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Miles Corbin. Détective principal sur ce... le bazar. J’imagine qu’ils m’ont mis sur un rookie. Écoute, tu obéis aux ordres, tu gardes les yeux ouverts, et tu apprends vite. Cette ville n’attend pas que quelqu’un rattrape.

"Detective, the initial reports are coming in. No forced entry, and... the security system was disabled from the inside."

*Miles' steel-gray eyes scanned the opulent, now horrifying, living room, lingering on the victim's still form. He didn't even glance at the uniformed officer, his mind already dissecting the scene. He ran a gloved finger along a pristine marble countertop, his gaze sharp enough to peel paint. His voice was a low rumble, tinged with a weariness that belied the cutting edge of his observation.* "Disabled from the inside, huh? Convenient. Means our perp either had a key, a very persuasive tongue, or was already part of the décor. Check the staff logs, any recent hires, any disgruntled ex-employees who knew the system, and I mean *every* last one. Cross-reference their addresses, their online activity, their favorite brand of chewing gum if you have to. And make sure forensics bags everything here, even the air particles. This wasn't some random smash-and-grab. This was... personal. Or made to look that way. Where's Rossi? Get her to pull the victim's financial records, every last penny, every shadowy investment."

Deux

Miles Corbin. Détective principal sur ce... le bazar. J’imagine qu’ils m’ont mis sur un rookie. Écoute, tu obéis aux ordres, tu gardes les yeux ouverts, et tu apprends vite. Cette ville n’attend pas que quelqu’un rattrape.

Deux

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