Chapter 67 (The Mortal Multiverse : Liam Raven Harper)

Chapter 67 - Linked to Hale’s or Not?

Liam Pov

Done with the small talk, I asked Terry “So, what’s the status?”

Terry crossed his arms, his tone all business now. “The suspect’s name is Marco Bellini. Jake and Boyle picked him up last night for cocaine possession and intent to distribute. But things got interesting fast.”

Boyle puffed out his chest slightly, clearly proud. “Yup, classic Peralta–Boyle collar. Textbook work.”

Terry nodded, ignoring Boyle’s theatrics. “During the interrogation, Marco cracked under for a second and mentioned the name Hale. That’s when Jake informed Captain Holt. We figured we should bring you in, considering you’re the main reason Hale’s behind bars.”

I leaned back slightly, processing it. “Yeah, I know a lot about Hale. But that’s… unexpected. Every member of his operation was rounded up. I made sure of that.”

Terry exhaled. “That’s what we thought, too. We read through your case file—it was airtight. So if this guy’s still dropping Hale’s name, either he’s bluffing… or there’s something bigger at play. We want to find the source. If there’s a new player in New York using a similar network, that’s trouble.”

I nodded, my mind already working through possibilities.

Boyle, trying to lighten the tension, said, “So, how’s Jake doing in there? Has the perpetrator cracked under the power of Peralta’s interrogation brilliance?”

Terry gave a small laugh. “Nope. Jake’s frustrated. The guy’s stonewalling him. He’s in the Captain’s office right now, venting.”

Boyle frowned, almost pouting. “Damn, I really wanted Liam to see Jake in action. He’s usually like… the Mozart of interrogations.”

In my head, Eve’s voice purred with amusement.

[Oh, please. Once that guy looks into your eyes, he’s going to confess his darkest secrets and his high school crush.]

I smirked faintly but didn’t reply aloud. She wasn’t entirely wrong as my Sharingan could get the job done.

“Shall we meet the Captain?” I asked.

Terry nodded and motioned for me to follow. 

We walked past a few desks, and right outside Captain Holt’s glass office, a familiar face looked up from her phone—Gina Linetti.

She stood, gave me a once-over, and in her trademark sarcastic tone said, “Well, well, the big-shot rookie prosecutor from the Manhattan DA’s office graces the Nine-Nine with his divine presence. Everyone, try not to faint.”

Boyle snorted. Terry rolled his eyes.

I kept my cool and replied smoothly, “Glad to know my reputation precedes me. And you must be the department’s morale officer… or chaos coordinator?”

For a split second, Gina blinked, thrown off. Boyle’s jaw literally dropped—probably the first time anyone had ever left Gina speechless.

But she recovered with a smirk. “Okay, smooth talker. You can ask for my name instead of guessing.”

I tilted my head slightly, keeping that confident tone. “Alright then—who’s the lady stealing the spotlight?”

“Gina Linetti,” she said proudly, pulling out a sleek card and handing it to me. “My number’s on there. You’ve earned it. If you ever need gossip or cop secrets, I’m your girl. Just don’t fall in love—it’s bad for business.”

I accepted the card with a faint smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll be sure to use it… purely for professional purposes.”

[Wow, she’s really full of herself, huh?] Eve said in my head, a hint of laughter in her tone.

‘That’s her nature.’ I thought back silently. ‘But don’t underestimate her—her network inside the NYPD is real. If I ever need something quietly, she’s the one to call.’

[If you say so, then she’s worth keeping around,] Eve conceded.

I gave Gina a small nod before stepping toward the glass door. 

Two knocks.

“Captain Holt?” I said.

“Come in,” Captain Holt’s calm, authoritative voice said from the other side of the door.

I pushed it open, walking in with Terry and Boyle at my side. 

The office was as neat and precise as its owner—everything perfectly aligned, papers squared, no clutter in sight. 

Behind the desk sat Captain Raymond Holt, posture straight as a ruler. Across from him, Jake Peralta stood with an expression that screamed frustrated genius.

As soon as Jake spotted me, his face lit up. “Liam Harper! The man, the myth, the lawyer who makes criminals cry in court!” he said dramatically, reaching out to shake my hand.

I chuckled and took his hand. “Jake Peralta. It is always a pleasure to meet a fan of justice.”

