ONE LAST LIE
Episode -01
*Click... Click... Click...*
"Kevin Robertson wasn't a monster, but a man who loved too deeply for this world."
Finally saving the last chapter,I closed my laptop — the manuscript stacked neatly on the café table.
The lady at the next table, who had been watching me for an hour, finally spoke.
??？
I've seen you writing here for weeks. Is it a love story?😄
I looked up, giving a grim smile
The lady blinked, taken aback by the weight in my voice.
My smile couldn't reach to my eyes anymore
？？？
For a..."dead man" the world decided to hate.
??？
A dead man??... Why to a dead man?
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Because... he deserved better than the lies they told about him
then pushing back my chair, I collected my things on the table, leaving her alone.
I walk the lonely path, looking out at the glistening city streets, a place I had moved to one year ago, a young woman eager to make her mark. This city held no more ghosts for me anymore. Instead, it held a story—
A story that had consumed me, haunted me, and ultimately freed me, was finally trapped in ink and paper. A tragic, beautiful echo of a life I had been tasked to hunt, only to end up preserving.
This is the story of a love that was a crime in itself. A vengeance that...
That consumes a soul, This is a tragic tale of doomed lovers, and the one person left behind to piece together the story of a love that burned too bright to last.
My mind drifted back, not to the beginning, but to the very end—
??？
News reporter- "This warehouse behind me just explored,destroy all of ___'s goods inside."
???
- "_____ is a traitor to the badge. We will stop him."
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*running on the stairs*
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KEVIN, IT'S OVER. YOU CAN STOP. YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH. *shout*
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COME WITH ME. LET ME HELP YOU. WE CAN... We can still have a life.
Let’s start at the beginning.
Author
This is my second story, hope you will support it and
episode -02
"Every city has its ghosts. Some haunt old houses, their stories whispered in the creak of floorboards. Others haunt the living, their memories a weight on a shoulder, a face in a crowd."
"But Seattle's ghosts were gentle, misty things, reflected in the calm, grey waters of the Puget Sound."
"My life there was a study in quiet competence—a temporary liaison role that involved more paperwork than pulse-pounding action. It was successful"
"But it was a placeholder. I was waiting, though I didn't know for what."
We are often defined by the calls we answer. Most are mundane; the ring of an alarm clock, the trill of a personal phone. But for someone in my line of work, there is one call that separates a quiet life from a storm.
Mine came on a Tuesday, in the rain-swept tranquility of Seattle.
The phone on my desk, a modern, sleek thing that rarely rang, shattered the gentle patter of rain with a sharp, intrusive sound.
I answered, my voice echoing in the spacious room.
???
📲Mia. I'm reassigning you. Effective immediately. It's a hot one. We need your particular set of skills.
It was Deputy Director Evans, his voice a familiar, gravelly tone crackling with long-distance static.
???
📲 You're needed in Chicago and We're sending you the file. It's a phantom case.
The name meant nothing to me then. Just a name. But the way he said it—a mixture of frustration and grim finality—sent a chill through me.
Mia Jones
📲 A phantom, sir?
I heard the rustle of papers through the phone.
???
📲 A ghost. He's hitting high-profile targets connected to Mr. Edwin. Corporate offices, storage facilities. He's good. Too good, outsmarting them at every turn. Leaves nothing but frustration and a signature we can't decipher.
???
📲 The local Chicago PD and the FBI field office were running in circles, Mia. He is a ghost, and he knew all their tricks. They need a fresh perspective, someone from the outside, he can't predict. Your profile on the Petrovich syndicate takedown got you this ticket. Pack for the Windy City.
???
📲 You're leading the task force. We need your profiling skills, to see the ghost.
A ghost. The word echoed in the quiet of my office long after the call ended.
When the case file landed in my inbox, I opened it with a clinical detachment as my flight was being booked. The screen glowed, illuminating the stark facts.
That's what the files told me, at least. The official record painted the suspected in a string of high-stakes, unforgiving strokes:
Wanted for arson, breaking and entering, obstruction of justice, and suspected involvement in three homicides.
But there are some oddly specific crimes, all targeting the one man—
The connection was noted, but the motive and the suspect's name was listed as "unknown". His legend was built on absence. He was a shadow, a blur on a camera, a whisper in the underworld.
Every other attempt to capture him—security footage, traffic cams, witness sketches—resulted in a smudge, a turned head, a figure swallowed by a hoodie and shadows. No one could get his face right
He was dismantling Evander Edwin's empire with the precision of a surgeon and the ruthlessness of a bomb.
The assignment was clear. I was to take over the case, lead the task force, and bring in this ghost.
I remember the feeling that settled in my stomach—a cold, sharp certainty. This was more than a transfer, it was a summons to the heart of a tragedy.
and Chicago is the turning key to the lock.
Author
Thank you for reading 😁😁
Author
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