Shadows Over Detroit

Anasia, my first born. I am so proud of the woman that you are becoming and pray that you achieve everything that your heart’s desire.

Aiden my best bud, my son, the one who keeps me grounded. You have taught me patience and unconditional love. I work hard everyday to be the best father I can be to your and your sister.

Mom, Shely, I love you thank you being here for me when I needed you.

Andrea, the love of my life. I thank God every day for bringing you into my life. I love you more than words can say.

To my nieces Jada, Sabrina, Samaya, and Tiana. To my nephew Christian. Kristopher and Yolanda Staley. Dawn Staley. Apryl and Sam Harris. Marc Rauls, Levon Ulmer, Will Ulmer. Craig Wright, Edmund Stewart, Marvin Greenleaf, Greg and Erica Jones. Antoine Craig.

Tawana Bostic, Ferg G, Louise Bostic, Marcus Barber.

Verdel Pipkins, Annette Pipkins, Brandy Wadsworth, Gia, Javone, and yes Mase you too. Albert Pipkins

The Entire Pipkins family.

Ulmer family

Staley family.

This book is dedicated to those who I have lost.

My father Isaac Donald Staley

My brother Rodney Staley

My Aunt Dorothy Beasley

My Aunt Evelyn Mustaffa

My Aunt Dorothy Whitehead

Uncle John Morris Staley

Hattie Ulmer, Willie Mae Staley

Harran Robinson

William Pipkins

Herbert Bostic Sr.

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Shadows Over Detroit

By

Jonathan Staley

Prologue

The rain fell in relentless sheets, turning the streets of Detroit into slick, glistening pathways that reflected the city's neon glow. The night was alive with the hum of distant traffic, the occasional wail of a siren, and the muffled sounds of life in the city that never truly slept. From my vantage point high above in my penthouse, I could see the river, a dark ribbon weaving through the landscape, its surface disturbed by the persistent downpour.

Detroit was a city of contradictions. Its heart beat with the rhythm of progress and decay, prosperity and poverty, light and shadow. For every glittering high-rise, there was a crumbling tenement; for every triumph, a tragedy. It was in these shadows that I operated, navigating the murky waters of crime and corruption like a seasoned sailor in a storm.

I was drawn back to this city, pulled by an invisible tether that I couldn't sever, no matter how hard I tried. After years serving as a Navy SEAL, where the lines between enemy and ally were stark, I found myself in a place where those lines were blurred, where trust was a commodity and deception was the currency of choice. My name is Casey Stone, and I am a private investigator.

The call had come late, just as I was settling into the uneasy comfort of civilian life. Leo Carter, a brother-in-arms, had vanished without a trace. It was a disappearance that reeked of foul play, of secrets hidden in the shadows. And I knew I couldn't rest until I found him.

But Leo wasn't the only mystery drawing me into the depths of Detroit's underworld. Emily Hart, a young woman with a bright future, had also gone missing. Her case was different—tinged with scandal and whispers of high-profile involvement. The more I dug into Emily's disappearance, the more I realized how tangled these cases were. The same dark forces seemed to be pulling the strings, and the closer I got to the truth, the more dangerous it became.

As I gazed out over the city, my thoughts were interrupted by a flicker of movement in the reflection of my window. Justine Sims, a local reporter with a penchant for danger and an on-again, off-again place in my life, stood behind me. Her eyes, sharp and inquisitive, met mine in the glass. She was here for a story, but she was also here for something more.

Casey, she said, her voice a soft counterpoint to the storm outside. You know this city better than anyone. If anyone can find Leo and Emily, it's you.

I turned to face her, the weight of the mission ahead settling on my shoulders. I've got leads, I replied, my voice steady but laced with the tension of the unknown. But this is bigger than just Leo and Emily. There are forces at play here that don't want them found.

She nodded, understanding the unspoken complexities. Come back to bed babe, figure this all out in the morning she said, and walked back to the bedroom.

The rain pounded harder against the windows, a relentless reminder of the city's unyielding nature. Detroit was a beast, and to survive here, you had to be willing to confront it head-on. I was about to delve into a world of deceit, power, and danger—a world where the stakes were life and death.

