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elrhiarhodanTitle: We Rise Where Shadows Fall – Part Four
Artist: Nioell
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Mitchell, Mozzie, Clinton Jones, Lauren Cruz, Kyle Bancroft, Original Characters; Peter/Neal, past Neal/Adler, past Peter/Elizabeth (marriage of convenience), Peter-Elizabeth friendship
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~40,000
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, theatregirl7299. And many thanks to my friend, sinfulslasher, for translating something into German for me.
Summary: Neal, a former employee of Vincent Adler – and the only person from Adler’s organization to serve jail time – has agreed to help the FBI find Adler. Peter Burke, the case agent assigned to the Adler case, is worried about Neal’s safety and doesn’t trust the Marshals, so he’s keeping him close at hand. The attraction between the two men grows as they learn about each other and everything comes to a head when Neal finally shares a devastating secret.
Title from the Oysterband song, “Rise Above”.
Written for Round One of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wc_reverse_bb.
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When he woke up the next morning, Neal decided that saying anything more about his suggestion would be counterproductive. Peter was heading this operation and what he said was law.
That didn’t keep Neal from working through all sorts of scenarios on how he’d approach Adler. After so many years of doing his best not to think about Vincent, he now had a legitimate excuse to indulge in all sorts of what-ifs.
As eager as he now was to bring that son of a bitch to justice, he was also terrified. The last time he had seen Vincent, it had been an ordinary Monday morning almost five years ago. They’d shared their customary coffee and cereal, swapping sections of the Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times. The ever-changing numbers on the Bloomberg terminal display were reflected in Vincent’s reading glasses and Neal had amused himself by reading the Futures report in the man’s eyes.
Vincent knew what he’d been doing and smiled, before taking the glasses off and leaning in to kiss him. He’d murmured that he’d be leaving for the airport within the hour, and maybe Neal would like to join him in the shower?
Of course he had.
The sex had been incredible – it always was. Vincent talking dirty as he fucked him against the shower wall. “Dein Arsch ist so wunderbar eng. Absolut makellos . Es fühlt sich an als ob mein Schwanz von heissem Samt umgeben ist. Ich könnte dich ständig ficken” Even the memory of Vincent’s voice as he whispered those filthy, vulgar words in his ear still affected Neal, more than half a decade later.
Vincent had left him limp and satiated and headed to the airport in Teterboro, where he kept his private jet. Two days later, the FBI came to the office, and his life, as he’d known it, had ended.
Neal kept trying to convince himself that he could face Vincent and not break apart. That he could calmly lure the man into making an incriminating statement. That he could be the man he should have been, and not some pathetic excuse for a human being.
Maybe following the playbook was for the best. Like Peter said, he wasn’t a trained agent; he had no experience in this sort of thing.
Or maybe he did. Four years in the minimum security prison in Otisville taught him a lot about getting people to give him what he needed without surrendering more than he wanted to. Maybe if he thought of this as just another act of prison commerce, a simple transaction, he’d get through it. If Peter decided to use him.
They were in the office a little before eight and Neal asked if he could take a half-hour and get in touch with Elizabeth. He wouldn’t tell her anything, but he needed to get with her and go through the bills. Peter told him use the conference room, he needed Jones to track down something for him and they wouldn’t pick up where they’d left off for another hour or so.
It would be good to talk with Elizabeth. Even though they’d spent much of Sunday together, it still seemed like it had been a week since they’d talked. And in a way, it was. Except for the brief conversation they’d had on Friday, they really hadn’t had any time alone since Thursday at work. He had so much he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted to talk with her about. Not Adler, of course. He needed to keep her as far away from that mess as he possibly could. But he wanted to talk with her about Peter.
She’d probably smirk and crow and do her version of the happy dance and say ‘I told you so’ over and over. And she’d be right. Peter was pretty damn close to perfect for him. It’s just that with all this other crap, how could he even contemplate anything more than a casual friendship with the man?
El picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Neal.”
“Umm, how did you know it was me?”
“Caller ID says ‘FBI.’ Peter never calls me from a land line.”
Neal laughed. “Can’t pull any wool over your eyes.”
“Nope. How are you doing?”
“Good.” He wanted to say a hell of a lot more than that, but he couldn’t.
“Seriously? You’re not bullshitting me?”
“No, El, I’m not. I’m good.”
“Peter’s treating you okay? He’s not making you do anything you don’t want to? Do you need me to sic Mozzie on him again?”
“No, Peter’s been fantastic.” Damn, he probably should have picked a different adjective. El was going to jump all over that.
And she did. “Fantastic? I want details.”
“Not that kind of fantastic.”
“Oh.”
Neal could hear the pout. “He’s been really patient and …” He really couldn’t tell El about how he’d treated him like he was a real member of his team, not an initially reluctant witness.
“And?”
“And nice. Okay, your ex is a really nice man.”
“One you could fall for?”
“Yes, but I’m not having this conversation with you when he’s less than ten feet away, okay?”
“But you ARE going to have this conversation, with me, right?”
“Yeah. Eventually.” Neal twirled the phone cord around his finger, feeling like a teenager, talking about his high school crush. “And I’m putting this out there, because you’re never going to let me live it down, but you were right, okay?”
She knew just what he was talking about. “No, mister, I’m never going to let you live it down. But seriously, are you happy?”
Neal took a deep breath and realized that yes, at this moment, with all the chaos and the shadows piling up around him, and knowing nothing about how Peter felt about him, he was just that. “Yes, Ellie, I am.”
“Good, then that’s all that matters.”
The conversation shifted over to the mundane as she ran through the supplier bills that needed to be paid, the clients who hadn’t paid their bills, a background check on a potential new client; all the things that Neal normally would handle but couldn’t right now. She finally passed him over to Yvonne and they did the bookkeeping entries. Everything tied out nicely and Neal ended the call just as Peter, Clinton and Lauren came into the conference room.
Peter asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. As long as I don’t make Elizabeth do any bookkeeping, we’re fine.”
Neal settled down and waited for Peter to get started, but the man seemed reluctant to begin. He paced back and forth, pausing every few steps, looking as if he was about to say something, but then closing his mouth and pacing a few more times. Neal didn’t know what to make of this behavior. Admittedly, his experience with Peter wasn’t very extensive but this indecisiveness seemed uncharacteristic of someone he’d come to think of as a human dynamo.
Finally, Peter worked out whatever was bothering him and spoke. “Neal – are you still willing to do what you suggested last night?”
Now he could understand Peter’s behavior. He sat up straight, feeling Clinton and Lauren’s eyes on him. Both agents looked puzzled, so Peter hadn’t briefed them yet. Not that it mattered. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Are you sure? If we commit to this path, we can’t go back.”
“Yes, Peter. I’m completely certain.”
“Umm, what’s going on?” Lauren finally raised the question.
