Chapter 1

July 2025

Lieutenant Dawn Hudson sat at her kitchen table with wide eyes. What just came to her was unimaginable. After all these years, why now? Why would they suddenly bring up Will? Will was Trudy’s first husband who was brutally murdered over eight years ago.

How would she tell Trudy this news? Could she tell her this news? This was a mystery long buried. Heck, Dawn even solved her mother’s murder before solving this one. And this wasn’t even up to her. Both were homicides but her mother’s murder was personal, and it just happened to lead to a case she’d already been working on.

But this, this was just unreal. As she sat there reading the note, Jacob entered the kitchen with a smile on his face. He noticed her shaky hands and tears.

“Hun, are you okay?” Jacob asked.

“No. No, I’m not okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

She showed Jacob the handwritten note that was addressed to her. His eyes widened. He still didn’t remember much after being taken by the world’s most notorious madman. Dimitri McQuade had taken him and held him prisoner for over seven years.

“Who is Will again? William Baker of your police squad?” Jacob asked.

“No. Trudy’s Will. Her first husband.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t remember him that’s okay.”

“What’s the note say?”

“I don’t know. There’s no return address.”

Jacob reached for her hand, steadying it as best he could. “Do you want to read it to me?”

She hesitated. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes stayed fixed on the paper, like if she looked away, it would vanish and this wouldn’t be real. She still held the note.

“I don’t even know if I can tell her,” she said finally. Her voice was barely a whisper. “This... changes everything she thought she knew. Everything we thought was true about what happened.” She said, still holding the letter.

Jacob frowned. “Wait… does it say he’s alive?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. He’s dead. William Michaels is definitely dead.”

Relief and confusion flickered across Jacob’s face. “Then… what does it say?”

“That someone wanted him dead. That it wasn’t random. And that his death, Trudy’s whole world falling apart, was engineered.”

A heavy silence blanketed the room.

Jacob opened his mouth, paused, then said softly, “Do you think it’s real?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “But it’s specific. It names, names. Places. Timelines. And if even half of it is true... Trudy’s been mourning a man who might’ve been lying to her the entire time.”

She looked down again at the letter, her hands trembling.

The shaky scrawl. The strange phrasing. The one line that stuck in her brain like a splinter:

‘He died loving her but not even she knew what he’d done.’

“The letter is anonymous, no signature. It’s handwritten in uneven, slightly smudged ink, suggesting haste or someone writing under duress. The content is cryptic but detailed enough to send chills down my spine.

Dear D,

You don’t know me, but I know what happened to William Michaels.

Everyone believed it was a robbery gone wrong. That was the story they told. That was the story he wanted them to believe.

But William wasn’t just Trudy’s sweet husband or the guy everyone knew as the friendly neighborhood realtor. He was working on something off the books. And when he got too close to being exposed to the wrong people, they made sure he’d never get the chance.

He knew it was coming. He chose to go quietly. To protect her. To keep her out of the fallout.

But it’s not over. The same people who buried his truth are still in play and now they’re watching you.

He died loving her.
But not even she knew what he’d done.

Burn this after reading.

PS:

William had stumbled onto something much darker. He had uncovered something no one else was looking for because no one thought of looking. This doesn’t change him, but you may need to look into his partner.” She read the rest to Jacob while holding the note.

Dawn took a breath; there was more to this letter. She had to confront Trudy. But she didn’t know much about Will. She knew that he was a damn good realtor, but what did he hide from her and everyone else? And who sent this letter?

“Hun, what else is there?” Jacob asked.

She took a breath and started reading the rest.

“A year before his death, William was approached by a development firm posing as sports investors. They claimed they were scouting land for a training facility and stadium site for a future WNBA expansion team, something that would bring jobs, revenue, and excitement to the region. They had league branding mock-ups, feasibility studies, and even signed letters of intent from shell companies that looked legitimate.

But William noticed inconsistencies. He followed paper trails and false permitting applications. The truth?

There was no expansion team. There was no WNBA involvement. There was no arena.

The land was being quietly snatched up under the illusion of progress and then flipped to private buyers connected to a defense contractor looking to build a data center on rezoned farmland, miles from where anyone would protest. The basketball pitch was a front to distract local media and fast-track approvals.”

Jacob’s eyes widened. He shook his head and placed his hand gently on Dawn’s shoulder. Just when they thought they were finished with all this bullshit, this had to fall into their lap.

“Why now? Why eight years later?” Jacob asked.

“Good question, there’s more,” she said after taking another breath. “At first, he helped facilitate some of the deals. He believed in the dream. A WNBA team would’ve meant everything to the girls he coached, to the town, to Trudy, who once played Bball herself. But as the truth unraveled, so did his belief in what he was doing.”

“Whoa, our Trudy played basketball?” Jacob asked.

“Yeah, you know how private she is though.”

“Right. Continue.”

“William tried to speak up. Quietly, at first. He asked too many questions. He showed up at a zoning meeting and pointed out conflicting parcel numbers. He told Trudy he was “going to fix something stupid he’d let happen. Days later, he was dead. A robbery, they said.”

“Question, this person calls you D. Who in the hell calls you that?” Jacob asked.

Dawn gave a half-smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s the part that got me too.”

Jacob leaned in. “So, who calls you that? I’ve only ever heard ‘Dawnie’ or ‘LT.’”

She drew in her breath. “There were maybe four people who ever called me D. My dad still does, sometimes, when he’s not calling me kiddo or little cheeks.”

Jacob smiled faintly. “Yeah, that sounds like your dad.”

“Another was my high school chemistry teacher. But I haven’t seen him in over twenty years, and I doubt he’s tracking real estate deaths.”

Jacob busted out laughing for many moments. Then he caught his breath and waved his hand at her, apologizing. “And the others?” He chuckled.

“The third was William.”

Jacob blinked. “William? Trudy’s William or Officer William Baker from your team?”

“Yeah. Trudy’s William. Back when Trudy and I were inseparable. He used to call me ‘D’, short for Devil’s Advocate. Said I questioned everything, wouldn’t let anyone get away with a half-answer.” She shrugged slightly. “I guess some things haven’t changed.”

Jacob let out a long breath, concern flickering in his eyes. “So… you think this letter is from someone who knew him. Knew you. Back then.”

“Exactly.” She tapped the note. “This isn’t some conspiracy nut with a grudge. This person knows what happened. Knows what William was into. And knows I’m the one who won’t let it go. Not now, not ever.”

Jacob stared at the trembling handwriting again as Dawn held the note in her hands. “So, why now? Why after eight years?”

Dawn’s voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of it pressing into her chest. “That,” she said, eyes locked on the ink, “is what scares me the most.”

She scanned the letter further. Another PS dedicated to her.

“William kept everything. Names, call recordings, parcel maps, zoning meeting timestamps. He kept them on an 8-track cassette. It wasn’t just about secrecy. It was about putting the truth in plain sight; in a place no one would ever think of checking.”

“Seriously, an 8 track?” Jacob questioned.

“Must have been his dad’s.”

Her phone buzzed, vibrating sharply against the kitchen table. The letter slipped from her hand, drifting to the floor like a spent leaf. Jacob went to the bathroom just shortly after.

RONI – DISPATCH DESK

She hesitated for half a second, a cold weight pressing against her chest, then answered. “Hudson.”