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Another night, another case. Rich dame walks in, designer heels clicking on my office floor. Says her husband's missing. Yeah, right. In this business, missing usually means hiding. Or worse. But her check cleared, so here I am, tracking shadows again.

Listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you. Behind closed doors, in rooms where decisions shape destinies, something unprecedented happened. No cameras caught it, no headlines revealed it, but that moment, that choice, changed everything forever.

Are you working for Thompson? What's your game with me? So you know about Thompson's crew, who the hell told you that? Do you report to Wilson? What's your angle here? Just tell me who sent you.

Downtown Brooklyn, midnight. Rain's coming down like bullets, washing away yesterday's promises. The streets are empty, except for shadows that know better than to ask questions. My boys are watching every corner, making sure tonight's business stays strictly business.

What's that you're holding there, been waiting how long for this moment? Could be nothing, could be everything. Time doesn't move like you think it does. Seventeen years or seventeen seconds, makes no difference when you're counting what can't be counted.

Every lie, every deception woven in the quiet corners of your mind is now laid bare for all to witness. You believed the shadows were your allies, but they have surrendered you to the truth. There is no turning back from the consequences you have crafted.

I made another call to the precinct about the Wilson case. The secretary confirmed what I'd suspected - our prime suspect had an ironclad alibi. $10,000 missing, two witnesses dead, and I was back to square one. Time to hit the streets again.

Look, I've been tracking these coordinates for about three weeks now. 187 meters, give or take. The locals think I'm some kind of ghost. Maybe I am. The whiskey helps, but the nights are getting longer up here.