Hawk and Gwen didn't go straight to the apartment after leaving the hospital.
They stopped by home first, then got into the black Audi A8 and drove toward the Stacy residence.
Gwen, finally calming down, exhaled in relief. "Thank God… Dad's fine. I thought I was going to have a heart attack."
Hawk glanced at her from the driver's seat. "Maybe he should die once anyway."
"What?"
Gwen blinked in disbelief, certain she'd misheard.
Hawk grinned. "If he goes through rebirth, he'll recover instantly—no lying in bed for two weeks. Full health restoration."
Everyone knew—every time the Phoenix was reborn, its power soared higher.
By that logic, if George died once and then was reborn, he'd be perfectly healthy in seconds.
Gwen gave him the hardest eye-roll she'd managed all day.
"Hawk."
"Yeah?"
"You're terrible."
"I'm sorry."
He admitted defeat immediately.
Soon, they arrived at the apartment block.
Downstairs, a police cruiser was parked in front of the building—two uniformed officers inside, keeping watch.
"From the 21st Precinct," Gwen noted.
"Right. They're guarding in case the shooter shows up."
The gunman who'd attacked George was still at large, and the motive still unclear. The precinct had stationed protection outside as a precaution.
Hawk's Audi was registered under the precinct's database, and everyone knew Gwen, so the patrol officers simply nodded as the two walked inside.
No questions, no interference.
Inside the top-floor apartment, Howard and Simon—usually loud, mischievous, and bouncing off the walls—sat quietly on the couch, glued to the TV.
Even the takeout boxes on the table had been neatly stacked away.
At twelve and eleven years old, they were old enough to understand.
Their father had been shot.
Their mother was at the hospital with him. Their job was to behave and not cause trouble.
When Hawk and Gwen walked through the door, both boys jumped up instantly.
"Gwen!"
"Brother-in-law! How's Dad?"
"Don't worry," Hawk said, smiling as he ruffled Simon's hair. "He's fine."
Howard turned to Gwen for confirmation.
She nodded. "Dad's okay."
Both boys exhaled in relief.
Howard then asked, "Can we see him at the hospital? We'll behave, promise—no noise, no running."
Gwen laughed. "After dinner. When we go bring Mom her meal, you can come along for a bit."
The boys grinned, reassured now that their sister and Hawk wouldn't lie about something like that.
They were young, not naïve—and as sons of a police captain, they knew how to read a situation.
Soon they were back on the sofa, eyes occasionally darting to the clock, waiting for evening.
Meanwhile, Hawk and Gwen entered George's study—time to look for clues.
Except—
"Huh?"
"The door's locked?"
Gwen frowned, twisting the handle again. "Dad locked the study."
Hawk raised an eyebrow. "That's unusual?"
"Of course. Dad never locks the door."
George often worked late in his study, but he never locked it. Even Howard and Simon knew not to enter without permission, so there was never a need.
Hawk tilted his head—and vanished.
A second later, the door clicked open from inside.
Gwen stepped in, turning on the light. "There's no picture on the wall or anything weird. Why'd he lock it?"
The study was simple—desk, computer, bookcase, nothing more.
She sat down and turned on the computer while Hawk's attention fell to a single sheet of paper lying on the desk.
There was a timestamp on it: 9:30 AM.
Below it—two letters: B.U.
And underlined twice. Important, clearly.
Hawk borrowed Gwen's phone, glancing at her as she typed in a password and accessed the desktop. "You know his password?"
Gwen smirked. "Of course. It's my birthday. I even know his bank PIN."
Classic girl-dad, Hawk thought.
He dialed Detective Mahoney.
At that moment, Mahoney and Hale were reviewing footage from a shop across the street from the parking structure where the shooting occurred.
"B.U.?" Mahoney repeated, frowning.
"Yeah. It's probably the initials of the contact George went to meet," Hawk said. "What time was the 12th Precinct's shooting call logged?"
"9:35 AM," Mahoney replied. "Dispatch got the 999 code right then."
"Then that's it," Hawk said, eyes narrowing. "Whatever George went there for—it was because of B.U."
Mahoney rubbed his temple. "B.U… I can't place it. Did he leave anything else behind?"
Hawk looked to Gwen.
She shook her head. She'd already checked the files—routine precinct work: budgets, crime reports, monthly summaries. Nothing sensitive.
"Nothing," Hawk confirmed. "You?"
"I'm at a store near the crime scene. Hale might've found something—hold on."
Hawk heard Hale's voice faintly in the background before Mahoney said, "I'll call back."
"Alright."
Ending the call, Hawk returned the phone to Gwen, then let his sixth sense unfold through the room.
George locking his study could only mean one thing—there was something here he didn't want anyone else to find.
Not even his family.
No—more likely, he'd locked it to protect them.
And then Hawk saw it.
His gaze fixed on the bookshelf against the wall. He smiled faintly, walked over, and pulled out a volume labeled Constitution.
A mechanical click echoed.
The bookshelf slid aside, revealing a hidden compartment behind it.
Gwen's eyes widened. "What the—? I didn't even know it could move!"
Hawk said nothing. Behind the shelf was an old-fashioned safe.
He looked at Gwen. "Let me guess—same password?"
"Try it."
She knelt down, turned the dial carefully, and entered her birthday.
Click.
The safe opened.
Hawk chuckled softly. Yep. Girl-dad, through and through.
Inside were a few family heirloom jewels, a loaded Glock 17, an extra magazine—
and a thick case file beneath it.
Gwen picked up the gun first, inspecting it quickly. "Hasn't been fired recently."
Then she stepped aside as Hawk opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph—of a burnt corpse.
Hawk's face remained calm. Gwen frowned, recognizing something faintly familiar about it.
"Wait… I've seen this before."
"New York Times," Hawk said quietly. "Ottoz—the journalist."
Gwen's eyes widened. "The one found tied to a cross and burned by the Hudson last Christmas?"
He nodded.
That case had been the reason George and Helen hadn't joined them for the holidays.
Ottoz had been infamous in the NYPD—not because he was wrong, but because he made enemies.
He specialized in digging up dirt on cops, especially corruption cases.
That was why Mahoney had mentioned George was under pressure—Ottoz had been despised by almost everyone in the department.
His death had been… convenient for many.
But not for George.
He was a detective first and foremost—a man who couldn't turn a blind eye.
And this proved it—George Stacy had still been secretly investigating the case of the journalist burned alive on a cross.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/euridome]
[Thank You For Your Support!]