Chief Trenholm’s First Week: Respect Earned, Not Given

The late afternoon sun hovered over Highway 41, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement of the Redwood Junction Diner. Simone Trenholm, tired from hours on the road, guided her gray sedan into a spot at the edge of the lot. She was days away from officially starting her new job as chief of police for Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, and all she wanted was a sandwich, a slice of pie, and a coffee before checking into her motel.

Simone’s mind was on tomorrow—the forms in her satchel, the mayor’s handshake, the first impression she’d make on her new department. She wasn’t thinking about trouble, but trouble found her anyway.

The crunch of gravel snapped her focus to a black-and-white cruiser swinging into the lot, pulling up two spaces over. The driver, Sergeant Colby Renwick, let his thick forearm hang out the window, mirrored sunglasses flashing in the sun. Next to him, Officer Travis Blaine leaned forward, elbows on his knees, radiating the restless energy of someone itching to assert himself.

“Well, look what we got here,” Renwick called, his voice carrying an edge that was more warning than welcome. “You lost, sweetheart? This ain’t your part of town.”

Blaine’s eyes flicked over Simone’s clothes and car. “Nice ride for someone passing through,” he said, the compliment sounding more like a threat.

Simone stood by her car, hand on the roof, her satchel slung over her shoulder. She’d heard worse in her career, but the lack of a smile told her this wasn’t idle talk. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, her tone even and unapologetic.

That didn’t please them, but she didn’t care. She shut her car door and walked toward the diner without looking back. Their laughter followed her inside, but she refused to give it another thought. The cool air of the diner hit her face, mingling with the scent of fried onions and coffee. She scanned for an open stool, ignoring the stares that measured her, filed her away as an outsider.

A waitress named Gloria, helmet hair and world-weary eyes, poured Simone a coffee without asking. “You just passing through?” Gloria asked.

“Something like that,” Simone replied, not elaborating. She ordered a turkey club and fries, then tried to lose herself in the menu, but her attention kept drifting to the windows, where the cruiser still sat, its occupants watching the door.

Five minutes later, the front door jingled and the energy of the diner shifted. Renwick and Blaine entered, taking a booth two tables away from Simone. Their conversation was low, their laughter pointed, meant to be overheard. Simone ate her meal at her own pace, refusing to let them dictate her mood.

When she finished, she left a twenty on the counter and walked past the two officers. Renwick called out, “Enjoy your stay, however long that is.” Simone didn’t respond. Outside, the cruiser was gone, but the tire marks near her car were fresh.

She drove to the Pinecrest Motor Lodge, a squat, unremarkable place with a neon vacancy sign. The room was stale and the air conditioner rattled, but it was enough. She texted her sister, “Made it. Motel for now. First day tomorrow.” She considered mentioning the diner incident but decided against it. No point in worrying Marina before anything had even started.

She sat on the bed, her mind replaying every detail: the way the cruiser had boxed her in, the look behind Renwick’s glasses, Blaine’s smirk. She’d faced this before—officers who liked to test boundaries, especially when they thought they could size up a newcomer. But this was different. These were her officers. Her department.

She pulled out her notebook and wrote three words: command, respect, clarity. Underneath, she scribbled, “assess department culture, identify fault lines early.” She scanned the welcome packet, noting Renwick’s twelve years on the force and Blaine’s two. Twelve years was long enough for a man like Renwick to think he ran the place; two years was short enough for Blaine to decide whose lead to follow.

Tomorrow, she wouldn’t be just another stranger. She’d be their chief.

Simone woke before dawn, her body already in work mode. She pressed her uniform, pinned her hair, and drove through the quiet streets of Fond du Lac. The precinct was a squat, functional building—a place built for work, not for show. At the front desk, Officer Lydia Ortiz greeted her with a mixture of formality and curiosity.

“Chief Trenholm, welcome,” Lydia said, softening as she recognized the badge.

Simone walked down the hall, her boots echoing on the linoleum. She paused outside the squad room, then pushed the door open. Conversations halted for a beat before resuming at a lower volume. Twenty officers sat at long tables, some laughing, some keeping their eyes down, others sizing her up.

