The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 529

Inside the Police Department command center.

Rhys finished the handover procedures and took a seat in his new office.

He retained his high-level executive clearance and his rank as a Class III Police Commissioner. His position hadn't changed, and his rank hadn't been demoted.

It was identical to the brief stint he had served here before.

But sitting in this chair felt entirely different now.

The desk was spotless, the document trays were empty. There was no more rigorous training, no more field missions, and no more bracing for an alarm bell that could ring at any second.

All he had to face were the command terminals, the split-screen systems, and a stack of unopened file boxes.

A fixed desk, a set schedule.

During his lunch break, he could text his wife to ask what she wanted for dinner.

To say he had no regrets would be a lie.

When he used to sit in this seat, he knew he'd return to the SWAT team as soon as his injuries healed. That wasn't the case anymore.

But regrets aside, his ring finger was no longer empty.

His surgery was scheduled, the search for a lung donor was underway, and the lights in his home would be on for him every night.

That was more than enough.

Taking advantage of his lunch break, he gave his former rookie a call.

Ten minutes later, the rookie hurried into the command center's reception room, closing the door behind him.

"Boss... oh, wait, Director Huntington." The rookie grinned, correcting himself.

Back on the team, they called him Boss, entrusting each other with their lives.

Now, calling him Director felt different—there was a desk, a security badge, and two separate buildings between them.

It felt a little distant.

Rhys hummed in acknowledgment and jutted his chin toward a chair, gesturing for him to sit.

"Get in touch with a contact at the Fallowridge precinct."

"Huh? Why do we need them?"

Rhys didn't answer immediately.

That day in the VIP room, when Owen had spilled the truth under the influence of the drugs, Rhys had realized something: Owen felt absolutely zero remorse for his actions.

"She threw herself at me while she was drunk."

"She offered herself up on a silver platter. I had no reason not to take her."

Margot had undoubtedly held Rhys hostage with her lies for years, but no matter how complicated her post-incident manipulations were, they didn't alter the core nature of what had happened.

"Take that photo you snapped before," Rhys instructed. "Tell them you received an anonymous tip about someone abusing controlled psychiatric drugs in a private club."

"Have them send a few plainclothes officers to keep a tight tail on Owen. The second they catch him using, take him down and hand him straight over to Narcotics for a drug test."

The rookie's eyes lit up, immediately catching Rhys's drift.

Psychiatric prescription meds were perfectly legal if taken as prescribed. But abusing them beyond the recommended dosage, buying them on the black market, or using them as stimulants and hallucinogens? Once a test confirmed that, it was legally classified as narcotics abuse.

That wasn't something a simple slap on the wrist and a night in a holding cell could fix.

The rookie's mind raced.

Given Owen's current state, his glamorous, privileged life was about to crash and burn.

Rhys tapped his knuckles against the desk. "As for who he's getting those pills from..."

Margot had claimed she wasn't the one supplying Owen, and she was probably telling the truth.

But that only meant she wasn't the one physically handing him his ongoing supply.

A guy like Owen was perfectly content drowning in booze and women. He had no motive to actively seek out prescription psychiatric drugs.

Unless someone had given him a taste of it early on, opening that door for him.

If they could trace the source of those prescriptions—if even a single batch matched Margot's medical records—then they were looking at a conspiracy.