Peter let out a gusty sigh. “Neal’s agreed to be our stalking horse. Instead of arresting Adler and then having Neal identify him, Neal’s volunteered to confront Adler in public and get him to reveal himself. For the record, I don’t like this, but given the problems we’re facing, it’s really the best approach.”
Peter asked Lauren to make contact with Interpol in Paris, and warned her not to mention Adler’s French alter-ego. They’d need the agency’s help when they went to the police in Paris. Clinton was handed the responsibility for updating the warrants on Adler. Neal, to his dismay, was left with nothing to do.
Peter was adamant. “Your role in this is difficult enough. We need to get the structure of the operation set up first, then we’ll go over how you’ll approach Adler, your code words. You need to follow the script. If you can’t, tell me now and we’ll go back to the original plan.”
Neal clenched his jaw until it ached.
“Neal? Do you understand?”
“I’m not a fool, Peter. I understand.”
“I’m not sure that you do. I know you want this son of a bitch behind bars as much as the rest of us, but putting him there is not worth your life.”
Neal forced himself to relax. “Adler won’t do anything to me.”
“He already tried to kill you, remember the gas leak?”
“How could I forget, but he won’t do anything in public, I already told you. That’s not his way. It’s too visible, too risky for his precious anonymity. I trust you. You’ll have my back. Nothing will happen to me.”
That seemed to take some of the wind out of Peter’s sails and he turned his attention back to the agents, continuing to dole out assignments. Neal’s head was spinning, just listening to the amount of work involved in getting this operation off the ground.
It was a little after ten before Peter told them to take a break and Neal headed for the men’s room. He had just finished his business and was washing his hands when Clinton came in. Neal gave him the typical abstracted nod and smile that one gives on encountering a familiar face in an awkward setting.
But Clinton didn’t nod back; in fact, he didn’t head over to the urinals. He stopped at the sinks and gave him a hard, searching look.
“What’s the matter?”
Clinton just continued to stare at him and Neal was getting unnerved. But he’d learned the hard way not to show fear, so he cocked an eyebrow at the other man and waited.
Finally, Clinton said something. “You’ve already impressed Peter; you don’t have to keep trying so hard.”
“What do you mean?” Neal asked, but he was pretty certain he knew just what Clinton was saying.
“You don’t have to put your life on the line to impress Peter – Agent Burke. He already thinks very highly of you.”
Neal prayed that his face wasn’t turning red, because he could feel embarrassment flooding through him; the sweat pooling under his arms, at the base of his spine. “And I think very highly of Agent Burke, but that has nothing to do with why I’m doing this, Agent Jones.” Neal hoped that using the man’s title would put a damper on his well-intentioned presumption – Clinton had invited him to use his first name when they were introduced Friday morning.
Clinton shook his head. “Peter’s a good man, a good agent. He’s not easily impressed. He’s also not easy to get close to, and you’ve managed to do both very quickly.”
Now Neal was confused. Was he warning him off? Clinton’s words seemed to say one thing, but his tone was one of compassion and understanding. “I’m not following – what does that have to do with anything?”
Clinton shrugged. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. We can get Adler, it may take a little more time, we may need to use a lot more finesse, but we’ll get him and you’ll be a big help. But putting yourself in danger isn’t necessary. You don’t have to prove anything.”
At that, the man left and Neal was more confused than ever.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
A probie delivered a message for Peter that the files he’d asked for had been sent over. He left Neal with Lauren and asked Clinton to join him in his office.
“Remember our conversation with Alan Davis at the U.S. Attorney’s office last week?”
Clinton nodded. “Of course. What have you got?”
Peter gestured to the carton that had been left on his desk. “I requested the disposition files for every case that Davis’ office prosecuted where Neal’s lawyer represented the defendant. Something keeps bothering me about some of the communications between Davis and that lawyer. Nothing I can put my finger on, but I can’t get rid of the feeling that there was something hinky going on between them.”
“And you think the answer is in those files?”
“Yes. According to the court records, in the two years after Neal’s guilty plea, almost every single one of the defendants that Neal’s attorney represented in Federal cases got exceedingly sweet plea arrangements. Charges reduced or dropped entirely even when there was overwhelming evidence of guilt. None of the cases were high-profile, but the pattern’s pretty clear – at least to me.”
Clinton rocked back on his heels. “What do you want me to do?”
“Take a quick look through the files; see if anything stands out in any of the communications between the lawyer and Davis’ office. I don’t think anyone would be so stupid as to put anything in an email, but you never know. I need to take Neal over to his attorney’s office this afternoon and I’d like to do a little arm-twisting while I’m there. See what shakes out. And if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll need an index typed up – defendant, original charges, final plea and sentencing.”
“Got it.” Clinton hefted the box of files, turned to leave, but stopped and turned back, an uncomfortable look on his face. “Listen, Peter – I just did something that – well, that might not be, well … ” He grimaced and quickly said, “I told Caffrey that he doesn’t have to impress you, that you were already impressed.”
Peter wasn’t sure he heard right. “Clinton?” And he wasn’t sure what to make of the flush that darkened his skin.
“Look, it’s pretty clear that he’s got a serious case of hero-worship for you – hell, I don’t blame him. There isn’t an agent who’s worked here who hasn’t. But he’s not an agent and I guess I don’t like the idea of a civilian putting himself in the line of fire because he believes you’ll think better of him.” Clinton’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
Peter was a little appalled – not so much at the idea that Neal hero-worshipped him – but that it was so obvious that he was just as impressed by Neal. “Um, I really don’t know what to say.”
“That I’m not fired?”
Humor actually was the best approach. “No, you’re not fired, but you’re going to get me mocha chai lattes for the rest of the month. Grandes, from the good Starbucks, not the one at the corner, but the one on the other side of Columbus Park.”
“Seriously?” Clinton laughed.
“What do you think?” Peter was going to let the man figure that out by himself but he wouldn’t be surprised if that beverage appeared on his desk every morning for the next two weeks. Or at least until he told Clinton that he loathed the stuff. “Get back to work. I’ll need your report on those files by noon.”
Clinton left and Peter all but flopped into his chair. He should have felt more embarrassed than he did.
Lauren knocked on the door connecting to the conference room and he gestured for her to come in. From the look on her face, this interruption wasn’t good news. “What’s the matter?”
“A problem – maybe you should come back and let Neal explain.”
Peter hoped that perhaps Neal had reconsidered his offer. He went into the conference room and Neal was examining a wristwatch-style transmitter. It was a replica Rolex model, the type the FBI used instead of the old fashioned recorders that informants used to wear taped to their bodies. The ‘watches’ were miracles of modern technology, capable of sending audio signals over a narrow encoded radio band, plus several dozen hours of recording capability, plus a highly energy efficient GPS tracker. Each one cost close to fifteen grand, almost as much as a real Rolex.
“What’s the problem?”
“This.” Neal slid the watch across the conference table like it was something he’d picked up from a dealer on the Lower East Side. Peter winced as he caught it.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s an obvious fake.”
“Not that obvious.”
“Not to a watch geek.”
