Chapter 4: B: The Police Precinct

👉 Previous Decision: You chose to go directly to the municipal police department with the handwritten note.

The municipal police station smelled of stale coffee and desperation. I sat on a hard plastic chair, the crumpled paper with the numbers clutched in my hand. A tired-looking officer with a thick mustache listened patiently as I explained, my voice rushing, the words tumbling out. The memory wipe, the bruises, Arthur Halloway, Apex Analytics, the offshore codes.

He took the note, examined it, and nodded slowly. “Son, these are just numbers. A kid’s scribbles, really. We can’t act on this without concrete evidence. No bank names, no account holders, nothing to tie it to a crime.”

“But it’s my father-in-law!” I insisted. “He’s running a massive operation. Money laundering.”

The officer sighed. “You’re seventeen, right? Emancipated? You’ve been working a high-stress job with daily memory loss. It sounds like you’re under a lot of strain, Leo.” He picked up the phone. “I’m going to have to notify Mr. Halloway. As a precaution.”

My blood ran cold. “No, wait! You can’t!”

But it was too late. Arthur Halloway’s public relations firm moved with chilling speed. Within hours, news articles popped up online, quoting “sources close to Apex Analytics” describing my “recent emotional distress” and “stress-induced hallucinations.” They painted me as an unstable teenager, overwhelmed by a high-pressure role. My claims were dismissed as the ramblings of a troubled youth. My credibility, and any hope of official intervention, crumbled into dust.