At the far wall, Renwick leaned casually, sunglasses gone, blue eyes unblinking. Blaine thumbed through a notepad, but his attention was on Simone.

She crossed to the front, set her satchel on the lectern, and waited as the mayor entered. Mayor Frank Alderman, in his late sixties, introduced her with a half-smile. “It’s my privilege to introduce Chief Simone Trenholm.”

The room went silent. Simone let the quiet hang for a moment before speaking. “Good morning. Before we get into schedules and assignments, I want to start with one thing: respect. It’s not just about who wears what rank. It’s about how you treat people—on duty, off duty, and before you even know who they are.”

She let her gaze sweep the room, pausing on Renwick and Blaine. “I will hold every person in this department accountable to the same standard I hold myself. We represent this city, and that means our words and actions matter every minute of every day.”

She outlined her priorities: community outreach, improving patrol rotations, updating training. When she finished, she dismissed them to their daily brief. Renwick was the last to leave, his eyes on her until the moment he turned away. Blaine followed, less sure than he’d been in the diner parking lot.

Lydia appeared in the doorway. “Chief, your office is ready.”

Simone took one last look at the empty squad room. The real introduction hadn’t happened yet. That would come, face to face.

Her office was modest but functional. She set her satchel down, straightened a stack of memos, and centered herself for what came next. Lydia messaged: “Renwick and Blaine are in the conference room for roll call. Want to address them?”

“I’ll be there in five,” Simone replied.

The conference room was smaller, with a long table and a faint smell of stale coffee. Half a dozen officers flipped through reports. Renwick lounged at the end, looking at ease. Blaine sat beside him, flipping a pen.

“Morning,” Simone said. A scattered chorus of “Morning, Chief” went around the room. Renwick was last.

“I expect professionalism, respect for the badge, and accountability to the public we serve,” she said. “Those aren’t suggestions—they’re the baseline.”

Renwick’s tone was measured. “Been running things smooth here for years.”

“Every department can improve,” Simone replied. “That’s why I’m here.”

There was a subtle shift in the room. Renwick leaned back. “Guess we’ll see what needs fixing.”

“We will,” Simone said, meeting his stare. “And I’ll be assessing every aspect of how we operate—including how we interact with the community. That includes casual conversations in public spaces.”

Blaine’s gaze dropped to the table. Renwick repeated, “Casual conversations?”

“Yes. The way you speak to someone before you know their name says a lot about how you’ll treat them when you do.”

She announced she’d meet with each officer individually. “I want honest answers, not rehearsed ones. We can only improve if we acknowledge what’s not working.”

As the officers filed out, Renwick lingered. “You run things your way, Chief. Just remember, some of us have been here a long time.”

“And some of you will be here a lot longer if you adapt,” Simone replied. “We’ll see which category you fall into.”

Renwick’s mouth twitched. “Guess we will.”

Alone, Simone wrote in her notebook: “Renwick—Direct Challenge. Blaine—potential follower, not leader. Monitor closely. Test under pressure.”

She didn’t wait long. By mid-afternoon, she sent for Renwick and Blaine. They arrived, uniforms crisp, radio mics clipped to their shoulders.

“Yesterday, outside the diner, you had some questions for me—something about whether I belonged in this town,” Simone said.

Renwick’s lips pressed together. “Wasn’t exactly a question, Chief. Just conversation.”

“You pulled in, blocked my car, made a series of comments that weren’t casual. They were calculated. You didn’t know who I was, but you thought you knew enough to test me.”

Blaine shifted, jaw tightening. Renwick’s gaze stayed steady. “If you took it that way, maybe it’s because you were already looking for a problem.”

“I don’t look for problems, Sergeant. I look for patterns. What I saw was a pattern I’ve seen in officers who forget that the badge means service, not status.”

Renwick replied, “With all due respect, you’re new here. Sometimes you have to assert yourself with people. Show them you’re watching.”

“And who were you watching yesterday? A woman getting out of her car for lunch? That’s not asserting authority. That’s picking a target.”