“But you’re not a watch geek. You don’t even wear a watch.” Peter had noticed that over the weekend.
“No, but Adler is. And that I don’t wear a watch is also part of the problem.”
“I don’t follow.”
Neal huffed a sigh. “Vincent was a serious watch collector. He would see this and know immediately that it wasn’t real.”
Peter frowned. “I’ve been assured by the guys in the tech lab that it’s indistinguishable from a genuine Rolex.”
“I don’t think the guys in your tech lab have ever seen a real Rolex, let alone a Submariner. Someone might mistake this for the real thing if they were standing across the street and had bad eyesight. But to anyone who knows anything about watches, it’s a bad fake.”
“How can you tell?” Peter wanted details.
“For starters, the color of the gold is wrong. It’s too bright, too yellow – the gold on a real Rolex Submariner is more of a champagne color. The case is too thick, and I suspect because it needs to hold all of the electronics. The proportion of the winder and the guards are off and so is the thickness of the bezel. The number of lines on the crown’s coin edge is the wrong ratio to the lines on the bezel. Basically, it’s all wrong.”
He listened to Neal pick the watch apart, detailing flaw after flaw. “You’re kidding me, right? You don’t wear a watch, but you know all of this?”
“Peter, I spent three years working for a man with one serious avocation – horology. Adler was not just a collector and an aficionado, he was an expert. His collection contained some of the rarest and most expensive watches ever made. He had standing appointments with every master horologist in Basel during the annual watch fair. For him, a Rolex like this would be like a common Timex to you. And while it might not be worthy of his collection, he’d know just what it was or wasn’t at a glance.”
Not for the first, or even the third time, Peter felt like there was something else going on, something that Neal wasn’t telling him. But he didn’t push. “Okay, so he’d know it was a fake – but why would that be a problem? Why wouldn’t Adler think that you’re just trying to show off, pretend to be doing better than you actually are? You can get away with a knockoff if everything else you’re wearing is real.”
“It’s like you said, Peter. I don’t wear a wristwatch. And that’s something that Vincent knows quite well…” Neal’s voice trailed off and he got an abstracted look in his eye, like something just occurred to him.
“Neal?”
“I need to get into my safety deposit box, Peter.”
“Yeah – I know that. You need to get your passport.”
“That’s not it. There’s something else.”
Peter heard the urgency in Neal’s voice. “What’s going on?”
“I just remembered something. It may be important, it may be nothing.”
“Can you tell me or do you need to wait?”
“No, I can tell you but I don’t know if it means anything.” Neal took a deep breath. “The first Christmas I worked for Adler, it was a record-breaking year. Extraordinary returns on the managed funds and I made several very profitable acquisitions for the group. Vincent was very pleased with us and gave all of us watches as part of our bonuses.”
“And?” Peter couldn’t figure out how any of this meant anything.
“He gave me a Patek Philippe tourbillon.”
Peter looked at Lauren, hoping that would mean something to her. It didn’t. “Okay…”
“Like I said, I don’t wear a wristwatch, but it was a gift and it seemed like a good idea to wear it from time to time. Except that it kept getting in the way and I’d take it off and leave it on my … desk.”
That pause was another clue that Peter filed away.
Neal continued. “Vincent found the watch and he was a little annoyed. So I told him that I really wasn’t much of a watch guy, but I wore it to show my appreciation for the gift and the giver. But the watch was exquisite and I was constantly afraid I’d scratch it or bang it, so I’d take it off. He seemed okay with that and told me I didn’t have to wear it, but I should keep it in a safe place. It’s a very special watch and more than that, it held a very special secret. And then he laughed and told me he was kidding – at least about the secret. But it was very valuable and I should take better care of it.”
Lauren interrupted. “Is this the watch?” She had her laptop with her and turned it so both he and Neal could see. The piece was a true work of art in blue and gold and silver.
Neal nodded. “That’s close. The case on mine is a little less elaborate. But it’s very similar and it has the two faces.”
Peter had no clue what he meant. “Two faces?”
“One on the front, which has a perpetual calendar, moon phase and a star chart, and the time, of course. The face on the back is for sidereal time, it shows the constellations in the Summer Triangle and the passage of the Moon.”
“Sidereal time?” Peter shook his head. “Seriously, does anyone other than an astronomer need sidereal time?”
Neal shrugged and just said, “Like I said, it was a gift.”
Lauren scrolled down and whistled. “Nice gift.”
Peter leaned closer to the monitor and looked at the text under the photograph. He blinked and looked again, just to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. “List price, one point two million.”
Neal stood there, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, that’s about right.”
“About right?” Peter was almost afraid to hear Neal’s clarification.
“When I realized how valuable it was, I had it insured at its replacement value – which was two and a half million in 2007.”
“Talk about nice Christmas bonuses, but I think I’d rather have had the cash,” Lauren commented.
Neal flushed and for the first time since Peter had barged into El’s office looking for him, Neal spoke with anger. “My performance bonus that year was ten million dollars. This was a present.”
Lauren didn’t say anything, returning her attention to her laptop screen.
Peter was appalled, not at his agent’s faux pas, but at the evidence of just how far this man had fallen. Yes, he’d seen Neal’s financial statements in his case file, but hearing it spoken out loud… one year, he made at least eight figures, another year; he worried about being able to afford to buy underwear at Macy’s.
Neal cleared his throat and murmured, “Sorry about that.”
Lauren replied in kind, “Me too.”
“Okay, this watch – why is it so important?” Peter needed to get this conversation back on track.
“I don’t know.” Neal had a frustrated look on his face. “There’s something there, I know it. There’s something I feel like I’m missing. I need to see it – maybe something will click.”
“Good, good. That’s your gut talking.”
“And I shouldn’t ignore it?” Neal gave him a small smile.
“Absolutely not.” Peter grinned back. Something occurred to him, but it wasn’t something he wanted to say in front of Lauren. In fact, it wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to bring up to Neal at all. A knock on the door saved him from making a decision. It was Clinton, with a file in hand. He nodded, as if he’d found just what Peter had hoped for.
Peter took the file, looked at a few pages and turned back to Neal. “I think it’s high time we paid a visit to your old attorney.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The offices of Drake Marlowe Hennessy LLP hadn’t changed in the half a decade since the last time he’d been here. Neal wasn’t surprised, the firm was as old school, white shoe, as you could get. Dark wood paneling, the firm name in bronze letters above the reception desk, marble floors separated by oriental carpets and a sense of hush, that important work is being done here, permeated the space. Maybe the lighting had been updated, new bits of technology discreetly added, but the ugly gilt framed portraits of Messers Drake, Marlowe and Hennessy, dead esquires all, reigned over everything.
The receptionist, a perfectly coiffed young blonde with equally perfect posture spoke quietly into her headset. Either she was wholly focused on her conversation, or she was deliberately ignoring them. It was probably the latter.
