The Art of Control

Roger Caldwell Smith took the mic from Captain John with a calm, deliberate motion, his fingers wrapping around it with a kind of effortless control. He took a moment to glance over the officers in the room before speaking.

"As you all may already know, the FBI has successfully identified the culprit behind the Red Floor Incident."

The room was silent, but it wasn't the silence of relief—it was uncertainty.

At the back of the room, Calloway's fingers twitched slightly on the table. He leaned closer to Darren and muttered under his breath, his voice low and sharp.

"Bullshit. If they actually had the guy, they'd be parading his face all over the damn place."

Darren nodded, his gut twisting uncomfortably. Something about this felt wrong.

Beside them, Sophie folded her arms and let out a quiet breath.

"If they found the culprit, why haven't they even reported it to us?" she whispered. "I get keeping things classified from the public, but from us? From the people actually working this case?"

Darren didn't have an answer. But he had the same question.

And then—Roger spoke again.

"I understand that some of you may have doubts," he said smoothly, his voice carrying across the room with ease, like he could feel the officers' uncertainty before they even voiced it. "You may be wondering why the suspect's identity remains classified, even from the BRPD."

Darren's pulse quickened.

Roger hadn't just guessed what they were thinking. He had said it word for word.

Calloway stiffened slightly. "The hell…?"

Darren glanced at him. He could tell Calloway felt it too. That strange, creeping feeling that Roger wasn't just making a speech—he was playing them.

Roger continued without missing a beat.

"Do not worry, my fellow officers. We will be revealing the individual responsible for this horrific crime soon. Very soon. However…"

Roger paused here, just long enough to let the anticipation sink in.

"The suspect is no ordinary criminal. His presence in the underworld is… well-known. If we release his identity now, it could lead to certain complications."

Darren didn't like the way he said that. Complications? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Calloway scoffed, shaking his head. "Listen to that wording. He's not saying they can't release the name. He's saying they won't."

Sophie frowned, clearly just as unsettled.

Roger's voice remained steady, unfazed by the doubt that was undoubtedly spreading among some of the officers.

"But fear not," Roger continued, his tone light but firm. "We are working diligently to resolve these issues, and once we do, the information will be made public. I assure you all, we will not let the truth be buried."

That last line almost made Calloway laugh out loud.

Not let the truth be buried? That's exactly what they were doing.

Roger smiled slightly, as if he had just delivered great news.

Darren, meanwhile, couldn't shake the growing feeling that this wasn't about catching a criminal.

It was about controlling the story.

Roger took a step forward, his eyes scanning the room once again.

"And that is not all," he said. "I have another announcement to make."

The room tensed.

"As of today, the FBI will not be taking full control of the Dried Corpse Case. Instead, we will be working in collaboration with the BRPD."

Darren's brow furrowed.

Calloway went completely still.

"Instead of replacing your investigation, we will be supporting it," Roger continued. "We will share resources, work hand-in-hand, and ensure that justice is delivered."

He smiled.

"And with that, I am proud to say—the FBI and BRPD will stand together in this investigation."

The officers erupted into applause.

Some cheered. Others nodded approvingly. A few even looked excited—this was huge. The feds working directly with them? This was an opportunity, a chance for career advancement, prestige, and recognition.

Darren slowly looked at Calloway.

The older officer wasn't clapping. He wasn't moving. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw set, watching Roger carefully.

"They're not working with us," Calloway muttered. "They're keeping us in check."

Darren felt his stomach tighten.

He was right.

This wasn't cooperation.

It was control.

And Roger?

He was making sure no one saw the difference

The applause gradually died down, but the energy in the room had changed. Officers whispered among themselves, some exchanging excited glances, while others remained more reserved.

Calloway sat still, his hands resting on the table, his fingers tapping rhythmically. His expression was unreadable, but Darren could tell he was deep in thought.

Darren himself felt uneasy. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. A collaboration between departments should be a good thing, but something about the way Roger had framed it felt wrong. It was too clean. Too rehearsed. Like this had been decided long before the meeting had even started.

Roger let the silence settle for a moment before continuing.

"I understand this is a big change for the BRPD," he said smoothly. "And I also understand that some of you may feel concerned that the FBI's presence will disrupt your usual operations."

He smiled, shaking his head slightly.

"Let me assure you—that will not happen."

Calloway scoffed under his breath.

Darren turned to him. "You don't believe him."

Calloway kept his eyes on Roger. "Not a damn word."

Roger continued, his voice confident and unwavering.

"We are not here to overstep our boundaries. We are here to support the BRPD. We are here to provide resources, expertise, and guidance as we move forward in these cases. But we will not interfere where we are not needed."

Darren frowned. That phrase. Where we are not needed. That meant the FBI got to decide where their involvement ended. Not the BRPD. Not Calloway. Not Darren. Only them.

Calloway's fingers tapped against the table again. He was putting something together in his head, but he hadn't said it out loud yet.

Roger's voice shifted slightly, taking on a more authoritative tone.

"To ensure a smooth operation, some of my fellow FBI agents and I will be hand-picking officers from the BRPD to work alongside us in this joint investigation."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd.

Some officers perked up, sitting a little straighter. This wasn't just collaboration. This was selection.

An opportunity.

Darren saw it immediately—the way some of the officers straightened in their chairs, the way their expressions changed. They weren't thinking about the case anymore.

They were thinking about what this meant for them.

A chance to work alongside the FBI. A chance to prove themselves. Maybe even a way out of the BRPD and into something bigger.

