The Black Envelope

Detective Jake Carter stared at the black envelope lying on the coffee table. The apartment was in disarray—drawers yanked open, furniture overturned, glass shattered across the floor. But the envelope was untouched, perfectly centered amidst the chaos.

“Who found the body?” Jake asked, glancing at the young patrol officer standing nearby.

“Neighbor called it in. Said they heard a scream and some banging around. By the time they checked, the door was wide open, and… well…” The officer gestured toward the lifeless figure sprawled on the living room floor.

Simon Wade, a high-profile defense attorney with more enemies than friends, lay face down in a pool of blood. His throat had been slashed cleanly, efficiently. No sign of a struggle, except for the ransacked apartment. And then there was the black envelope.

“Any fingerprints on the envelope?” Jake asked, slipping on a pair of gloves.

“None. It’s clean,” the officer replied.

Jake picked up the envelope, noticing the thick, expensive paper. No markings on it, no name, no address. Just black. Carefully, he slid a letter opener under the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

“He had it coming.
I’m just getting started.”

Jake’s brow furrowed. No signature, no demands, nothing to explain why Simon Wade had been murdered. The simplicity made it worse. It wasn’t just a killing—it was a message.

“Someone’s making this personal,” Jake muttered, folding the note and placing it in an evidence bag. He stood up, scanning the room. “What do we know about Wade?”

“Big-shot lawyer,” the officer said. “Made a lot of enemies defending criminals. Especially that recent case—he got the Fitzgerald kid off on a technicality.”

Jake nodded. Everyone knew about the Fitzgerald case. A rich kid caught up in a drug-fueled hit-and-run, leaving two people dead. The public was outraged when Wade managed to free him. The case had nearly ruined Wade’s career, but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the controversy.

“Find out where Fitzgerald is,” Jake ordered. “He’s a good place to start.”

As the officers worked, Jake’s phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. He frowned and opened it.

“Tick tock, Detective.”

Jake’s pulse quickened. He looked around the apartment, half expecting someone to be watching him from the shadows. How did they have his number? And how did they know he was here?

A second text arrived, this time with an address.

“Looks like our killer wants to play,” Jake muttered, grabbing his coat. He raced to his car and followed the GPS to a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Every instinct screamed at him that this was a trap, but he had no choice. Whoever was doing this was taunting him, drawing him deeper.

The warehouse was dark, the air thick with dust and decay. Jake entered cautiously, flashlight in hand, scanning the vast, empty space. In the center of the floor, he spotted something—a chair. And sitting on the chair was another black envelope.

He approached slowly, heart pounding in his chest. The silence around him felt unnatural, like the world was holding its breath. He opened the envelope.

“You’re next.”

Before Jake could react, he heard a faint click behind him. The sound of a gun being cocked. He froze.

A voice, calm and eerily familiar, whispered from the shadows.

“You should have stayed away, Detective.”