Neal hid a smile as Peter impatiently tapped his fingers against the reception desk. The woman held up a finger, as well manicured as her hair, holding them off. Peter just drummed his fingers that much harder, that much louder.
The receptionist ended her call and slowly looked up at them. Neal smiled, trying to exude as much charm as possible. “I need to see Stanley Volker, I’m a client.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Neal turned up the wattage on his smile, his body falling into almost-forgotten habits. His voice pitched lower, his eyes dropped to half-mast. “No. Just tell him that Neal Caffrey’s here.”
“Client or not, Mr. Volker sees no one without an appointment.”
He kept trying. “Please, just tell him. He’ll see me.” Actually, Neal was pretty certain that Stanley Volker wouldn’t see him, at least not without three weeks’ notice and then he’d probably get fobbed off to some entry level paralegal or first year associate. He’d tried to tell Peter that, but the man wouldn’t listen. And for what Neal required: the key to his safety deposit box at the main branch of Midtown Mutual, all he really needed was a paralegal with his file.
While the blonde was impervious to his charm, apparently she wasn’t impervious to the badge that Peter stuck in her face. “Stanley Volker, now, or I’m going to have a dozen FBI agents down here so fast your head will spin. Agents with warrants. And believe me, you don’t want that.”
Neal didn’t think that threat was all that hollow. Before they left the office, Peter had removed a page from the file that Clinton had given him and tucked it into his jacket. He patted the paper with a grin. Neal had to wonder just what made Peter smile like that, a smile that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
To her credit, the receptionist didn’t get flustered, but her pupils were dilated and bright red flags of color made her face blotchy under her makeup. The telephone console was lighting up, but she ignored the incoming calls and reached for a stand-alone phone, a red one. Peter grabbed her hand. “I said, we need to see Stanley Volker, now.”
The woman swallowed and pressed a button on the console and Neal heard her frantically whispering to someone, presumably Volker’s secretary. “There’s an FBI agent is here and he’s threatening to have agents come in with warrants and tear the place apart unless they see Mr. Volker right away. Neal Caffrey’s with him.” She looked up and caught Neal’s eye, then Peter’s and whatever she saw in Peter’s face must have terrified her. She blanched and turned from them, but Neal could still hear her. “Get down here now!”
Neal wandered over to the painting opposite the reception desk and Peter followed. He really wasn’t at all interested in the mid-Twentieth century corporate portraiture; he just wanted to give the poor woman some breathing room.
Peter was standing next to him, hands on his hips, feet spread, like he owned everything his eye could see. “How long do you think we’ll be kept waiting?”
“Well, if you call Jones and ask him to get those warrants, maybe another five minutes. Or maybe not.” Neal turned around at the sound the high heels striding against the marble floor. “That’s Volker’s secretary.”
As she approached, Neal thought that the woman had spent the last five years in a time capsule. She hadn’t changed since the last time he’d seen her. She had the same no-nonsense salt and pepper bob, wearing the same classic Chanel suit with a small cat pin at the lapel – the only sign of softness – which was cancelled out by the her abrupt, unfriendly manner. “Mr. Caffrey, what brings you here? Mr. Volker is a busy man. He really doesn’t have time for this.”
“Hello, Caroline, good to see you, too.” Neal had always treated the woman with friendly courtesy, despite her constantly overt hostility. He saw no reason to change now. Of course, his charm had no effect.
“I’m waiting, Mr. Caffrey.” Caroline actually crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.
Peter was about to step in, but Neal waved him off. “My business is with Stanley, not with you. If he doesn’t have time for me, he’ll have to make time for the FBI.”
Caroline’s eyes flickered from him to Peter, standing sentinel behind him. She licked her lips. “Perhaps, if you tell me what you need, I can send up one of our associates.”
Despite his simple requirement, Neal decided to tear a page out of Peter’s playbook. “No. I said, I need to see Stanley, not you, not a paralegal, not a damn associate. Stanley. Now.”
Caroline hesitated and Peter took matters out of his hands. “Fuck this, Neal, I’m calling Clinton about those warrants after all. If Volker can’t comply with a simple request for a face-to-face meeting, I have to wonder just what he’s hiding.”
Desperate to avoid that disaster, Caroline surrendered. “Okay, all right. Mr. Volker will make time to see you now.” Her lip curled in disgust and Neal had to repress the childish urge to tell the woman to be careful, her face might freeze like that.
They followed her through a maze of hallways and past conference rooms. It seemed to Neal that Peter deliberately let his suit jacket flap open, displaying his shoulder rig and gun. Word must have trickled down from reception that the FBI was in the office, because doors slammed shut as they approached. Finally, at the end of the hallway was another small, very posh seating area in front of a set of glass doors. Caroline punched in a key code and used a swipe card to open them. “Wait here” were the first words she spoke to them since they left the reception area.
Peter, though, was not inclined to listen. He didn’t quite push past the woman, but still managed to burst into the corner office that Volker now occupied. Neal followed on his heels.
The man was standing behind his desk, looking ready to burst from outrage. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Neal held up his hand, trying to calm Volker down, but then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “If you hadn’t tried to stonewall us, we wouldn’t have had to do this.”
“Stonewall, what the hell do you mean? You don’t have an appointment and I have every right to refuse to see you.”
“But you don’t have the right to refuse to see me. Peter Burke, FBI.” Peter held up his ID folder.
“FBI? What does the FBI want with me?” Neal thought it interesting how pale Volker got.
Peter gave the man that shark-like smirk. “We’ll get to that. First, Neal has some business with you.”
Neal privately thought that Peter was making way too much of this, but he remembered that mysterious piece of paper and decided to let this play out. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels and smiled. “You’ve done well for yourself, Stanley.” Neal took petty pleasure in watching the man flush a shade darker; he always hated being called ‘Stanley’. “I saw that you were made senior litigation partner for the firm. You’ve made a big name for yourself, representing the white collar criminal elite.”
Volker sat back down, ill at ease as he fiddled with a pen. “I’ve had a good run. The firm recognizes that.” He tapped the pen against the desk, dropping it as ink leaked all over his hand. “I had heard you were released a while ago. You look like you’re doing well, too.”
Neal took a seat and crossed his legs, casually brushing a piece of non-existent lint from his trousers. “Clothes make the man. It’s all surface, you know that.” Sitting here, Neal remembered what it was like to close the un-closeable deal, to go from weakness to strength in the blink of an eye. He said nothing and practically tasted the other man’s anxiety as he let the silence draw out and his eyes never left Volker’s face.
This felt almost too good; he was enjoying himself too much.
The man was sweating. Peter hadn’t said a word, stalked around the office like a lion in a cage, fiddling with the knick-knacks, looking at photographs, making a low humming sound in the back of his throat. Like a lion getting ready to roar. He picked up a small statue and Volker looked like he was ready to jump up and grab it out of Peter’s hands. “What do you want?”
Peter turned around, still holding the statue. “Are you talking to Neal or to me?”
“To both of you, damn it!”
