Chief Arthur Brown's small frame huddled in an expensive leather chair, his face livid. He looked like a squirrel that couldn't find its winter stash of acorns.
"Sarah Essen! Bob McGinnis!"
He had spent the past few days cursing those two names through clenched teeth. At last week's Gotham government meeting, the two of them had acted as police representatives and, by a two-to-one vote, backed the city council's proposal to restructure the Gotham Police Department's hierarchy.
He had known he was finished the moment it happened. The government had promised him a better position, but he knew perfectly well that it was nothing more than an empty promise.
Outside, they had already begun auditing the West District's assets. The restructuring would officially take effect at the end of the month-the day he would be kicked out of the department's power structure.
He wasn't thinking about a better position anymore. He just wanted to move his years of ill-gotten gains somewhere safe, then find a place where nobody knew him, reinvent himself, and live the life of a rich man.
Suddenly, a brief, urgent commotion erupted outside his office. His secretary raised her voice, trying to stop someone, but a moment later, the heavy solid-wood door was shoved open.
No knock. No announcement.
Chief Brown looked up angrily, ready to bark a reprimand, but the words caught in his throat.
The men entering weren't any of his officers. Two men led the way, their expressions as hard as granite. The badges on their dark suits weren't the GCPD's blue-and-gold shields, but the FBI's star-shaped badges. The man in front stepped forward and held out a folded legal document.
"Arthur Brown?" His voice was mechanical and emotionless, yet carried crushing weight.
"This is the West District Precinct! Who the fuck are