The air thickened. Simone straightened. “This isn’t about me taking offense. This is about the standard of conduct I expect. If that’s a problem, I need to hear it now.”

Blaine’s shoulders shifted. “No, Chief.”

“I’ll make it clear,” Simone continued. “You represent this department every time you’re in uniform. If the behavior I saw yesterday happens again, there will be consequences—formal ones.”

Renwick’s voice was even. “Understood.”

“Good. Because I’m not here to play favorites or wage petty battles. I’m here to make sure this department serves the public with professionalism.”

She dismissed them. Blaine gave a small nod. Renwick lingered a second longer, then left. Simone wrote in her notebook: “Meeting—clear boundaries set. Renwick—testing will continue. Blaine—observe for signs of shift.”

Two days later, Simone decided to see her officers in action. She chose Renwick and Blaine for a ride-along. In the garage, Renwick checked the trunk inventory, Blaine entered stops into the computer.

“I’ll be riding with you today,” Simone announced.

Renwick closed the trunk. “Your call, Chief.”

She slid into the back seat. The first call came quickly—a disturbance at a corner store. The owner reported a man refusing to leave. Renwick drove with practiced speed.

“Guy they’re talking about is probably Lester,” Renwick said. “He’s in there every week causing trouble.”

Inside, a wiry man gestured animatedly at the clerk. “Lester,” Renwick called, his tone familiar. “What’s going on?”

“Just talking to my buddy,” Lester replied.

“You’ve been asked to leave,” Renwick said. “Time to go.”

Lester looked past him at Simone. “Who’s she?”

“Not your concern,” Renwick said.

Simone stepped forward. “The store has the right to refuse service. If you’ve been asked to leave, you need to comply.”

Lester hesitated, then grabbed his jacket and left.

Back in the cruiser, Blaine said, “That went smoother than last time.”

“Different circumstances,” Renwick replied.

The next calls were routine—traffic stop, checking a parked vehicle. Simone observed how Renwick handled drivers: competent, but clipped, his tone sharper with certain people. Blaine was more measured, sometimes stepping in to soften an interaction.

Late in the shift, dispatch sent them to a possible domestic dispute. As they approached, both men’s body language changed. Renwick knocked hard. “Police!”

A woman in her thirties opened the door. Renwick’s questions were quick, almost aggressive. Simone noticed the woman’s posture tighten. She stepped in, guiding the conversation toward the woman while Blaine spoke to the man. No assault had occurred, but the tension was real.

“If you ever feel unsafe, you can call us—even if it feels small,” Simone told the woman. The relief in her eyes was immediate.

Back at the station, Simone thanked Renwick and Blaine for the ride-along. Patterns were becoming clearer, not just in their behavior but in how they responded to her presence. The next crack wouldn’t come from routine calls, but from pressure.

Two days later, Renwick knocked on Simone’s door, not waiting for permission to sit. “We need to talk,” he said.

“About what?”

“You. The way you’ve been shadowing my patrols. That’s not leadership—it’s hunting for mistakes.”

“If I was hunting, I’d have already pulled the trigger,” Simone said. “Your behavior sets the tone for officers who look to you as an example. That’s part of my job.”

“I’ve been here over a decade. I know this town. What I don’t need is someone swooping in from somewhere else telling me how to do it.”

“And yet here I am—not because you’re incompetent, but because departments stagnate when they run on autopilot. I was brought in to prevent that.”

“Autopilot’s kept crime down, kept the council happy, kept my people safe. You think the mayor cares if I said something in a parking lot? He cares that I keep the streets quiet.”

“The streets aren’t quiet if people feel they’re being sized up instead of protected. What happened in that lot wasn’t harmless banter, and deep down you know it. You just don’t like being told so.”

Renwick’s gaze broke for the first time. “You think you can change the way I operate overnight? You’ll lose half the room.”

“Then I’ll earn it back—not by coddling egos, but by showing this department that respect isn’t negotiable.”

Renwick stood. “You keep pushing, and you’ll find out how fast people can make your job harder.”

Simone rose too. “And you’ll find out how fast I can replace people who refuse to adapt. I don’t bluff.”

“Neither do I.”

