasn't expecting that name, not so soon. He masked the flicker of panic behind a lazy smile. Inside, however, his thoughts raced. How the hell do they know? Could Miss Donna have said something? Did she reveal what I offered her to sentence that innocent man?
He took a long drag, then muttered with calculated nonchalance, "Lockwood? Oh yes… he was my gardener."
Charles chuckled, though there was nothing humorous in his tone. "A CEO... your gardener? Governor, really. Can we try something a little more believable? You do realize he's dead, right? Brutally murdered. Do you have anything reasonable to say that might distance you from that fact?"
Gall leaned forward, a flicker of irritation breaking through. "I had no reason to harm him. You're barking up the wrong tree, detective. And watch your tone, I could sue you for baseless accusations."
Charles pressed on. "Where were you the night he died?"
There was a pause. Governor Gall stared at the smoke curling from his cigarette. His mind drifted back to that night...
---
Flashback
The room had been dimly lit, the walls lined with men and women whose names were unknown to the public but feared in every backroom of the city. Gall sat at the head of the table.
"He's threatening to leave," he said, voice low. "He's already sent messages to key players. If Lockwood walks, he could burn everything down."
"Then he must be silenced," Farewell said, her tone cold.
"He's a liability," another chimed in.
Gall nodded slowly. "Then it's done. Eliminate him. Tonight."
---
Back to Present
Gall leaned back again and smiled at Charles. "I was home. With my family. Watching The Predator, actually. Great film, you should try it sometime."
Charles clenched his jaw, his patience thinning. But he smiled, playing the same game. He reached into his coat and pulled out a manila envelope.
"I thought you'd say that," he said, sliding a photo across the table. "This picture… shows you and Mr Lockwood together, very cozy. But here's the real treat." He pulled out a printed text message. "This message was sent to Lockwood the night of his death. I got a hard copy for your viewing pleasure."
Gall examined the paper, squinting dramatically. "Hmm… yes, that's my name. But that's not my number. Try calling it. It won't link back to me. Someone's impersonating me, probably political enemies. I've made many."
"And what about The Hallow Syndicate?" Charles said, leaning in as he pointed at a scribbled reference on the printout.
The governor's facade cracked. He stood suddenly, fury boiling to the surface. "Enough! Get the hell out of my house! I've told you, that's not my number. If you don't leave now, I'll have your badge for harassment!"
Charles and the officers stood slowly, deliberately. "We'll be in touch," the detective said calmly, before turning and walking out with the others.
As the front door closed behind them, Gall's fury turned to calculation. He snatched up his phone and dialed a number labeled "The Engines."
The line connected instantly. A smooth, robotic voice answered. "Yes, sir?"
"I have a job for you. A detective, Charles. I want everything on him. His family. His friends. His habits as well as the woman called judge Donna, send the informatioms quickly. I want to know everything about them both… Get me something to work with. And fast."
"Consider it done, sir," The Engines replied.
Gall ended the call, his jaw tight, eyes burning with the promise of retaliation. He turned back to the window, where twilight now crept over the city.
The game was no longer about defense.
It was a war.
"You," the governor said sharply to one of his bodyguards just as Detective Charles stepped through the front door, the heavy oak shutting behind him with a definitive thud. The tension from the interrogation still lingered in the air like smoke after a fire.
"Yes, sir," the guard responded, immediately attentive.
"Get some other guards. I have something for you to do. Meet me inside my office," the governor commanded, not breaking stride as he turned and walked down the hall.
His polished shoes struck the marble floor with a rhythmic click-click-click, a steady beat of authority and growing rage.
As he approached his private office, the mask of diplomacy he wore in public began to crack, revealing the man beneath, calculating, ruthless, and now, insulted.
"I'm going to teach that stupid judge who calls herself Miss Donna a lesson..." he muttered under his breath, voice venomous. "...together with that meddling detective."
He slammed the door behind him and paced toward his desk, the shadows of dusk creeping in through the tall windows. The grandeur of the office, the leather furniture, framed degrees, and state awards, felt more like the lair of a villain than a normal office..