Sharna Davis: Private Detective

The lukewarm coffee did little to warm the knot of anxiety in your stomach. Two years. Two years you’d spent fetching mail and answering phones, your dream of becoming a detective collecting dust like the unopened case files on Detective Howard Young’s desk. Today, the frustration had finally boiled over, a volcanic eruption of pent-up ambition and righteous anger.

You’d quit.

Walking out of the precinct felt like stepping into a new, terrifying world. The familiar comfort of a steady job was gone, replaced by the exhilarating, yet daunting, unknown. You needed a plan, a way to make your dream a reality without the system that had held you back.

The park, a place of childhood memories, offered a moment of respite, a chance to clear your head. Then, the idea hit you – private detective. It wasn’t the path you’d initially envisioned, but it was a path nonetheless. Excitement bubbled, momentarily overshadowing the fear.

Later, a tense dinner with Johnny, your now ex-boyfriend, solidified the shift. Your ambition had always been a point of contention, and his inability to accept your chosen path was the final straw. You were on your own, professionally and personally.

Days turned into two weeks. No calls, just the disheartening silence of an unanswered ad. Your friends, Emily and Wyatt, in a misguided attempt to help, staged a fake kidnapping. You saw through it immediately, the humiliation stinging more than the lack of cases. You didn’t want pity; you wanted a chance to prove yourself.

Escaping the awkwardness, you found yourself at Fred's Cafe & Bar, seeking solace in a cheeseburger. That’s when it happened. A man, part of a large, celebratory group, collapsed and died, poisoned right before your eyes. This was it. Your chance. Pulling out your old badge, you declared the scene a crime, the eyes of frightened strangers on you. The clock was ticking, and your future as Detective Sharna Davis depended on what you did next.