"Commissioner," Eileen said with a hint of reproach in her voice. Perhaps it was because Frank had just expressed confidence in her, only to immediately shift his attention to Jack with a gesture that carried a different implication. It left her feeling slightly embarrassed.
"The District Attorney from Kings County is here, sir," Frank's secretary, Baker, reminded him softly from outside the door with a knock.
"Please attend to them first, Baker." As he spoke, Frank got up from his desk. Jack quickly packed the files and handed them back to Eileen, then stood as well, preparing to take his leave.
The recent contamination incident involving the DNA swabs implicated not just the CSI lab in New York but also law enforcement labs from other states and regions. Manhattan's District Attorney wasn't the only one busy dealing with this mess. Frank had to meet with other prosecutors who had come to report the situation as well.
The commissioner walked over to his daughter and put an arm around her. "You know, sweetheart, I still remember how that bastard Reed smiled throughout the entire court session, and I'll never forget the insults he hurled at you in the courtroom.
No one treats a Reagan's daughter like that. And let me add that I'm glad you finally left your ex-husband and reclaimed your last name."
"I won't let him get away with it," Eileen said, biting her lip. She hugged her father, leaning into him for a moment before letting go. She then cast a brief glance at Jack, looking a little self-conscious.
Jack almost whistled to the ceiling to signal he hadn't seen a thing. However, it was clear Frank had more to say to him, so Jack could only stand behind them, pretending to tidy up the gun case.
Frank glanced at his watch and then turned to Jack. "There's still an hour before the press conference. You can head down to the precinct's shooting range and test out that gun.
Also, don't forget to get a business card from Baker. Reach out to them, and they'll deliver the rest of the guns and accessories to a location of your choice."
"Thank you very much, Commissioner Reagan." Jack sincerely expressed his gratitude. These were excellent firearms, worth $1,000 apiece. With his small task force running on a limited budget, every penny saved mattered.
Jack headed to the underground shooting range attached to NYPD headquarters. After putting on ear protection and firing a few magazines, he was thoroughly impressed with the gun. While it was slightly heavier than the Glock 22, it was significantly lighter than his backup FK 7.5.
More importantly, the recoil was much gentler than most large-caliber handguns, making it manageable even for female agents. And with a magazine capacity of 15 rounds—the same as the Glock 22—it satisfied the preferences of those who favored the "more holes, the better" philosophy.
Seeing that time was almost up, Jack placed the gun back in its case and left the precinct. He walked over to Police Plaza, where a crowd had already gathered. Reporters and curious onlookers packed the area around the podium on the steps, leaving no room to spare.
The mayor, a white-haired middle-aged man who appeared slightly younger than Frank, was delivering a speech. As Dana Moser had mentioned, his remarks indicated that he was firmly siding with the NYPD during this crisis.
Jack recalled that this mayor had historically been somewhat critical of the NYPD—particularly Frank. This seemed to stem from a previous incident in which a commissioner he had appointed resigned in frustration after failing to command the department effectively.
Unexpectedly, during his speech, the mayor pledged to work with the NYPD to address the current issues head-on and mitigate the negative fallout.
Jack speculated that this newfound cooperation might be tied to the mayor's efforts to secure re-election. Just as that thought crossed his mind, a reporter raised a pointed question: What exactly had caused the problems with the DNA testing?
The mayor seemed prepared and turned the question over to the head of the New York City Council's Public Safety Committee—a Black female councilmember.
Jack immediately understood why the mayor was aligning himself with the NYPD. As soon as this councilwoman, referred to as Ms. Collins, stepped up to speak, she shifted the blame squarely onto the mayor and the police department.
"In simple terms, over the past decade, the number of cases in this city relying solely on DNA evidence has tripled. This has consumed a significant portion of government funding, only to culminate in today's catastrophic consequences.
The root issue lies in our police department's over-reliance on DNA evidence, which has drained municipal resources and deviated from traditional investigative methods—like collecting hair, fibers, fingerprints, and so on.
