Chapter 253: Influence

Stepping out of the room, the cold air made the senior FBI agent at the Sabin division gasp sharply. The chill quickly cleared his slightly dazed mind.

He slapped his cheeks a few times, tightened his coat, muttered complaints about the weather, and headed toward the car parked by the roadside.

The female agent following him had also drunk some alcohol. Her flushed face cooled quickly in the cold air.

“Drive,” the male agent said as he slid into the passenger seat.

The female agent obediently took the wheel, inserted the key, and started the car. She was silent, or rather focused, but the male agent sensed she was troubled.

Once they drove out of the neighborhood, he pursed his lips. “Do you think I was wrong?”

She said nothing, shaking her head while keeping her eyes on the road. He knew he was right.

“You think we shouldn’t get close to Lynch, shouldn’t drink with him, shouldn’t leave so…,” he hesitated, searching for the right word, “…so crassly, right?”

Though silent, her expression said it all. He sighed, “When I started, I was just like you—thinking I’d be the scourge of crime, catching every criminal, unstoppable.”

“But you know what I think now?”

Her attention shifted to him as they stopped at a red light. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He looked at the sky outside and sighed deeply. “As long as we stay alive and keep our jobs, only then do we have a chance to pursue justice.”

“You think Lynch is just an ordinary businessman, but he’s not. He’s close with Mark, close with the mayor, and reportedly invited to the president’s inauguration.”

“Most importantly, he’s very wealthy. Do you know what money means?”

The red light began flashing. She bit her lip and shook her head again.

He scoffed, “You know, but you don’t want to face it.”

“He can easily make us lose our jobs. People like us, in this line of work, losing our identity is no joke.”

“Soon, you’ll see an example that shows you some things mean nothing to certain people…”

“I’m doing this not just to protect myself!”

Meanwhile, backup police, having confirmed the false alarm, returned to their posts. But those sent to search Vera’s house were ordered back to the station, where others would take over.

This was rare but possible. Throughout, the police only assisted FBI agents; they were not the main force.

The female officer who humiliated Vera stepped out of her car. The division chief’s assistant appeared and told her the chief wanted to see her.

In the federal system, the police force consists of a local police bureau and multiple police divisions. The bureau focuses more on administration, while the divisions handle frontline police work.

Each division is led by a chief who oversees daily operations. Even junior officers see the chief regularly, though he’s only the division chief.

Outside the chief’s office, the female officer adjusted her appearance and sucked in her stomach to avoid looking bloated.

Recently, there was talk blaming the police’s lack of effectiveness on being overweight and lazy—a criticism fueled by public disappointment during the big strike.

For the police, it became a troublesome issue.

She knocked, entered after permission, and the chief glanced at her before setting down his work. After a brief look, he spoke calmly and without much emotion.

“Someone complained that you were rude and overbearing during law enforcement. Also, a fast-food restaurant said you always ask for an extra sugary orange juice and an additional beef patty when you buy a meal there. Is that true?”

Her face showed disbelief. Rude enforcement? If that were a standard, no officer in the federal system would meet the chief’s expectations.

They deal with criminals—they can’t smile like hotel clerks and ask, Have you committed a crime, sir? or Will you surrender, sir? They must use force to intimidate.

Most complaints about police attitude don’t trouble officers—they usually write a report to appease the media.

As for the fast food, what the chief said was true, but she never demanded extras; she hoped they’d throw in something extra since she often bought two-person meals alone.

That’s normal—even ordinary people might ask.

The sugary juice and extra patty were freely given and had little to do with her. Most officers buying fast food there got extras anyway.

She tried to explain, but the chief waved her off. “Enough. Your expression tells me it’s true. Hand over your badge and gun. The disciplinary department will investigate.”

“If there’s no problem, you’ll return. But if there is…” He paused, “I hope you’ll confess voluntarily.”

She wanted to argue, but he gave no chance. “Badge, gun, and close the door behind you.”

Angrily and helpless, she placed her badge and gun on the chief’s desk, slammed the door, and left.

The chief watched the slightly trembling door and sighed.

There was no real complaint—this was an excuse. The fast-food staff wouldn’t be stupid enough to complain over a free sugary juice and beef patty.

What really forced him was a call from the local police bureau chief, warning that she had offended someone and should be temporarily removed from duty to cool down.

The officer sulked at home, staying in her room for two days. Her husband and child asked if something was wrong, but she said nothing.

She didn’t want her problems to affect her family or make them worry.

The next afternoon, she suddenly received a call from her child’s school, asking them to come.

Her husband, a regular worker struggling to find work, couldn’t take time off, so she went alone.

Previously, people feared and avoided her when she wore her uniform at the school, but this time she wore plain clothes.

Entering the principal’s office, she saw her child—a boy of about ten—crying, his expression shifting between stubbornness and hurt after seeing a loved one, sobbing loudly.

She struggled to sit down; the chair was too small for her.“…Ma’am, your son was caught stealing at school…”

Before the principal finished, the officer’s son shouted, “That’s not true! I didn’t do it!”

The principal looked at them coldly and said, “I don’t intend to call the police, but I want you to take your son home and talk to him. When I think it’s appropriate, he can come back.”

The officer walked home silently with her mischievous son, who almost never made such mistakes.

As a police officer, she knew her son had a clear sense of right and wrong—he wouldn’t do this. But his classmates, teachers, and the principal all said he did, leaving her unsure whom to believe.

When they arrived home, she was surprised to see her husband’s shoes by the door. It wasn’t even quitting time; he should have been at work.

Entering the living room, she saw her husband slumped on the sofa, exhausted and disheveled, holding a bottle of liquor, clearly drunk.

Maybe seeing her, he suddenly burst into tears, wiping his eyes as he cried, “They fired me. I worked there for nearly ten years. They had no reason to fire me…”

She looked blankly at her son and husband, unsure what was happening—her whole life suddenly a mess.

Catching her reflection in a nearby mirror, she saw the confusion on her face and suddenly understood why all this was happening.