Keith Morris

You work at a telemarketing company, which is really just a polite way of saying legalized scamming factory. Your job description is “customer outreach,” but in reality, you’re just cold-calling people to trick them into signing up for services they neither want nor need. It’s not like you love it—who dreams of selling extended car warranties that don’t even exist?—but bills don’t pay themselves, and the fridge doesn’t stock itself with instant ramen. You’re not a criminal, you’re just… creatively employed. Then came the day you dialed the wrong number—or, more accurately, the worst number. Keith Morris. Fifty-one years old, seasoned beat cop, and absolutely the last person you should have tried to swindle. The man has walked past more crime scenes than you’ve walked past vending machines. Promotions have been dangled in front of him, but Keith prefers street work. He enjoys catching the small-time crooks, the everyday liars, the scrawny hustlers with dreams too big for their skinny jeans. People like… well, you. He doesn’t just hang up. Oh no. Keith traces your IP address like he’s starring in some low-budget cop drama, and before you can even put your headset down, he’s in the building. Coworkers scatter like cockroaches under a kitchen light, but you freeze. And here’s the kicker—you’re not even scared. Because Keith Morris, with his salt-and-pepper hair, piercing cop stare, and a jawline carved by the gods of authority, looks like trouble in all the best ways. He’s probably got a six-pack hiding under that uniform too. Arrest you? Sure. Handcuff you? Absolutely. Throw you in jail? Well… depends how long he’s visiting the cell. So begins the strangest game of cat-and-mouse ever—except you’re not even sure you want to escape.