Roger smiled, seeing the shift in energy.

"If you are selected, you will be briefed on what is expected of you, and you will work closely with our department to ensure that these cases come to a swift resolution."

Darren caught Sophie's reaction out of the corner of his eye.

She wasn't buying it.

Her arms were crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was thinking the same thing as him.

This wasn't collaboration.

It was control.

Calloway leaned slightly toward Darren and muttered, "He's splitting us up."

Darren nodded slowly, his mind working through the implications.

If the FBI selected only certain officers, they weren't just adding manpower to the case.

They were choosing who got to see what.

They were controlling the flow of information.

A subtle, effective way to make sure no one outside their handpicked group could dig too deep.

Darren exhaled slowly, his stomach twisting.

Roger, meanwhile, kept speaking, completely in control of the room.

"I encourage all of you to continue working diligently. The FBI has great respect for the BRPD, and we know that each and every one of you has a role to play in this city's safety."

The way he said it felt almost mocking.

Like he was reminding them who really had the power here.

Darren glanced toward Calloway again, expecting him to mutter something sarcastic.

But the older officer was staring at Roger with something different in his eyes now.

It wasn't just suspicion.

It was something colder.

Darren felt his grip tighten on his pen.

This wasn't going to end well.

As the murmurs and whispers gradually settled, Roger adjusted his tie, took a step forward, and smiled at the room. His expression was one of complete confidence, his posture relaxed as if he had expected every reaction so far.

"Now that we've covered the basics of this collaboration, I want to open the floor to any questions you may have," he said, his voice smooth and inviting. "I understand there may still be concerns, and I want to be as transparent as possible."

A few officers immediately raised their hands.

Roger pointed toward an older officer near the front. "Go ahead."

The officer cleared his throat. "How exactly is this collaboration going to work? Are we just assisting you, or will the BRPD still be leading the investigation?"

Roger nodded as if he had been waiting for this question.

"A fair concern," he said. "This is not a situation where the FBI simply takes over and sidelines local law enforcement. We recognize the BRPD's deep knowledge of this city and its criminal landscape. Our goal is to enhance your efforts, not replace them. However, due to the complexity of these cases, certain decisions will need to go through FBI channels to ensure efficiency and security."

Darren didn't miss the way Roger had phrased that. The BRPD wouldn't be leading anything. The FBI—or rather, the PTRD—was taking full control.

Another officer raised his hand. Roger gestured toward him.

"What exactly do you mean by 'certain decisions' needing to go through the FBI? Does that mean we need approval to follow leads?"

Roger smiled again, but this time it was thinner, like he was amused by the question.

"Think of it as a chain of command," he said. "If an officer on the ground finds something relevant, we encourage them to report it immediately. However, when it comes to how that information is used, it is best to let the larger investigation dictate the next steps."

Darren felt a bitter taste in his mouth. That was just a fancy way of saying they would decide what information actually mattered.

Another officer raised their hand, this one younger and clearly excited. "What if someone wanted to transition into the FBI? Would working on this case be an opportunity for that?"

Roger chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I admire the ambition. While this investigation is not a recruitment drive, I won't deny that exceptional work is always noticed in this field. Who knows? If you prove yourself, doors have a way of opening."

Darren's stomach turned. He saw it again—that glint in Roger's eye. The subtle way he played with people's desires to keep them in line.

Calloway let out a slow, measured breath beside him, and Darren knew he was thinking the exact same thing.

The questions continued, mostly standard ones. How the BRPD officers would be selected for the joint task force. How long the collaboration would last. What additional resources would be provided. Roger answered each one effortlessly, as if this entire meeting had been scripted in advance.

Then, a familiar voice spoke up.

Bennett.

The same officer who had mocked Darren earlier during the meeting.

"Actually, sir, I've got one more question," Bennett said, his voice carrying an unmistakable smugness. He turned his head slightly, and Darren already knew what was coming.

Bennett leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Earlier, one of our officers here had an interesting theory about the Dried Corpse Case. Something about how a normal person couldn't have done it. That maybe it was something... supernatural."

Darren's entire body tensed.

The room shifted. Some officers chuckled quietly, others looked genuinely curious.

Calloway muttered under his breath, "Here we go."

Roger didn't react immediately. He simply stood there, expression neutral, as if waiting to see where this would go.

Bennett smirked. "What do you think, Agent? Should we be looking for a ghost?"

More chuckles spread through the room.

Darren stared down at his notepad, gripping his pen tightly. He could feel heat rising in his face, a mix of anger and humiliation settling in his chest.

For a few seconds, Roger said nothing.

Then, slowly, he turned his head.

And locked eyes with Darren.

The room seemed to quiet down. The playful energy of the moment faded, replaced with something else entirely.

Roger didn't speak. He didn't smile. He didn't scoff or laugh.

He just stared.

Darren swallowed.

Something about the way Roger looked at him felt wrong.

His eyes weren't just focused—they were analyzing him. Studying him.

The amusement in Roger's expression was subtle, but it was there. Like he was entertained by something no one else in the room could understand.

Darren felt his pulse in his ears.

Calloway, sensing something was off, shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between the two of them.

Roger's stare lasted just a second longer than it should have.

Then, finally, he smiled.

"Interesting theory," he said, his voice calm. "But we prefer to deal in reality."

He turned away, moving on as if the moment had never happened.

But Darren knew it had.

And he knew that for whatever reason—

Roger was paying attention to him now.