As I turned back to the window, the city's lights blurred by the rain, I felt a familiar resolve settle within me. Leo's and Emily's disappearances were just the beginning. The hunt was on, and I was ready to dive into the depths of Detroit's darkest secrets to uncover the truth.

Because in this city, in this world, you either fought against the darkness or you were consumed by it. And I had no intention of being consumed.

1

––––––––

The rain came down hard, a relentless drumming against the window of my high-rise apartment. I stood there, looking out over the city that I loved—the city that had called me back from the edge of the world. Detroit, the Motor City, Motown. It had a rhythm, a heartbeat that pulsed through its streets, alleys, and skyscrapers. And I was attuned to it, as if the city and I shared a secret language.

I lit a cigar, the flare of the match briefly illuminating the room. The smoke curled up, mingling with the shadows that clung to the corners. The city was a living, breathing entity, and I was one of its countless veins, pumping through its heart, its grit and glory a part of me. I'd been away, sure, in places most people couldn’t even point to on a map. The SEAL teams had taken me to hell and back, but it was this city that had drawn me back, like a moth to a flame.

After the SEALs, I could have gone anywhere, done anything. But the city had a way of getting under your skin. I needed the noise, the chaos, the never-ending hustle. I needed the city as much as it needed me. So when my brother Jackson called, offering me a job as an investigator at his law firm, I didn’t hesitate. The idea of working behind a desk wasn't exactly thrilling, but Jackson assured me it would be different. And he wasn’t wrong.

Jackson's firm was one of the best in the business, dealing with high-profile cases that required more than just legal expertise. They needed someone who could dig deep, get their hands dirty, and find the truths buried under layers of lies. That’s where I came in. The skills I honed in the military—observation, patience, resilience—were now my greatest assets in this concrete battleground.

But this new case had me stuck, like a cigarette butt ground into the pavement. It was a missing person’s case, and those were always tricky. The client was a wealthy socialite whose daughter had disappeared without a trace. The police had hit a dead end, and now it was my turn to follow the cold trail. I had my leads, sure, but they were as slippery as the rain-slicked streets below.

I took another drag, the tobacco a familiar comfort. The girl's name was Emily Hart. Twenty-two, bright future, last seen leaving a charity gala two weeks ago. Her disappearance had the city buzzing, tabloids speculating, but no one had any real answers. I’d interviewed her friends, her colleagues, even her ex-boyfriend. All dead ends. It was like she’d vanished into thin air.

But I knew better. The city held its secrets tight, but it also had a way of revealing them to those who knew where to look. And I knew this city like the back of my hand.

I stubbed out the cigar and turned back to my desk, cluttered with files, notes, and photos of Emily. Her smiling face stared up at me, a haunting reminder of why I couldn’t let this case go. There was something off about the whole thing, a detail I was missing, a thread I hadn’t yet pulled.

The rain continued its steady beat, the city’s lullaby, and I felt that familiar determination settle in my bones. I wasn’t one to give up easily. The city had taught me that. It had taught me to fight for what mattered, to dig deeper when things got tough.

Emily Hart was out there, somewhere. And I was going to find her. I grabbed my coat and hat, ready to head back into the night, into the city that never gave up its secrets easily.

The city called to me, its siren song irresistible. I was Casey Stone, once a SEAL, now a private investigator. And I was on the case. The city and I, we had unfinished business.

2

I woke up to the dull hum of the city, the morning light filtering through the heavy curtains of my penthouse. The sleek, modern lines of my luxury apartment felt almost like a cage sometimes, a far cry from the barracks and field tents I was used to in my SEAL days. But this was home now, and I had made my peace with it.

Rolling out of bed, I stretched, feeling the familiar ache of old wounds and hard living. A quick shower washed away the remnants of sleep, and I stood before my closet, contemplating my wardrobe. I reached for my best Tom Ford suit, a dark, charcoal masterpiece that fit like a second skin. No tie—ties were for funerals and weddings, and this was neither.

Dressed to kill, I made my way down to the parking garage, where my Lexus GX