Murder at Dawn
January 11, 2025
The early morning sunlight filtered through the large bay windows of the upscale penthouse, casting long shadows over the crime scene. On the pristine white marble floor lay Gregory Steele, a high-powered attorney known for representing the city’s wealthiest—and most corrupt—clients.
Detective Clara Hayes stood over the body, her sharp green eyes taking in every detail. Steele’s silk robe was open, his chest marred by a stab wound. The murder weapon—a kitchen knife—was still embedded in his chest, its hilt smeared with blood.
“Sloppy,” Clara muttered.
Her partner, Detective Marcus Reed, leaned against the counter, scanning the room. “Or a message. Steele had enemies, Clara. Lots of them.”
Clara nodded, her gaze falling on an overturned glass of scotch on the coffee table. Beside it, an ashtray held a single cigarette, still smoldering. “Whoever did this wasn’t in a rush. They wanted him to know it was coming.”
Marcus held up a small envelope he’d found on the floor near the door. “This might tell us more. It’s addressed to Steele but unsealed.”
Clara took the envelope and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. Written in bold, black ink were the words: “Justice for Evan.”
Clara’s brow furrowed. “Evan who?”
Marcus shrugged. “We need to find out.”
The name led them to Evan Monroe, a whistleblower whose testimony had exposed a corrupt pharmaceutical company two years prior. Steele had been the lead defense attorney for the company—and had successfully dismantled the case, discrediting Monroe and leaving him bankrupt.
Monroe’s address brought them to a modest apartment complex on the city’s outskirts. The man who opened the door was a shadow of the passionate activist he had once been. His eyes were hollow, and his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight.
“Evan Monroe?” Clara asked.
He nodded cautiously. “What’s this about?”
“Gregory Steele is dead,” Clara said bluntly, watching for a reaction.
Monroe blinked, his face unreadable. “Good riddance.”
Marcus stepped forward. “Where were you last night around midnight?”
Monroe crossed his arms. “At home. Alone.”
Clara raised an eyebrow. “Convenient.”
“Look,” Monroe said, his voice rising, “I hated Steele for what he did to me. But I’m not stupid enough to kill him. That won’t bring my life back.”
Clara studied him for a moment. “Do you know anyone else who might’ve wanted Steele dead?”
Monroe hesitated, then said, “He didn’t just ruin my life. There were others. Check the names in the lawsuit he tore apart. He didn’t just win cases—he destroyed people.”
Back at the precinct, Clara and Marcus pored over the records. Among the plaintiffs Steele had crushed was Maria Trent, the widow of a factory worker who had died due to the pharmaceutical company’s negligence.
A visit to Maria’s modest home revealed a nervous woman with calloused hands. She denied involvement but couldn’t hide her bitterness. “He deserved what he got,” she admitted, “but I didn’t kill him.”
Clara noticed a faint bruise on Maria’s wrist. “How did you get that?”
Maria hesitated, then broke down. “It’s my brother, Carlos. He wanted Steele to pay for what he did to us. He said… he said he’d take care of it.”
Carlos Trent didn’t put up a fight when they found him. His hands were still scratched, and a faint smear of blood stained his jacket sleeve.
“He killed my sister’s husband,” Carlos spat as they cuffed him. “He killed dozens with his lies. Someone had to stop him.”
Clara stared at him, her expression unreadable. “Justice doesn’t come from a knife in the dark, Carlos. Now you’ll have to face it yourself.”
As they drove back to the precinct, Clara looked out the window, the city waking up around them. Steele’s death was just another ripple in a sea of corruption—but at least, for once, the truth wouldn’t be buried with him.
4o