Hank Voight had been brought down, not by any of the criminals that he had made a hell of career out of catching, but by failing health.
There was a sombre atmosphere in the office of Chicago PD's Intelligence Unit, the likes of which Jay Halstead had never experienced before. He owed so much to Voight, as did everyone else in the room. Looking around, he could see that they were thinking the same thing he was: Could it really be true that their boss, mentor, even friend, could be forced into early retirement?
None of them wanted to believe it was going to happen. If Voight went, the division was likely to go with him. It had a reputation for bending the rules in order to get results. It was a deserved reputation, Halstead had to admit. But the team's results could not be dismissed. When it came to organised crime or special investigations, there was no better unit in the country, he felt sure. Now it might all be falling apart.
A couple of weeks earlier, the unthinkable had happened. Voight had suffered a stroke while working in his office. The thing that had made it even more shocking was that he hadn't been in one of his furious rages at the time, he had simply doing paperwork when Alvin Olinsky had heard him fall off his chair.
Rushed to hospital, Voight had remained there for six days before being released to go home. Having been to see the boss several times during his hospital stay and since his return home, Halstead knew that he was doing well, relatively speaking. Even the doctors had said they were surprised by how little lasting damage Voight had suffered from what they described as a serious stroke. He had complained of pins and needles in his left arm, and of struggling with his short term memory. As far as continuing to live a functional life, the news was good. But it was a disaster for someone who was meant to lead an elite police unit.
"There's no way they'll let him back out there on duty," Olinsky had said at one point, sounding as cut up about it as everyone else felt. Al had been put in temporary charge of the unit, told that a further, permanent decision would be made in the near future. The wording hadn't sounded promising, which was part of the reason for the sombre mood. The team had been told to gather in the office to hear their fate.
"You all look like you're at a funeral," a familiar voice said. There was no mistaking the gravelly tones of Hank Voight. Halstead whipped around to look at him and jumped up from his desk, banging his knee on it in the process. It hurt like a bastard, but he did his best not to let on.
"You're looking well, boss," Adam Ruzek said. He was the first to offer a handshake to the returning Voight.
It was true, Halstead thought. Voight actually looked pretty much like he always did. The only thing that gave away the harsh reality of the situation he was dealing with was the defeated look in his eyes. That likely meant there was bad news to come.
Walking around his desk, Halstead was the third one to shake hands with Voight. "How are you feeling?" he asked compassionately.
"Pretty good, considering. How has it been here?" Voight wanted to know, focused on the job as ever.
"I'll let Al fill you in," Halstead said, stepping aside to allow Olinsky to come forward.
When the rest of the handshakes and greetings had been exchanged, Olinsky updated Voight on the team's current case, which looked close to a successful conclusion. That at least was good news.
"So, what's the news? We've heard rumours that aren't good," Olinsky said.
Voight sighed and out of habit walked to the top end of the room to stand in front of his office. That was where he always stood for briefings or to hand out assignments. Today he was doing neither of those things.
"I do have news," Voight announced. "Some of it's good, some of it's not so good, at least from my point of view. I have been evaluated following my stroke, and I've been told that the damage to my left arm is permanent. I have constant pins and needles in it, and sometimes numbness too. I also had an eye test, which showed I now have a sensitivity to bright lights. Bottom line? I'm now unable to drive a car, let alone work for Chicago PD. I have to take early retirement, effective immediately."
Halstead looked away for a moment. He hadn't expected the news to make him feel as emotional as it did, and he felt embarrassed to show it in front of his colleagues, although he imagined they felt the same way.
"It's not all bad news, though," Voight continued before people had a chance to dwell on what he had just told them. "I thought that the superintendent would see this as a golden opportunity to try and shut down Intelligence. Thankfully, I'm here to tell you that the fantastic work we've all done for this city is going to continue. I won't be here with you, but you can all bet your asses I'll still know exactly what's going on here, and I'll be expecting the same high standards of performance to continue. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Halstead said along with everyone else.
"So, Al's in charge permanently?" Kevin Atwater guessed.
"Actually, no," Voight said, looking apologetically at the man who had always been the most loyal to him. He clearly believed that Olinsky had deserved to get the job, yet it hadn't gone that way. "The higher ups insisted that they wanted someone younger."
"Who is it then? It's one of us, right?" Halstead asked, worried about an outsider coming in and taking charge.
"I guess you could say that," a female voice said from behind the group.
Halstead felt his heart skip at least one beat. He could barely believe it, but there was no mistaking the voice. He turned around and set eyes on Erin Lindsay for the first time in five years.