Neal laughed; his amusement real. “You know, for a noted trial attorney, you’re remarkably nervous. Why?”
“Why? Why not! You barge your way in here, you bring the FBI and threaten to serve warrants. Of course I’m upset.”
“I didn’t bring Agent Burke with me just to threaten you, we have … hmmm … parallel interests, you might say.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Volker ground out.
He didn’t explain. Nor did Peter.
Neal sat there, content to let Volker sweat. At least until Peter stopped his perusal of the books and bibelots, caught his eye and tapped his watch. Right, time to bring this little drama to a close. “You have something of mine, Stanley.”
Volker blanched, looking even more shaken, if possible. “I do?”
“Of course you do. I left the key to my safety deposit box with you before my sentencing. I want it, now.”
“You mean, all this was because of a goddamned safety deposit box key? You’ve got to be kidding me.” He pounded a button on his desk phone and screamed for Caroline. “Get me Caffrey’s goddamned file – the post-trial one. And I don’t want to hear that it was moved to storage.”
“Yes, Mr. Volker. I’ve already told the clerk to pull Mr. Caffrey’s client file, it should be up in a few minutes.”
Suddenly, Volker seemed a lot less nervous. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his belly and smiling. “I’m sorry for the over-reaction, Neal. It’s been a tough week and there’s a lot going on. You were a good client and I should have made certain that your needs were given priority. Forgive me?”
Neal wanted to burst out laughing, but he was too stunned by Volker’s abrupt change in demeanor. Maybe it was damage control, or maybe his attorney was relieved about something. But his role in this farce was over.
It was time for Peter to take center stage.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. His promotion to ASAC meant that he spent a lot more time than he liked at his desk, handling paperwork, dealing with the administrivia required to run a large and busy department. On occasion, his agents would graciously let him join in field operations but he was careful not to get in the way or step on anyone’s toes.
This fishing expedition was paying off big time. He wasn’t surprised that Neal’s old attorney fought tooth and nail against seeing Neal. What did surprise him, though, was his shift from righteous anger to expansive bonhomie. What had he been so afraid of? And why wasn’t he afraid now?
Peter sat down next to Neal and pulled out the list that he’d asked Clinton to prepare. He read it through again, occasionally looking up at Volker and giving him a slight smile before turning his attention back to the list. It was all theater. There was nothing damning in it, no smoking gun, but it served its purpose. Volker didn’t lose his temper again, but he was starting to sweat. He’d taken out a handkerchief and was trying to remove the ink stains from his fingers. They were red. How appropriate.
“You know, Stanley… ”
The man looked up from his scrubbing, much like a deer caught in the headlights. “What?”
“The FBI finds your track-record very interesting.”
“My track record? What do you mean?”
“Your win-loss ratio over the last five years. Or should I say your plea agreement record.”
“My clients are generally satisfied.”
“Most of them, I suspect. But perhaps, not all.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?” Volker’s nerves were showing again.
“Well, take Mr. Caffrey, here, for instance...”
Volker blinked and then smiled at Neal. “I’m sure Neal was very satisfied with my representation. Weren’t you?”
Neal started to say something, but Peter gave him a minute shake of his head. “I’m not so sure about that. You encouraged him to take a plea, to surrender almost all of his assets, to give up four years of his life when the Government’s case was made of fairy dust and unicorn’s tears.”
Volker did a very good impression of a guppy. “I sure that’s not true.”
Peter was disgusted. Stanley Volker was the worst of his breed. “Actually, it is very true. You had a slam-dunk on an acquittal. I’ve seen the evidence files from the U.S. Attorney’s office. They had no proof of Neal’s involvement in any of the fraud in any of Vincent Adler’s hedge funds. You never even filed a motion to compel production, or interrogatories, or anything diligent legal representation requires. There’s so little communication between your office and the AUSA that it screams ineffective assistance of counsel.” Peter waited for just a moment. “Or so I’ve been told by attorneys who’ve looked at the file, too.”
Peter continued to enjoy himself, dropping bombshell after bombshell. He waved the report from Clinton. “And what’s really interesting is that for the last five years, every case you’ve defended in Federal Court has gone just the opposite way. In cases where the Government’s evidence was overwhelming, you managed to secure plea deals with little or no jail time, no asset forfeiture, not even any quid pro quo – none of your clients were cashing in information they had, testifying against their bosses, even though they were pretty high up on the food chain. I have to wonder how you went from total incompetence with your handling of Neal Caffrey’s case to becoming super lawyer for everyone else.” Peter tossed the paper on Volker’s desk. “It’s all there, in black and white.”
Volker licked his lips, no longer so self-satisfied. “What do you want?”
Peter looked over at Neal, who was white around the lips, his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes blazing with anger. Neal wisely didn’t say a word.
But Stanley Volker proved himself to be as stupid as he was venal. “How about I refund your fees, Neal? I can do that, you know. I’m on the executive committee here, and I can get a check cut today. Within an hour. What do you say?”
Neal still kept his silence and Volker took that as assent. “Good, good. Your final bill should be in the file that Caroline’s bringing. I’ll just ...” There was a sharp knock on the door, interrupting Volker’s babble. “Ah, that must be Caroline. Look, would you like some coffee? Something stronger? I have a bottle of Glen Garioch that I’ve been saving for a special occasion.” Volker went to the door, took the file that his secretary brought and turned back to them.
“Here – your summary bill is right here.” He opened the file and turned bright red before doing that guppy imitation again.
Peter asked, his tone angelic, “Everything all right?” He suspected that the firm had billed Neal an exorbitant amount for services that weren’t actually provided, and refunding that money wouldn’t be easy or comfortable.
“Yes, yes – fine. Um, this refund...”
Finally, Neal spoke. “Having second thoughts about that offer?” Peter loved how he stared at Volker, just one eyebrow raised.
“No – not at all. I’ll just have this check cut. And you’ll ...”
Neal asked with a deliberate lack of concern, “I’ll what?”
“You’ll take this no further.”
Neal looked over at Peter, and he gave him a slight nod. “I’m not sure what you mean by that. Explain.”
“You really want me to spell it out for you?”
Neal said, “Yes, I do.”
“Okay – I refund your fee and maybe some interest and you don’t file a complaint with the Bar or go to the U.S. Attorney about this. You get your money back and we’re fair and square. I’ll have your records shredded and you’ll forget you were a client. The past is over and done, we can’t change it, right? Do we understand each other?”
Peter couldn’t believe the man was really that stupid.
“I need my key before you shred anything.” Neal held out his hand and Peter had to admire his icy poise.
Volker ripped something out of the folder – a small manila envelope – and handed it to Neal.
“Is that it?” Peter looked at what Neal took out of that envelope. It was another, smaller envelope, sealed and stamped. Neal opened that and a large flat bank vault key dropped into his hand.
“I think I have everything I need. You?”
Peter grinned. Working with Neal was really such an unexpected pleasure. “Yeah, we’re done here.”
