I shook my head.
“Power?”
She smiled sadly.
“Responsibility.”
I frowned.
“What's the difference?”
She pointed toward the street.
“Power is what someone can do. Responsibility is what they know they must not do.”
I remembered that conversation throughout my career.
I remembered it when I first entered the academy.
When I graduated.
When I handled my first difficult call.
When I supervised officers.
And when I accepted the appointment to lead a department whose reputation would depend on decisions made by hundreds of people I couldn't personally follow into every situation.
Dad looked at me again.
“Your grandmother would be proud.”
My throat tightened.
“I wish she were here.”
He nodded.
“Me too.”
Then he smiled.
“But she'd probably tell you to stop smiling for pictures and get to work.”
I laughed.
That was exactly what Grandma Evelyn would've said.
After the ceremony, I attended a short reception.
I met several community leaders.
Spoke with officers who had come to welcome me.
And reviewed the schedule for my first full day in the department.
The assistant chief, Helena Ortiz, stood beside me as people began leaving.
She was forty-six, with dark hair pulled back neatly and a reputation for being direct.
Helena had served the department for more than twenty years.
She'd worked patrol, investigations, and operations before becoming assistant chief.
She hadn't applied for the top position.
Instead, she'd served on the transition team and provided me with a remarkably honest assessment of the department's problems.
We had begun trusting each other.
But we were still learning how to work together.
Helena looked toward the remaining guests.
“Busy morning.”
I smiled.
“That's one way to describe it.”
She handed me a folder.
“Your first week.”
I opened it.
Meetings.
Briefings.
Personnel reviews.
Budget sessions.
Community listening events.
And several appointments with independent oversight representatives.
I looked up.
“Did you leave room for lunch?”
Helena smiled faintly.
“Twenty minutes on Thursday.”
I laughed.
She became serious.
“Camille, there's something I want to discuss before you begin the command briefings.”
I nodded.
“What?”
She glanced toward the doorway.
Then lowered her voice.
“We've identified inconsistencies in the department's neighborhood enforcement records.”