Chapter 4: Administrative Leave

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The Internal Affairs department didn't have many questions, primarily focusing on verifying the details of the incident to ensure that Link's account matched the investigation's findings. Killing gang members wasn't considered a big deal, as long as everything was handled by the book. After all, Link wasn't responsible for all the deaths at the scene.

According to Link's account, he had managed to control the situation outside the restaurant, which was impressive given that he was working alone.

Under normal circumstances, this would have been a great opportunity for some positive PR, but given the sheer number of fatalities, it was better to keep things low-profile for now.

The police union and lawyer checked with Link to see if he needed additional support, but he declined. Everything he did was by the book.

His main intention had been to make a statement—whether at the precinct or in Hell's Kitchen. He wanted to show that he wasn't someone to be trifled with, which would make future investigations run more smoothly and avoid unnecessary complications.

After the questioning, Link headed to the locker room, shedding his police uniform and hanging it up in his locker.

Dressed in a snug white cotton T-shirt that outlined his muscular physique, dark blue jeans, and brown Martens boots, Link stood tall at 6'1". His muscles were defined but not overly bulky. He wore an X-shaped underarm holster with his Glock 26 on the right side and two spare magazines on the left.

He slipped on a brown leather jacket, clipped his badge to his belt, and grabbed his helmet from the locker.

Instead of driving, Link preferred to ride his motorcycle to work.

...

Meanwhile, at the Irish Mob's headquarters, a heated meeting was underway. Their temperaments were as fiery as ever.

Today had been intended as a well-executed hit. They had prepared thoroughly and caught their rivals off guard.

Before launching the attack, they had even sent people to snatch some of their rivals' girls.

But the operation had failed miserably, leaving over thirty of their men dead. Their strength had taken a significant hit.

"One cop? You're telling me this was done by just one cop?" the Irish boss growled.

"Yes, according to the officers on our payroll, it was a Chinese-American officer who had just recently become a full-fledged detective."

"He's dead. I want his name and everything about him. Within three days, I want him taken out."

Both the Irish and Russian Mobs were furious. The Russians had been attacked, but in the end, it was a cop who finished the job.

Now they weren't sure who to deal with first. But with many of their girls stolen, getting them back became the priority—they were their biggest money-makers. Without them, business would grind to a halt.

Link, meanwhile, was placed on administrative leave, though only for a few days, as the situation was clear-cut with no loose ends.

...

Sunlight spilled across Link's bed, and he stretched lazily, letting the warmth soak into his body before throwing off the covers.

Feeling refreshed, he got out of bed. Today, he planned to look for a new place.

Yes, he was selling his current home. After all, Link had no attachment to it—this was a house he had inherited after being thrust into this world. The decor was outdated, and he didn't care for it.

Most importantly, it was a hassle to maintain since he lived alone.

There were too many personal touches from the previous owner, and it would be difficult to renovate or clear everything out. Plus, his job was now in Manhattan, and the commute was inconvenient.

His current place was in Queens, and it made more sense to move to Manhattan and buy a high-rise apartment with household services. Of course, that would be expensive.

At present, he had several hundred thousand dollars, but the hefty estate tax he had paid still irritated him.

Still, he could start by browsing apartments. Ideally, he'd find a penthouse—he liked the idea of soaking up the sun with no obstructions.

No one could stop Superman from sunbathing!

After a quick wash, Link made himself breakfast, then hopped on his motorcycle, heading straight to Manhattan. He had thought about going to Las Vegas, but since he was on administrative leave, he couldn't leave New York.

Instead, he decided to scope out some apartments. Worst case, he could take out a loan—anything to smooth out the process.

Once his vacation kicked in, he'd head to Vegas, win big, and pay off any loans he took. The plan wasn't without risk, but you could never predict how things would go. At least apartment hunting didn't cost anything upfront.

The real estate agent he had booked an appointment with was already waiting for him at the office, eager to meet him. Given Link's request for a Manhattan penthouse, the agent had filled in the blanks and assumed he was someone of considerable means.

"Mr. Link, here are some properties I've selected for you!" The agent had come prepared, presenting him with several options that included photos, maps, and details about the surrounding areas.

Link appreciated the effort. This would save him a lot of time.

The apartments ranged from old to new, all penthouses, and none of them cheap. The least expensive was over a million dollars, while the most expensive went into the tens of millions.

It was the fall of 2006, and millions of dollars were no small sum. Property values were expected to soar in the future, especially after the Chitauri invasion.

Link, however, focused more on the features of each apartment, disregarding the prices.

One listing immediately caught his eye: a penthouse with a glass ceiling in the living room.

The building was eighteen stories tall, with two elevators and three apartments per floor, each with different layouts. The penthouse residents shared access to the rooftop terrace.

The smallest unit, perfect for a bachelor like Link, still boasted three bedrooms, two living rooms, three bathrooms, and a kitchen. The master bedroom also had a walk-in closet.

A storage room was a given, of course.

Entering the apartment, you were greeted by a spacious living room with a glass ceiling that let sunlight flood the space during the day.

The penthouse had yet to be renovated. The developers were waiting for a buyer to customize the layout, but the entire building would undergo simultaneous renovations once a sale was finalized—no private contractors were allowed.

Buying a condo in America didn't give you complete control over the property; many rules and regulations came with it. Even after purchasing, a homeowners' association would likely be formed, and they'd have a say in future decisions.

When the time came to sell, the buyer would need approval from the association before the sale could go through.

What intrigued Link the most was the glass ceiling. He pulled out the brochure and asked, "Can we visit this one? I'm particularly interested in checking out the rooftop."

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