“Wait, wait – what about …” Volker tried to stop them. Which was really too ironic.
“Your bribe?” Peter finished for him.
“What! I didn’t offer anyone bribe!” Volker practically shrieked. He was playing the outrage card, now.
“Actually, you did. You offered Neal a payment to keep him from filing an official complaint. You said you would destroy evidence in exchange for Neal accepting that payment. You did so in the presence of a Federal official. That, Mr. Volker, is a bribe.”
Peter got up and motioned for Neal to join him. “It’s fortunate for you that Neal and I need to be somewhere else right now. I’ll be back, though – with warrants. I suggest you don’t destroy a single piece of paper in Neal’s files. Evidence tampering is a serious crime. Just as serious as bribery.”
END PART FOUR - GO TO PART FIVE
Artist: Nioell
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Mitchell, Mozzie, Clinton Jones, Lauren Cruz, Kyle Bancroft, Original Characters; Peter/Neal, past Neal/Adler, past Peter/Elizabeth (marriage of convenience), Peter-Elizabeth friendship
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~40,000
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, miri_thompson, theatregirl7299. And many thanks to my friend, sinfulslasher, for translating something into German for me. Summary: Neal, a former employee of Vincent Adler – and the only person from Adler’s organization to serve jail time – has agreed to help the FBI find Adler. Peter Burke, the case agent assigned to the Adler case, is worried about Neal’s safety and doesn’t trust the Marshals, so he’s keeping him close at hand. The attraction between the two men grows as they learn about each other and everything comes to a head when Neal finally shares a devastating secret.
Title from the Oysterband song, “Rise Above”.
Written for Round One of the
wc_reverse_bb.When he woke up the next morning, Neal decided that saying anything more about his suggestion would be counterproductive. Peter was heading this operation and what he said was law.
That didn’t keep Neal from working through all sorts of scenarios on how he’d approach Adler. After so many years of doing his best not to think about Vincent, he now had a legitimate excuse to indulge in all sorts of what-ifs.
As eager as he now was to bring that son of a bitch to justice, he was also terrified. The last time he had seen Vincent, it had been an ordinary Monday morning almost five years ago. They’d shared their customary coffee and cereal, swapping sections of the Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times. The ever-changing numbers on the Bloomberg terminal display were reflected in Vincent’s reading glasses and Neal had amused himself by reading the Futures report in the man’s eyes.
Vincent knew what he’d been doing and smiled, before taking the glasses off and leaning in to kiss him. He’d murmured that he’d be leaving for the airport within the hour, and maybe Neal would like to join him in the shower?
Of course he had.
The sex had been incredible – it always was. Vincent talking dirty as he fucked him against the shower wall. “Dein Arsch ist so wunderbar eng. Absolut makellos . Es fühlt sich an als ob mein Schwanz von heissem Samt umgeben ist. Ich könnte dich ständig ficken” Even the memory of Vincent’s voice as he whispered those filthy, vulgar words in his ear still affected Neal, more than half a decade later.
Vincent had left him limp and satiated and headed to the airport in Teterboro, where he kept his private jet. Two days later, the FBI came to the office, and his life, as he’d known it, had ended.
Neal kept trying to convince himself that he could face Vincent and not break apart. That he could calmly lure the man into making an incriminating statement. That he could be the man he should have been, and not some pathetic excuse for a human being.
Maybe following the playbook was for the best. Like Peter said, he wasn’t a trained agent; he had no experience in this sort of thing.
Or maybe he did. Four years in the minimum security prison in Otisville taught him a lot about getting people to give him what he needed without surrendering more than he wanted to. Maybe if he thought of this as just another act of prison commerce, a simple transaction, he’d get through it. If Peter decided to use him.
They were in the office a little before eight and Neal asked if he could take a half-hour and get in touch with Elizabeth. He wouldn’t tell her anything, but he needed to get with her and go through the bills. Peter told him use the conference room, he needed Jones to track down something for him and they wouldn’t pick up where they’d left off for another hour or so.
It would be good to talk with Elizabeth. Even though they’d spent much of Sunday together, it still seemed like it had been a week since they’d talked. And in a way, it was. Except for the brief conversation they’d had on Friday, they really hadn’t had any time alone since Thursday at work. He had so much he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted to talk with her about. Not Adler, of course. He needed to keep her as far away from that mess as he possibly could. But he wanted to talk with her about Peter.
She’d probably smirk and crow and do her version of the happy dance and say ‘I told you so’ over and over. And she’d be right. Peter was pretty damn close to perfect for him. It’s just that with all this other crap, how could he even contemplate anything more than a casual friendship with the man?
El picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Neal.”
“Umm, how did you know it was me?”
“Caller ID says ‘FBI.’ Peter never calls me from a land line.”
Neal laughed. “Can’t pull any wool over your eyes.”
“Nope. How are you doing?”
“Good.” He wanted to say a hell of a lot more than that, but he couldn’t.
“Seriously? You’re not bullshitting me?”
“No, El, I’m not. I’m good.”
“Peter’s treating you okay? He’s not making you do anything you don’t want to? Do you need me to sic Mozzie on him again?”
“No, Peter’s been fantastic.” Damn, he probably should have picked a different adjective. El was going to jump all over that.
And she did. “Fantastic? I want details.”
“Not that kind of fantastic.”
“Oh.”
Neal could hear the pout. “He’s been really patient and …” He really couldn’t tell El about how he’d treated him like he was a real member of his team, not an initially reluctant witness.
“And?”
“And nice. Okay, your ex is a really nice man.”
“One you could fall for?”
“Yes, but I’m not having this conversation with you when he’s less than ten feet away, okay?”
“But you ARE going to have this conversation, with me, right?”
“Yeah. Eventually.” Neal twirled the phone cord around his finger, feeling like a teenager, talking about his high school crush. “And I’m putting this out there, because you’re never going to let me live it down, but you were right, okay?”
She knew just what he was talking about. “No, mister, I’m never going to let you live it down. But seriously, are you happy?”
Neal took a deep breath and realized that yes, at this moment, with all the chaos and the shadows piling up around him, and knowing nothing about how Peter felt about him, he was just that. “Yes, Ellie, I am.”
“Good, then that’s all that matters.”
The conversation shifted over to the mundane as she ran through the supplier bills that needed to be paid, the clients who hadn’t paid their bills, a background check on a potential new client; all the things that Neal normally would handle but couldn’t right now. She finally passed him over to Yvonne and they did the bookkeeping entries. Everything tied out nicely and Neal ended the call just as Peter, Clinton and Lauren came into the conference room.
Peter asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. As long as I don’t make Elizabeth do any bookkeeping, we’re fine.”
Neal settled down and waited for Peter to get started, but the man seemed reluctant to begin. He paced back and forth, pausing every few steps, looking as if he was about to say something, but then closing his mouth and pacing a few more times. Neal didn’t know what to make of this behavior. Admittedly, his experience with Peter wasn’t very extensive but this indecisiveness seemed uncharacteristic of someone he’d come to think of as a human dynamo.
