Chapter 10: The Frame
Chapter 10: The Frame
The apartment fell silent.
Detective Marcus Bennett stared at the DNA report as if it belonged to someone else.
Emily read the page again.
And again.
There was no mistake.
Sample A: Jonathan Carter.
Sample B: Detective Marcus Bennett.
Emily slowly lowered the report.
"This isn't possible."
Bennett's voice remained steady, though his face had gone pale.
"I've never set foot in this apartment before tonight."
The crime scene technician shifted uneasily.
"The samples were found mixed together on the broken edge of the kitchen counter."
Bennett looked directly at him.
"Who collected the evidence?"
"Officer Lewis Grant."
"Where is he now?"
The technician frowned.
"He left about twenty minutes ago."
Bennett's instincts immediately flared.
"He left before turning over evidence?"
The technician hesitated.
"He said he received another assignment."
Bennett pulled out his phone and called dispatch.
"Locate Officer Grant immediately."
A pause.
Then the dispatcher answered.
"Detective... Officer Grant isn't on duty tonight."
Bennett froze.
"What?"
"He called in sick this morning."
Emily felt a chill run down her spine.
"If Grant wasn't working..."
Bennett finished the thought.
"Then whoever collected that sample wasn't Officer Grant."
Within minutes, police sealed the apartment.
Every officer present had their identification verified.
One patrol sergeant rushed over carrying a clipboard.
"We checked the visitor log."
Bennett looked up.
"Anything?"
"Someone signed in as Officer Lewis Grant at 8:17 p.m."
"Were security cameras running?"
"Yes."
"Pull the footage."
Twenty minutes later, everyone crowded into the building's management office.
The surveillance video began to play.
At exactly 8:17 p.m., a uniformed police officer entered through the front door.
The badge looked genuine.
The patrol uniform appeared authentic.
The fake officer even greeted the building manager by name.
Emily watched carefully.
"He knows police procedure."
Bennett nodded.
"Very well."
The man disappeared upstairs.
Seven minutes later he returned carrying a black evidence case.
Then he walked calmly back outside.
The camera caught his face clearly.
Emily had never seen him before.
Neither had Bennett.
The building manager leaned closer to the monitor.
"I've never met that officer."
Bennett immediately contacted Internal Affairs.
"There is no Officer Lewis Grant matching this man's appearance."
Emily looked at the screen.
"So he impersonated a police officer."
"Yes."
"And planted your DNA."
Bennett nodded.
"Which means someone wants me removed from this investigation."
At Police Headquarters, Internal Affairs Captain Rebecca Morales was already waiting.
She listened quietly as Bennett explained everything.
When he finished, she folded her hands.
"Marcus, until we verify the evidence..."
He nodded before she could finish.
"I understand."
"I'm placing you on administrative leave."
Emily stood abruptly.
"He's being punished?"
Morales remained calm.
"I'm protecting the investigation."
"You know he's innocent."
"I believe he probably is."
"Probably?"
"The evidence currently says otherwise."
Bennett placed his badge and service weapon on the captain's desk without protest.
"I'll cooperate."
Morales looked genuinely disappointed.
"I expected you would."
As Emily followed Bennett into the hallway, frustration boiled over.
"They're taking the best detective off the case."
Bennett gave a tired smile.
"Which tells us something."
"What?"
"We're getting close."
Meanwhile...
Preston Carter sat inside the Cook County Detention Center.
Despite being behind bars, he appeared unusually relaxed.
His attorney entered the interview room carrying a thick folder.
"You've had a busy day."
Preston smirked.
"I heard."
"The detective investigating you has been suspended."
"Temporary setbacks happen."
The attorney studied him carefully.
"Did you arrange it?"
Preston laughed.
"If I had that much influence from a jail cell, I'd be impressed."
The attorney lowered his voice.
"Did the Chairman?"
Preston's smile disappeared.
"I don't ask him questions."
Across town, Natalie Brooks sat alone in her father's office.
Stacks of financial records surrounded her.
She had spent hours comparing bank transfers recovered by investigators with the company's accounting system.
Something suddenly caught her attention.
One transaction.
Nearly three million dollars.
Authorized six years earlier.
She looked at the signature.
Not Preston.
Not Richard.
The authorization belonged to...
Jonathan Carter.
Natalie frowned.
"That can't be right."
She pulled another file.
Another transfer.
Again...
Jonathan Carter.
A third.
The same signature.
Confused, she immediately called Emily.
Emily answered after the second ring.
"Natalie?"
"I found something."
"What?"
"Your grandfather's signature appears on several fraudulent transactions."
Emily closed her eyes.
"No..."
"I know it sounds impossible."
"He supposedly died before those transfers."
"Exactly."
Emily looked toward Bennett.
"He either signed them..."
"...or someone forged his name."
Natalie took a shaky breath.
"I think there's a third possibility."
"What?"
"The signatures are genuine."
Emily's pulse quickened.
"If Grandpa was alive..."
"...then he may have been secretly moving money himself."
That evening, Bennett sat alone in his apartment for the first time in years without his badge.
His phone buzzed.
A text message.
Unknown number.
There was no greeting.
Just one sentence.
Walk away from Emily Carter.
Then another message arrived.
Jonathan survived because he obeyed.
A third followed immediately.
You won't get a second chance.
Before Bennett could trace the number, his apartment lights suddenly went out.
The entire building fell into darkness.
He reached instinctively for the flashlight he kept in his kitchen drawer.
The beam swept across the room.
Everything looked normal.
Until it landed on his living room wall.
Someone had painted a symbol there in bright red.
A lion.
The same lion emblem found beneath Safe Deposit Box 214.
Beneath it, written in dripping letters, were four chilling words.
THE LIBRARY IS CLOSED.
At that exact moment, fifty miles outside Chicago, an old underground steel door slowly creaked open beneath an abandoned estate.
An elderly man carrying a lantern stepped inside.
Jonathan Carter looked around the vast hidden room lined with thousands of books, locked filing cabinets, and shelves of carefully labeled boxes.
He whispered to himself,
"They've found the lion."
He turned toward the darkness.
"It's time."
Then he pulled a thick leather volume from a shelf.
Stamped in gold across its spine were the words:
THE CARTER LIBRARY
May you like
Inside were records capable of destroying some of the most powerful people in Chicago.
And Jonathan knew they were coming for it.