These are tasks that should have been handled by the department's own evidence teams. What do you think, Commissioner Reagan?"
Her disjointed accusations left Jack shaking his head in silent disapproval. Mike Taylor had been right: politicians never miss an opportunity to exploit a crisis.
The New York City Council's Public Safety Committee was one of the supervisory bodies overseeing NYPD funding, responsible for reviewing citywide security expenditures and special allocations.
Jack discreetly pulled out his phone and Googled Ms. Collins. He quickly uncovered some interesting facts. She was clearly ambitious, involved in several so-called committees, and reportedly had a well-funded campaign chest. She was also running for mayor.
It was evident that even Frank hadn't anticipated being publicly called out. For a brief moment, his expression showed a hint of surprise, indicating he'd had no prior warning of this ambush.
Even the journalists in the crowd exchanged puzzled looks, their faces devoid of the usual excitement that came with landing a juicy story. If Collins had aimed her criticism at the mayor, it would have been understandable. But targeting Frank Reagan and the NYPD? What was the point?
While the general public might be confused, the media knew exactly what was going on. Strictly speaking, the NYPD and its CSI lab were victims in this situation. With a slew of criminals potentially being released, everyone was counting on the police to work tirelessly to gather evidence and get these scumbags back behind bars—or, at the very least, increase patrols around their neighborhoods.
Still, Frank showed no intention of correcting or debating Ms. Collins' erroneous accusations.
"I have no intention of shirking my responsibilities as police commissioner, Councilwoman." After saying this, Frank's face twitched ever so slightly before he forced a smile and gave a polite nod to the councilwoman.
"But rest assured, the public can count on us. This kind of issue will not happen again. We will deploy an NYPD-led review team to conduct periodic checks on police equipment and supply vendors to identify and address potential risks."
"But the problem persists—one of the most dangerous criminals is about to roam free in New York City," a familiar voice from the crowd interjected. It was a reporter Jack recognized, one of Frank's secret romantic acquaintances, holding a microphone with her network's logo prominently displayed.
"I know exactly who you're referring to," Frank responded, his smile becoming more natural. "And I also remember those dark, fearful days, Ms. Davidson."
With this convenient setup, Frank continued smoothly, "I want to take this opportunity to assure all citizens through the media: the NYPD will spare no effort in ensuring everyone's safety."
Half an hour later, back in Frank's office, the two men—one old, one young—lit cigars as they sat together, discussing matters in private.
After a while, Jack, leaning back on the sofa, let out a heavy sigh. "You do realize, Frank, that even if the FBI takes out a 'most dangerous criminal,' if it happens under murky circumstances or bad timing, it'll still cause a media uproar, right?"
Frank puffed on his cigar, slowly exhaling the smoke before a sly grin, one that seemed unfitting for his age, crept onto his face.
"I think you may have misunderstood my intentions, Jack. The reason I brought you and Eileen together today is that I want you to focus a little more attention on my daughter in the coming days."
"…Huh?" Jack was stunned. The age difference here was a bit much, wasn't it?
Quickly dismissing that unlikely possibility from his mind, Jack's thoughts spun in circles before he cautiously asked, "You mean you want me to protect her?"
Frank's eyes turned sharp. "Of course. What did you think I meant?"
"Uh…" Jack straightened up immediately, his tone full of loyalty. "Absolutely no problem."
He quickly changed the subject. "But may I ask why?"
Perhaps Jack's flawless acting convinced Frank not to probe further, or perhaps Frank simply didn't care to elaborate. Sitting down across from Jack, Frank tapped his cigar's ash and spoke with a serious tone.
"As I mentioned earlier, I attended Eileen's trial against Dick Reed. That animal's gaze disgusted me. Whether as a veteran officer of over 30 years or as a father, you understand what I mean, don't you?"
"I understand." Jack nodded. It was clear that Frank suspected Reed might target Eileen after his release, and he wanted Jack to ensure her safety.
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