45 days and 45 nights. That’s how long it took to catch the notorious gem thief, Amelia Blackwell. It was never out of the norm for Detective Angel Whittaker, yes, that Detective Whittaker to catch the perpetrator; no matter how far they ran, how smart they thought they were, or how athletic they were, Detective Whittaker would catch him or her without fail. However, this time felt different. Yet another ploy by Amelia Blackwell had left Detective Whittaker stumped, the third time it has happened since her release in 1932. Blackwell’s ploys were never this careless, not so much to bring the possibility of hurting others.

“Damn it, again!” Detective Whittaker replayed the clip of his chase after Blackwell from his bodycam. “Where did I go wrong?” He played the clip again, analyzing his every move, and where he could have done better. 

“Don’t stress too much about it, Whitty. Sooner or later she’ll get caught. They always do.” His partner, Ashley Morales, pointed out. She patted his back, hoping he’d feel a tad bit easier with her affection. 

“Angel, listen, I think-” she was interrupted by blaring alarms, an emergency symbol triggered by Monumental Bank’s silent alarm, a mark of Amelia Blackwell! The duo rushed out of the double doors to make chase. However, upon reaching the bank, it was empty. A deathly hollowness reeked every orifice of the bank. All that remained was the scattered paperwork and phones, still charged but abandoned. Detective Whittaker and Morales scanned the scene, searching for any clue that could lead them to Blackwell's whereabouts.

"Damn it, what happened?" Detective Whittaker muttered, frustration evident in his voice. Morales placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

"We'll catch her, Angel. We always do."

Detective Whittaker's mind raced as he tried to piece together the clues. Suddenly, a glint of light caught his eye. He bent down to examine a small diamond earring lying amidst the debris. "She's taunting us." Morales nodded, her eyes narrowing with determination. "Let’s DNA-match the earring." With renewed resolve, the chase was on, and they were determined to bring her to justice, no matter the cost. Detective Whittaker wasted no time. Back at the precinct, he handed it over to the forensics team for analysis. A few hours passed before they received the results. The DNA on the earring matched that of Amelia Blackwell, confirming their suspicions. But what caught Detective Whittaker off guard were the fingerprints. They didn't belong to Blackwell. Instead, they belonged to someone else entirely.

"This changes everything," Detective Whittaker muttered to Morales as they reviewed the forensic report. "Blackwell wouldn't do something like this. This isn’t her style. And to make everyone disappear as well, no way.”

“You’re not saying-” Morales began.

“Yeah, I think she’s being framed.” 

. . .

Fifteen days later, Amelia Blackwell was still nowhere to be found. Her crime sprees seemed to have taken a halt and not only that, crime in general seemed to be at an all-time low. Detective Whittaker sat at his cluttered desk, sifting through piles of reports and evidence. The precinct was quieter than usual, a testament to the eerie calm that had settled over the city since Blackwell's disappearance. The lack of criminal activity was unsettling, almost as if the underworld was holding its breath.

"Whitty, you okay?" Morales's voice broke through his thoughts. 

"Yeah, just trying to make sense of all this." He gestured to the mess of papers. "It's too quiet. Something's off." Morales nodded, her expression mirroring his concern. “Like the calm before the storm." A ring from a phone finally broke the echoing silence that plagued the police precinct. He glanced at the illuminated cell phone, gleaming with life. Richie, it read. 'It must’ve been a phone left behind by one of my colleagues. But who would forget their phone and not immediately come back for it? It was suspicious, too suspicious.' Morales held the gleaming phone, noting that it was Johnny’s, another colleague and detective. 

A distorted voice crackled through the line, "Detective, I have information regarding Amelia Blackwell. Meet me at Pier 39 tonight at midnight. Come alone."

Before he could respond, the line went dead. Whittaker stared at the phone, a mixture of frustration and intrigue on his face. 

"You're not going alone, Angel. It's too dangerous," Ashley retorted.

"I don't have a choice, Ashley. If this lead is real, it could be our only chance to find her and figure out what's really going on." Reluctantly, Morales agreed, but they devised a plan to ensure his safety. Morales would be nearby with a team, ready to move in if things went south.

As midnight approached, Whittaker made his way to Pier 39. The air was thick with fog, and the faint sound of water tapped against the docks. He scanned the area, every sense on high alert. At which he hid behind a crate from Mercado Enterprises. The air had a musky smell, making it hard to breathe. But it was quiet, too quiet. A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in a dark trench coat and hat. Whittaker squinted his eyes, trying his best to make out the figure’s features when he was opened up into the line of fire. Continuous gunshots illuminated the otherwise dim lighting as Whittaker tried hiding behind the array of crates, making haste with a punctured calf and multiple wounds in his abdomen. 'How did they see me!' Whittaker thought to himself angrily. 'No one should have known I was here besides…!!!' Whittaker turned to face his trusted friend and teammate. Ashley Morales’s eyes were filled with contempt for Whittaker. 

“B-B-But why?” Whittaker said, still pained both emotionally and physically. Morales approached slowly, her gun still pointed at him. 

"You were always so predictable, Angel. Always thinking you could save the day, catch the bad guys. But you never saw the bigger picture."

"The bigger picture?" Whittaker's voice was weak, but his mind raced to piece together the truth.

She knelt down beside him, her gaze steady. "Amelia Blackwell wasn’t just a thief. She stumbled onto something much bigger, something that threatened very powerful people. And when she got too close, they needed a scapegoat. So they framed her, and I helped them."

Whittaker's vision blurred, the pain in his body intensifying. 

"You... you were part of the syndicate all along?" Morales nodded. "It was always about more than just a few stolen gems. Power, control, money – those are the real prizes. And you, Angel, you were the perfect pawn. Always so naive, thinking you were the hero everyone needed"

Summoning his last reserves of strength, Whittaker locked eyes with her. "You'll never get away with this." Morales laughed softly, a sound devoid of any warmth. "You’re in no position to make threats. But I’ll give you some peace of mind before you die. Blackwell is alive. She’s smarter than I gave her credit for, and she managed to stay hidden. But it doesn’t matter. Without you, she has no one to turn to. Sooner or later she’ll get caught. They always do.” As she raised her gun, one cold, apathetic bullet took Whittaker’s life, leaving nothing but a cold, empty husk of the city’s best detective.