Red Jack: The Truth
1727 Words
Chapter Seventeen: Lines Blurring
The precinct was quiet after midnight. Most of the detectives had gone home, the hum of fluorescent lights and the rustle of case files the only sounds left.
Aria sat at the evidence table, scanning bank records recovered from the old house. Ethan leaned against the edge of the table beside her, arms crossed, watching her eyes narrow at the numbers.
“These transfers,” she murmured, “all point to companies owned by the Callahans. Shell companies. Offshore accounts. They’ve been moving money for years.”
Ethan’s voice was low. “And one of the signatures on the early transfers matches the first victim. He wasn’t just connected to them. He was helping them.”
Aria exhaled slowly. It was enough to make the Callahans look guilty… but not enough to explain the murders. Not yet.
She felt Ethan’s presence next to her, the warmth of him even in the cold, empty room. He didn’t talk much, didn’t fill the silence with small talk like most men she knew. He just watched, thought, and when he finally spoke, it was precise.
“You need to eat,” he said simply, eyes on the files.
She smirked faintly. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when someone’s running on caffeine and anger,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting.
She looked at him then, really looked at him — the sharp jawline, the steady eyes, the way he carried himself like he belonged everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
She hated that she noticed.
“You know,” she said carefully, “you interrogated Henry Callahan like you already knew what happened back then.”
Ethan didn’t flinch. “I just know people like him. Power makes men predictable.”
It wasn’t a real answer. But she let it go. For now.
Outside, the city was drowned in shadows. Inside, with the dim lights and the quiet tension, Aria felt the lines between partner and something else begin to blur.
—
Chapter Eighteen: Closer Than Before
The lead came early the next morning — a man named Lucas Barlow, a former accountant for one of the Callahans’ companies, finally agreed to talk after weeks of ignoring subpoenas.
Aria and Ethan drove out together to meet him at a run-down diner on the edge of the city.
Lucas looked nervous, eyes darting to the door every few seconds as he slid a folder across the table.
“Old financial records,” he muttered. “If anyone knows I gave you this, I’m dead.”
Inside the folder were more bank statements, wire transfers, and signatures — all pointing to land deals, shell companies, and missing millions.
“This isn’t enough for murder charges,” Aria said slowly, flipping through the papers.
Lucas swallowed hard. “Then you don’t know the Callahans like I do.”
Before Aria could press him, he left, disappearing into the morning traffic like a man with a target on his back.
Back in the car, Ethan drove while Aria studied the files. The sun was barely up, the city lights fading behind them.
“Every time we pull a thread,” she said, “the Callahans look worse. And yet…”
“No proof they ordered a killing,” Ethan finished for her.
She nodded, glancing at him. “You’re good at this. Too good.”
He smirked faintly. “That’s your way of saying thank you?”
She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips.
When they hit a red light, Ethan turned to her, his expression softer than usual. “You okay? You’ve been running on fumes for days.”
She hesitated. “I’m fine.”
But the truth was, she wasn’t. She was tired, angry, and now—against her better judgment—she was starting to care about the man sitting next to her.
She didn’t know when it happened. Maybe the night in the storm. Maybe when he saved her mother. Maybe when he outsmarted Henry Callahan like it was nothing.
But it was happening.
And she wasn’t sure how to stop it.
—
Chapter Nineteen: Storms That Don’t Stop
The second trip to the old house broke the case wide open.
Files hidden beneath rotting floorboards. Old photographs marked with dates. A single safe, cracked open with the same documents Lucas Barlow had hinted about… but worse.
Land titles. Bank transfers. Signed contracts with names the Callahans swore they didn’t know.
It was enough to turn suspicion into accusation.
“Looks like the Callahans have been lying through their teeth,” Ethan said, holding up a folder.
Aria scanned the pages, her pulse quickening. There was no denying it now — everything pointed straight at the Callahans.
They left before the rain this time, silent on the drive back, tension thick but unspoken.
At Aria’s apartment, Ethan stayed when he should’ve left.
One look turned into one touch.
One touch turned into more.
The walls she kept so carefully built around herself cracked that night.
---
The next morning, Ethan was gone.
No note. No message. Nothing but the faint scent of his cologne on her pillow.