Finally, Peter worked out whatever was bothering him and spoke. “Neal – are you still willing to do what you suggested last night?”
Now he could understand Peter’s behavior. He sat up straight, feeling Clinton and Lauren’s eyes on him. Both agents looked puzzled, so Peter hadn’t briefed them yet. Not that it mattered. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Are you sure? If we commit to this path, we can’t go back.”
“Yes, Peter. I’m completely certain.”
“Umm, what’s going on?” Lauren finally raised the question.
Peter let out a gusty sigh. “Neal’s agreed to be our stalking horse. Instead of arresting Adler and then having Neal identify him, Neal’s volunteered to confront Adler in public and get him to reveal himself. For the record, I don’t like this, but given the problems we’re facing, it’s really the best approach.”
Peter asked Lauren to make contact with Interpol in Paris, and warned her not to mention Adler’s French alter-ego. They’d need the agency’s help when they went to the police in Paris. Clinton was handed the responsibility for updating the warrants on Adler. Neal, to his dismay, was left with nothing to do.
Peter was adamant. “Your role in this is difficult enough. We need to get the structure of the operation set up first, then we’ll go over how you’ll approach Adler, your code words. You need to follow the script. If you can’t, tell me now and we’ll go back to the original plan.”
Neal clenched his jaw until it ached.
“Neal? Do you understand?”
“I’m not a fool, Peter. I understand.”
“I’m not sure that you do. I know you want this son of a bitch behind bars as much as the rest of us, but putting him there is not worth your life.”
Neal forced himself to relax. “Adler won’t do anything to me.”
“He already tried to kill you, remember the gas leak?”
“How could I forget, but he won’t do anything in public, I already told you. That’s not his way. It’s too visible, too risky for his precious anonymity. I trust you. You’ll have my back. Nothing will happen to me.”
That seemed to take some of the wind out of Peter’s sails and he turned his attention back to the agents, continuing to dole out assignments. Neal’s head was spinning, just listening to the amount of work involved in getting this operation off the ground.
It was a little after ten before Peter told them to take a break and Neal headed for the men’s room. He had just finished his business and was washing his hands when Clinton came in. Neal gave him the typical abstracted nod and smile that one gives on encountering a familiar face in an awkward setting.
But Clinton didn’t nod back; in fact, he didn’t head over to the urinals. He stopped at the sinks and gave him a hard, searching look.
“What’s the matter?”
Clinton just continued to stare at him and Neal was getting unnerved. But he’d learned the hard way not to show fear, so he cocked an eyebrow at the other man and waited.
Finally, Clinton said something. “You’ve already impressed Peter; you don’t have to keep trying so hard.”
“What do you mean?” Neal asked, but he was pretty certain he knew just what Clinton was saying.
“You don’t have to put your life on the line to impress Peter – Agent Burke. He already thinks very highly of you.”
Neal prayed that his face wasn’t turning red, because he could feel embarrassment flooding through him; the sweat pooling under his arms, at the base of his spine. “And I think very highly of Agent Burke, but that has nothing to do with why I’m doing this, Agent Jones.” Neal hoped that using the man’s title would put a damper on his well-intentioned presumption – Clinton had invited him to use his first name when they were introduced Friday morning.
Clinton shook his head. “Peter’s a good man, a good agent. He’s not easily impressed. He’s also not easy to get close to, and you’ve managed to do both very quickly.”
Now Neal was confused. Was he warning him off? Clinton’s words seemed to say one thing, but his tone was one of compassion and understanding. “I’m not following – what does that have to do with anything?”
Clinton shrugged. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. We can get Adler, it may take a little more time, we may need to use a lot more finesse, but we’ll get him and you’ll be a big help. But putting yourself in danger isn’t necessary. You don’t have to prove anything.”
At that, the man left and Neal was more confused than ever.
A probie delivered a message for Peter that the files he’d asked for had been sent over. He left Neal with Lauren and asked Clinton to join him in his office.
“Remember our conversation with Alan Davis at the U.S. Attorney’s office last week?”
Clinton nodded. “Of course. What have you got?”
Peter gestured to the carton that had been left on his desk. “I requested the disposition files for every case that Davis’ office prosecuted where Neal’s lawyer represented the defendant. Something keeps bothering me about some of the communications between Davis and that lawyer. Nothing I can put my finger on, but I can’t get rid of the feeling that there was something hinky going on between them.”
“And you think the answer is in those files?”
“Yes. According to the court records, in the two years after Neal’s guilty plea, almost every single one of the defendants that Neal’s attorney represented in Federal cases got exceedingly sweet plea arrangements. Charges reduced or dropped entirely even when there was overwhelming evidence of guilt. None of the cases were high-profile, but the pattern’s pretty clear – at least to me.”
Clinton rocked back on his heels. “What do you want me to do?”
“Take a quick look through the files; see if anything stands out in any of the communications between the lawyer and Davis’ office. I don’t think anyone would be so stupid as to put anything in an email, but you never know. I need to take Neal over to his attorney’s office this afternoon and I’d like to do a little arm-twisting while I’m there. See what shakes out. And if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll need an index typed up – defendant, original charges, final plea and sentencing.”
“Got it.” Clinton hefted the box of files, turned to leave, but stopped and turned back, an uncomfortable look on his face. “Listen, Peter – I just did something that – well, that might not be, well … ” He grimaced and quickly said, “I told Caffrey that he doesn’t have to impress you, that you were already impressed.”
Peter wasn’t sure he heard right. “Clinton?” And he wasn’t sure what to make of the flush that darkened his skin.
“Look, it’s pretty clear that he’s got a serious case of hero-worship for you – hell, I don’t blame him. There isn’t an agent who’s worked here who hasn’t. But he’s not an agent and I guess I don’t like the idea of a civilian putting himself in the line of fire because he believes you’ll think better of him.” Clinton’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
Peter was a little appalled – not so much at the idea that Neal hero-worshipped him – but that it was so obvious that he was just as impressed by Neal. “Um, I really don’t know what to say.”
“That I’m not fired?”
Humor actually was the best approach. “No, you’re not fired, but you’re going to get me mocha chai lattes for the rest of the month. Grandes, from the good Starbucks, not the one at the corner, but the one on the other side of Columbus Park.”
“Seriously?” Clinton laughed.
“What do you think?” Peter was going to let the man figure that out by himself but he wouldn’t be surprised if that beverage appeared on his desk every morning for the next two weeks. Or at least until he told Clinton that he loathed the stuff. “Get back to work. I’ll need your report on those files by noon.”
Clinton left and Peter all but flopped into his chair. He should have felt more embarrassed than he did.
Lauren knocked on the door connecting to the conference room and he gestured for her to come in. From the look on her face, this interruption wasn’t good news. “What’s the matter?”
“A problem – maybe you should come back and let Neal explain.”
