I didn’t sign the paper.
That small act caused a minor administrative panic.
When someone refuses to quietly disappear, it disrupts the script. People in power really hate improvising.
So, Enrique Donald had to do something unprecedented: explain himself to the Chief.
From what I heard, the meeting was awkward. He walked in expecting a rubber stamp and walked out with an assignment.
“Send her back through evaluation,” the Chief said. “But this time, not with your people.”
Which was code for: I don’t trust you.
Gordon called me to report to the Department Training Division for evaluation. The Department Training Division—real evaluators, not the good ol’ boys. People who didn’t know me, didn’t know the lies, and, most importantly, didn’t care about saving anyone’s reputation.
They just wanted to see if I could do the job.
So, I did.
I ran scenarios, handled calls, cuffed suspects, and wrote reports. I did the job the way I always had—calmly, correctly, without theatrics.
And they noticed.
“She’s sharp,” one evaluator said.
“Probably better than most of the officers who trained her,” said another.
One even asked, “Why the hell are they trying to get rid of her?”
Good question.
By the time the Chief got the results, he didn’t say much. Just raised an eyebrow and slid the folder shut.
Then he made a call.
I wasn’t in the room, but rumor has it Donald left that meeting with less swagger than he walked in with.
Apparently, I’d been moved off his “termination list”… and he’d been added to the Chief’s “watch list.”
Fair trade.
For now, I stayed on the job. Still under review. Still unwelcome in the hallways I once trusted. But alive in the system.
Barely.
Because just like that, they knew I wouldn’t go down quietly.
And that made me dangerous.