Like it had never happened.
Aria stared at the empty space beside her, anger mixing with something she didn’t want to name.
By evening, she was back at the precinct, mask firmly in place, when the Callahans’ lawyer stormed in, demanding to know why the family was being harassed.
Ethan walked in minutes later, unreadable as always, dropping the evidence on the table in front of everyone like last night had never existed.
The Callahans went pale when they saw the files.
But before Aria could say anything, a uniformed officer rushed in, face white as chalk.
“There’s been another body,” he said.
And this time… it wasn’t a stranger.
—
Chapter Twenty: Shadows in the Mirror
By evening, Aria had had enough.
She cornered Ethan in the hallway outside the precinct garage, arms folded.
“Last night,” she said quietly, eyes locking on his. “You’ve been acting like it didn’t happen.”
Ethan’s jaw flexed. “Because we’re in the middle of a case that’s about to blow open.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
He held her gaze for a moment… then just said, “I’ll explain later,” and walked out, leaving her standing there with a thousand questions burning in her chest.
Minutes later, the call came in: Henry Callahan’s personal assistant had been shot dead behind the family’s private office building.
But the shooting was messy. Quick. Sloppy. Nothing like Red Jack’s signature precision.
Whoever did this… wasn’t him.
Ethan left for the scene, but not before sliding a single envelope onto Aria’s desk.
Later that night, after reading his short, unexpected apology for “how he handled things,” Aria drove to his apartment.
But Ethan wasn’t there.
She was about to leave when she saw the trash bin by the desk… and two crumpled pieces of paper inside.
Both were torn-up apology letters.
Both written in handwriting identical to the letters Red Jack had sent weeks ago.
Her chest went cold.
Ethan… or someone who wanted her to think it was Ethan?
—
Chapter Twenty-One: Breaking Points
The pressure was turning brutal.
Henry Callahan and his brothers stormed into the precinct two days later, lawyers at their sides, demanding the investigation be stopped.
“This is tearing our family apart,” Henry snapped. “You have no right to destroy us based on ancient history.”
But Aria barely heard him. Her mind was somewhere else.
On Ethan.
On the letters.
On the fact that he hadn’t shown up for two whole days.
She tried calling. Nothing.
Tried going by his apartment. Still empty.
And the longer he was gone, the louder the questions grew in her head:
Why was the handwriting on those letters identical to Red Jack’s?
Why had Ethan been so cold after the night they shared?
Why did he vanish just as the case hit its breaking point?
She buried herself in the files they had pulled from the old house, piecing together what the Callahans had done.
Land disputes. Bribes. An entire company stolen out from under a business partner twenty-five years ago… a partner who vanished without a trace.
Red Jack’s victims all tied back to that deal somehow.
And if RJ was the same age as the Callahans…
Her stomach twisted.
But Ethan isn't in that same age range.
What's going on…?
She shut the file with shaking hands.
She didn’t want to believe it.
But the thought wouldn’t leave.
—
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Truth in His Eyes
Ethan’s apartment was warm, the faint smell of roasted garlic filling the air when Aria stepped inside.
He’d actually cooked.
True to the promise in his letter, he’d prepared dinner like nothing in the world was wrong.
They ate. They talked.
Aria asked him where he’d been the past few days.
“Out of town,” he said honestly, explaining he was chasing a lead he couldn’t share yet — not because of her, but because it wasn’t official. His answers were calm, steady… believable.
For the first time in days, she felt herself relax.
After dinner, they ended up on the couch, wine glasses on the table, soft music playing low in the background. Ethan leaned closer, his hand brushing hers, and for a second, it felt like the walls between them were finally coming down.
But then… the question slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“Ethan… are you Red Jack?…I mean..”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t laugh.
He just looked at her and said, without hesitation,
“No. He was my father.”
The words crashed into her like a storm.
Aria froze, breath caught in her chest.
His father.
Red Jack… was his father.
And Ethan had said it like it was a fact he’d carried his whole life, like it wasn’t something that should make her want to scream, or cry, or run out the door.
Her throat burned, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as fear twisted with heartbreak.
Because even if he wasn’t Red Jack… he was connected to him.
Too close.
—
- Writer