Jake grinned wide.

Captain Holt stood, his expression unreadable as always, but his tone was sincere. “Mr. Harper, your reputation precedes you. You’re doing excellent work at the DA’s office. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“Thank you, Captain,” I said with a calm smile. “The pleasure’s mine.”

Terry cleared his throat. “Why don’t we all take a seat and go over the situation?”

Holt nodded, gesturing toward the chairs. I took a seat opposite him, with Jake beside me. Terry and Boyle moved to the sofa in the corner, and the briefing began.

Jake leaned forward, still buzzing with energy. “Alright, here’s the rundown. Boyle and I caught wind of a street-level dealer last night. We brought him in, did the usual—good cop, cooler cop routine—and got him talking. He dropped a name: Marco Bellini. Says Marco’s his supplier.”

He leaned back dramatically. “So we set up a sting. During the exchange, we nabbed Marco. I’ve been interrogating him for hours, but the guy was rambling random stuff. Then, out of nowhere, he slips up—says one of his supplier was Hale.”

The room went silent for a beat.

Jake spread his arms. “Which makes zero sense, because Hale’s in prison. And not the kind of prison where you smuggle iPhones in your cake. The guy’s locked down tight. Plus, all his people are rotting in cells too—thanks to you, by the way.” He pointed at me with a grin.

I nodded thoughtfully. “That’s… interesting.”

Captain Holt adjusted his glasses slightly. “The suspect has since lawyered up. The attorney has insisted the questioning stop, so Detective Peralta had to end the interrogation.”

Jake sighed. “Yeah. The lawyer showed up, started yapping about ‘rights’ and ‘due process’—real buzzkill energy. Now we’re stuck. The guy won’t say a word.”

Holt turned his gaze to me. “Mr. Harper, you’re the one most familiar with Hale’s operation. What do you make of this?”

“I’m confident we got everyone involved with Hale,” I said. “But one thing always bothered me—the cocaine supply chain. It never had a face, just coded notes and blind drops. We couldn’t chase shadows forever. But if this guy really knows something, he might be the key to the missing link.”

The others nodded, tension thick in the room.

Boyle leaned forward. “But if his lawyer’s in there, there’s not much we can do, right?”

I smiled slightly. “He’ll talk to me.”

Holt raised an eyebrow. “And why exactly would he talk to you, Mr. Harper?”

I met his gaze calmly. “Because he mentioned Hale’s. Which means he knows my name. And if he knows who I am… he knows I’m the one who put Hale behind bars. That’s all the leverage I need to make him talk.”

Jake’s grin returned. “Oh, that’s awesome. I say we'll let him try.”

Terry frowned slightly. “But his lawyer’s in the room. If this goes south, it could be seen as violating his rights.”

I nodded. “I know the limits, Sergeant. Don’t worry—I’ll stay within the lines.” Then I asked, “How long can you legally hold him before processing?”

Jake checked his watch. “About an hour. After that, he has to be processed.”

“Perfect,” I said simply. “Give me that hour. No rights broken. No tricks. Just a conversation.”

The room went quiet again, everyone staring at me—half skeptical, half curious.

Finally, Holt gave a small nod. “We’ll be observing from the other side of the glass. You’ll have one hour.”

“More than enough,” I said, standing smoothly.

We exited Holt’s office together. Jake led the way down the hallway, his excitement almost contagious. 

On the way, I asked, “Mind if I get a black coffee before we start?”

Boyle immediately perked up. “Say no more, I’m on it! Sugar?”

“Two cubes,” I replied, and he practically sprinted off.

We arrived at the observation room—Holt, Jake, and Terry behind the one-way glass. 

Inside the interrogation room sat Marco Bellini. An Italian, late 30s, slick black hair, tattoos peeking from his collar. His wrists were cuffed to the table, and beside him sat a lawyer in a cheap suit pretending to look confident.

Boyle burst in a few seconds later, coffee in hand, slightly out of breath. “Here you go, my man.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking it.

Then I turned to Holt. “Let’s begin.”

Holt gave a firm nod.

I pushed open the interrogation room door and walked in, coffee in one hand, calm confidence in every step.

Behind the glass, I could feel their eyes on me—waiting to see what I’d do.

Time to make him talk.

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