Chicago PD: Hank Voight's Forbidden Love

CONSEQUENCES

He clicked on Atwater's number. Kevin answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Sergeant."

"Hey, Kevin. Listen, I'm sorry to bother you this late, but I need you to do something for me."

"No problem. I'm just leaving Molly's. What do you need?"

"I need an address in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin."

"Sure, I can do that.  Do you have a name?"

"You know Elena's friend, Midian?"

"Yeah, sure, Midian."

"His parents own a home up in Lake Geneva, and I need that address ASAP, but I can't remember his last name."

"Uh, let me think. Oh, yeah, Wright. Midian Wright. W-R-I-G-H-T. "

"Yep, that's it. You wouldn't happen to know his father's first name would you?"

"No, I don't, but I've got enough to work with here. Give me about 20 minutes."

"That's great, Kev. I really appreciate it."

"Uh, Sarge, is everything okay with Elena?"

Voight chuckled. "Not remotely. I'll fill you in later."

"Copy that. Okay, I'll get that address for you and call you right back."

Voight disconnected the call. It was almost 11:30: he was drained, he was tired, and he was sleepy, but now thanks to his rebellious little vixen his night was nowhere close to ending. 
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It was 1:45 in the morning, and everyone in the Lake Geneva house was sleeping.  The last ones to retire had been in bed for about an hour.  All was quiet and peaceful, and the only sound that could be heard from outside was the nocturnal chirping of  crickets. 

The silence of the night was suddenly rocked by the sound of the doorbell.  It chimed multiple times followed by knocking and pounding.  The persistence of the clamor indicated that whoever was at the door was not going to stop until someone answered.

Matthew Wright, Midian's older brother, was sleeping in a downstairs bedroom  when he stumbled groggy and bleary-eyed to the front door.  Under normal circumstances he would have been apprehensive that some unknown person or persons were disturbing the tranquility of his household at that ungodly hour, but instead he was irritated that he had been awakened from a sound sleep he had just attained only an hour earlier.

He unlocked and opened the door and saw the silhouette of a man standing before him.  He couldn't make out his features and realized he needed to turn on the porch lights.  He reached over and flipped the switch, squinting from the sudden glare.

"Uh, may I help you?" he asked, the irritation in his voice apparent.

"I'm sorry to disturb you at this late hour," replied a deep, gravelly voice.  "My name is Sergeant Henry Voight.  I'm with the Chicago Police Department."

It took Matt a couple of seconds to become oriented.  A policeman from Chicago in Lake Geneva?  What the hell?  But the name had a familiar ring to it, and then it suddenly occurred to him where he had heard it.