Before they could say more, Blaine entered. “Chief, Sergeant—call just came in. Shots fired, possible armed suspect near the old train yard.”

Renwick’s jaw tightened. “Let’s move.”

Simone grabbed her jacket. “I’m coming.”

The drive was silent. At the train yard, they fanned out—Renwick and Blaine on opposite sides, Simone following. Blaine’s flashlight caught two figures running, one with a handgun. Renwick shouted, “Drop the weapon!” The suspects split. Blaine chased the one with the gun, Renwick after the other. Simone followed Blaine.

The suspect tripped, the gun skittering away. Blaine cuffed him. Simone secured the weapon. “I wasn’t gonna use it, I swear,” the kid said, voice cracking.

“We’ll talk about that after you’re cuffed,” Blaine replied.

Renwick’s voice came over the radio: “Suspect in custody.”

Back at the cruiser, the suspects were processed, the weapon tagged. Simone said, “Good work.” Blaine nodded, catching his breath. Renwick replied, “Everyone went home in one piece. That’s the win.”

The ride back was quiet. After processing, Simone found herself alone in the hallway with Renwick.

“You handled yourself out there,” he said.

“So did you. That’s what I expect—control, clarity, no wasted motion.”

He paused. “Doesn’t mean we’re on the same page about everything. But I see you can back up the talk.”

“Good. This job isn’t about agreeing on everything. It’s about agreeing on the goal—safety, respect, accountability.”

Renwick exhaled, almost a laugh. “We’ll see how it plays.”

Blaine appeared, holding a report. “Chief, the way you talked to that kid—you got through to him. I don’t think he expected that.”

“Sometimes people listen when they’re treated like more than just a problem,” Simone said.

The air between them was different now—less charged, more measured. When Renwick left for the night, he glanced over his shoulder. Blaine stayed to finish his report, his posture lighter.

Simone wrote in her notebook: “Progress—small but real. Trust takes action, not speeches.”

The next morning, Simone called a full department meeting. Renwick and Blaine sat side by side, neither looking away when she entered.

“Before we get into assignments, I want to talk about last night and about this week,” Simone said. “The train yard call could have gone wrong in a dozen ways. It didn’t, because each person involved stayed in control. That’s the difference between a safe outcome and a tragedy. That’s the difference between professionalism and recklessness.”

Her gaze moved across the room. “Every badge comes with authority, but also responsibility. How you speak to someone before you know their name matters as much as how you act in a high-risk call. Respect isn’t a trick for the cameras or when you think someone matters—it’s a habit. If you don’t practice it every time, you won’t have it when you need it most.”

She announced new community engagement protocols: more visibility, more conversations, more attention to perception. “This isn’t about image—it’s about trust.”

Renwick’s arms were crossed, but the defiance was gone. Blaine leaned forward, listening.

“I know change isn’t comfortable. I also know this department has a strong foundation. I’m not here to tear it down, but to make sure it holds stronger than before. That only happens if everyone steps up—no exceptions.”

A veteran officer in the back said, “Understood, Chief.”

Simone nodded. “Let’s get to work.”

As officers filed out, Renwick lingered. “About what you said—respect is a habit. That’s not wrong.”

“It’s not easy to change patterns, Sergeant. But it’s easier when you’ve got the skill to back it up. You do.”

He nodded. “Guess we’ll see.”

Blaine stepped up. “Chief, I’m in. Whatever you’re putting in place, I’ll do my part.”

“Good. When this department gets it right, the whole city feels it.”

By mid-morning, the station hummed with routine. Simone watched from her office window as Renwick and Blaine headed to their cruiser, their conversation calmer now.

She wrote in her notebook: “Step taken. Keep momentum. Lead by example.”

Leadership, Simone knew, wasn’t about one speech, one good night, or one confrontation. It was about showing up every day, in the moments no one planned for, and making sure the people you led understood why the work mattered beyond the badge.

Her week had started with a parking lot test she hadn’t asked for. It ended with the first real sign that the test could turn into something worth building on. The lesson was simple: respect isn’t earned by who you are—it’s earned by how you treat people, especially when you think no one’s keeping score.