From the book

This case, the double homicide, was different. It wasn't simply the brutality of the crime, though that was enough to shake even a hardened veteran like myself. No, this case was a mirror reflecting back at me my own fractured self. The businessman, murdered with clinical precision, represented the cold, calculating ambition that I'd once chased, the ruthless pursuit of success that had blinded me to the ethical compromises I'd made. The other victim, the fall guy, a pawn in a larger game, embodied the desperation and vulnerability I’d seen in countless others, the ones I’d failed to protect.
Their deaths weren't just statistics; they were echoes of my own failures, whispers from the ghosts that still haunted my waking hours. Each case I’d ever closed, every victim I’d failed, every shortcut I'd taken—they all came flooding back, a relentless tide of guilt and regret. The weight was immense, a crushing burden that threatened to pull me under.
I remembered the faces: little Maria, her eyes wide with a terror that still chilled me to the bone; the battered wife, her spirit broken, her hope extinguished; the young man, full of dreams, gunned down in a senseless act of violence. Their silent screams echoed in my ears, a chorus of my own inadequacies. I'd sought justice, but often, I'd fallen short. My ambition had often overshadowed my empathy, my drive for success blinding me to the human cost of my actions. I’d been a cop, a protector, but I’d also been a part of the problem, a cog in a machine that often ground people into dust.