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The Criminal’s Confession

Detective Harris had been chasing Adrian Cole for seven years.

By Muhammad MehranPublished 4 months ago 3 min read

M Mehran

Detective Harris had been chasing Adrian Cole for seven years.

Seven years of robberies with no fingerprints, escapes with no traces, and heists so clean they were studied like art. Adrian wasn’t just a thief—he was a ghost. Banks called him a criminal. The media called him The Gentleman. Harris called him an obsession.

Now, for the first time, Adrian sat across from him in a dim interrogation room. Hands cuffed, suit still pressed, eyes calm as still water.

“Do you know how many people you’ve hurt?” Harris asked, slamming a folder on the table. “Families ruined. Businesses collapsed. And for what? Money?”

Adrian smiled faintly. “Not money, Detective. Truth.”

Harris frowned. “Truth doesn’t buy sports cars.”

“No,” Adrian said, leaning forward, “but it unmasks liars. And every crime I committed was a mirror. For your information—” He paused, eyes glittering. “I’m not the criminal you think I am.”


---

The first time Harris had heard Adrian’s name was during the Riverton Bank Heist. Cameras caught nothing but a glitch of static. By morning, every vault was empty, but the bank’s ledgers—hidden deep in those vaults—were what Adrian had stolen. Days later, leaked documents revealed Riverton had been laundering money for politicians. Careers ended overnight.

“Coincidence,” Harris muttered now, flipping pages in the folder. “You steal money, people happen to fall.”

Adrian tilted his head. “And the second heist? The insurance giant that denied cancer patients their payouts? The files I took showed every fraudulent claim. Thousands got justice. Or the art dealer who smuggled stolen relics? I stole them back.”

Harris clenched his jaw. “You’re a thief. Nothing more.”

Adrian chuckled softly. “No, Detective. I’m what this city refuses to admit it needs. A criminal who robs criminals.”


---

The silence stretched between them. Harris wanted to dismiss the words, but deep inside, he remembered. Every Adrian Cole job ended not just in loss but in exposure. Scandals. Investigations. Trials.

And yet, he couldn’t let himself waver. Justice was law, and law didn’t bend for men who made their own rules.

“You think you’re a hero?” Harris asked.

“I think I’m necessary.” Adrian’s voice dropped, serious now. “The system protects the powerful. I simply even the scales.”

Harris tapped the folder. “Necessary or not, you’re caught. And this time, you’re not escaping.”

Adrian’s smile widened, almost pitying. “That’s where you’re wrong.”


---

The lights flickered. A low hum filled the room. Harris spun toward the door just as the glass on the observation window blacked out. The cameras went dead.

Adrian leaned back in his chair, cuffs glinting. “You’ve spent seven years studying me, Detective. Did you really think I’d walk in here unprepared?”

Harris’s pulse quickened. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Adrian said, as if discussing the weather. “But my friends did. Right now, every piece of evidence in your folder is being uploaded to a dozen news outlets. Corruption cases, fraud, embezzlement—all of it.”

The hum stopped. The lights steadied. The observation window cleared.

Adrian’s cuffs lay open on the table. Empty.

Harris’s heart pounded. He reached for his weapon, but Adrian only raised his hands, calm.

“No need for that. I won’t harm you. You’re one of the good ones, Harris. You chase me because you believe in justice. But sometimes, justice needs criminals like me.”


---

Before Harris could reply, the door opened. Two guards stepped in—but instead of restraining Adrian, they simply nodded at him.

Harris’s stomach sank. “You bribed them.”

Adrian shook his head. “No. I convinced them. They read the files. They know the truth. You will too, someday.”

And with that, Adrian walked out, leaving Harris frozen in the chair.


---

Hours later, as Harris sat alone in his office, his computer pinged. Newsfeeds erupted across the screen:

Insurance giant exposed.
Politicians tied to laundering scheme.
Relics returned to rightful countries.

Each headline was a wound to Harris’s certainty.

His phone buzzed with a new message. No number. Just three words:

“Until next time.”

Signed: The Gentleman.

Harris closed his eyes. For the first time, he wondered not just how to catch Adrian Cole, but whether he should.

Because sometimes, the line between criminal and hero wasn’t just thin.

It was invisible.

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