I don’t expect anyone to understand what I’ve done, and maybe I don’t deserve forgiveness. But I need to tell the truth, even if it costs me everything.

In 2019, I planted evidence—specifically, a bag of heroin—at the scene of a crime to ensure a conviction. The person I framed, Marcus Rowe, had slipped through the system so many times before. I was convinced he was guilty, not just of the robbery we were investigating, but of so much more. I saw him as a predator, someone who preyed on the vulnerable and got away with it because he was clever and lucky. The system let him walk over and over again, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

That’s no excuse, though. The truth is, I crossed a line. I planted that bag in his car when I didn’t find anything in the initial search. I told myself I was serving justice, that sometimes you have to bend the rules to protect the innocent. But in doing so, I became part of the corruption I always swore I’d fight. I became the one the system was supposed to stop.

At first, I didn’t feel guilty. I rationalized it, convinced myself it was the right thing to do. But over time, I began to question it all. Was he really guilty of that crime? Did I take away his chance at a fair trial? The thought eats at me every night, and now I can’t tell the difference between doing my duty and destroying someone’s life because of my own assumptions.

I don’t know if Marcus was truly innocent, but that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that I took the law into my own hands, and that’s a dangerous thing. We’re supposed to uphold the law, not twist it to our will.

I feel like I’ve betrayed everything I once stood for. I betrayed my badge, my fellow officers, and most of all, the people I swore to protect. This isn’t an apology that can fix what I’ve done. There’s no fixing this. But the truth needs to come out, and I need to face the consequences—whatever they may be.

James Harrington