Peter hoped that perhaps Neal had reconsidered his offer. He went into the conference room and Neal was examining a wristwatch-style transmitter. It was a replica Rolex model, the type the FBI used instead of the old fashioned recorders that informants used to wear taped to their bodies. The ‘watches’ were miracles of modern technology, capable of sending audio signals over a narrow encoded radio band, plus several dozen hours of recording capability, plus a highly energy efficient GPS tracker. Each one cost close to fifteen grand, almost as much as a real Rolex.
“What’s the problem?”
“This.” Neal slid the watch across the conference table like it was something he’d picked up from a dealer on the Lower East Side. Peter winced as he caught it.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s an obvious fake.”
“Not that obvious.”
“Not to a watch geek.”
“But you’re not a watch geek. You don’t even wear a watch.” Peter had noticed that over the weekend.
“No, but Adler is. And that I don’t wear a watch is also part of the problem.”
“I don’t follow.”
Neal huffed a sigh. “Vincent was a serious watch collector. He would see this and know immediately that it wasn’t real.”
Peter frowned. “I’ve been assured by the guys in the tech lab that it’s indistinguishable from a genuine Rolex.”
“I don’t think the guys in your tech lab have ever seen a real Rolex, let alone a Submariner. Someone might mistake this for the real thing if they were standing across the street and had bad eyesight. But to anyone who knows anything about watches, it’s a bad fake.”
“How can you tell?” Peter wanted details.
“For starters, the color of the gold is wrong. It’s too bright, too yellow – the gold on a real Rolex Submariner is more of a champagne color. The case is too thick, and I suspect because it needs to hold all of the electronics. The proportion of the winder and the guards are off and so is the thickness of the bezel. The number of lines on the crown’s coin edge is the wrong ratio to the lines on the bezel. Basically, it’s all wrong.”
He listened to Neal pick the watch apart, detailing flaw after flaw. “You’re kidding me, right? You don’t wear a watch, but you know all of this?”
“Peter, I spent three years working for a man with one serious avocation – horology. Adler was not just a collector and an aficionado, he was an expert. His collection contained some of the rarest and most expensive watches ever made. He had standing appointments with every master horologist in Basel during the annual watch fair. For him, a Rolex like this would be like a common Timex to you. And while it might not be worthy of his collection, he’d know just what it was or wasn’t at a glance.”
Not for the first, or even the third time, Peter felt like there was something else going on, something that Neal wasn’t telling him. But he didn’t push. “Okay, so he’d know it was a fake – but why would that be a problem? Why wouldn’t Adler think that you’re just trying to show off, pretend to be doing better than you actually are? You can get away with a knockoff if everything else you’re wearing is real.”
“It’s like you said, Peter. I don’t wear a wristwatch. And that’s something that Vincent knows quite well…” Neal’s voice trailed off and he got an abstracted look in his eye, like something just occurred to him.
“Neal?”
“I need to get into my safety deposit box, Peter.”
“Yeah – I know that. You need to get your passport.”
“That’s not it. There’s something else.”
Peter heard the urgency in Neal’s voice. “What’s going on?”
“I just remembered something. It may be important, it may be nothing.”
“Can you tell me or do you need to wait?”
“No, I can tell you but I don’t know if it means anything.” Neal took a deep breath. “The first Christmas I worked for Adler, it was a record-breaking year. Extraordinary returns on the managed funds and I made several very profitable acquisitions for the group. Vincent was very pleased with us and gave all of us watches as part of our bonuses.”
“And?” Peter couldn’t figure out how any of this meant anything.
“He gave me a Patek Philippe tourbillon.”
Peter looked at Lauren, hoping that would mean something to her. It didn’t. “Okay…”
“Like I said, I don’t wear a wristwatch, but it was a gift and it seemed like a good idea to wear it from time to time. Except that it kept getting in the way and I’d take it off and leave it on my … desk.”
That pause was another clue that Peter filed away.
Neal continued. “Vincent found the watch and he was a little annoyed. So I told him that I really wasn’t much of a watch guy, but I wore it to show my appreciation for the gift and the giver. But the watch was exquisite and I was constantly afraid I’d scratch it or bang it, so I’d take it off. He seemed okay with that and told me I didn’t have to wear it, but I should keep it in a safe place. It’s a very special watch and more than that, it held a very special secret. And then he laughed and told me he was kidding – at least about the secret. But it was very valuable and I should take better care of it.”
Lauren interrupted. “Is this the watch?” She had her laptop with her and turned it so both he and Neal could see. The piece was a true work of art in blue and gold and silver.
Neal nodded. “That’s close. The case on mine is a little less elaborate. But it’s very similar and it has the two faces.”
Peter had no clue what he meant. “Two faces?”
“One on the front, which has a perpetual calendar, moon phase and a star chart, and the time, of course. The face on the back is for sidereal time, it shows the constellations in the Summer Triangle and the passage of the Moon.”
“Sidereal time?” Peter shook his head. “Seriously, does anyone other than an astronomer need sidereal time?”
Neal shrugged and just said, “Like I said, it was a gift.”
Lauren scrolled down and whistled. “Nice gift.”
Peter leaned closer to the monitor and looked at the text under the photograph. He blinked and looked again, just to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. “List price, one point two million.”
Neal stood there, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, that’s about right.”
“About right?” Peter was almost afraid to hear Neal’s clarification.
“When I realized how valuable it was, I had it insured at its replacement value – which was two and a half million in 2007.”
“Talk about nice Christmas bonuses, but I think I’d rather have had the cash,” Lauren commented.
Neal flushed and for the first time since Peter had barged into El’s office looking for him, Neal spoke with anger. “My performance bonus that year was ten million dollars. This was a present.”
Lauren didn’t say anything, returning her attention to her laptop screen.
Peter was appalled, not at his agent’s faux pas, but at the evidence of just how far this man had fallen. Yes, he’d seen Neal’s financial statements in his case file, but hearing it spoken out loud… one year, he made at least eight figures, another year; he worried about being able to afford to buy underwear at Macy’s.
Neal cleared his throat and murmured, “Sorry about that.”
Lauren replied in kind, “Me too.”
“Okay, this watch – why is it so important?” Peter needed to get this conversation back on track.
“I don’t know.” Neal had a frustrated look on his face. “There’s something there, I know it. There’s something I feel like I’m missing. I need to see it – maybe something will click.”
“Good, good. That’s your gut talking.”
“And I shouldn’t ignore it?” Neal gave him a small smile.
“Absolutely not.” Peter grinned back. Something occurred to him, but it wasn’t something he wanted to say in front of Lauren. In fact, it wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to bring up to Neal at all. A knock on the door saved him from making a decision. It was Clinton, with a file in hand. He nodded, as if he’d found just what Peter had hoped for.
Peter took the file, looked at a few pages and turned back to Neal. “I think it’s high time we paid a visit to your old attorney.”
The offices of Drake Marlowe Hennessy LLP hadn’t changed in the half a decade since the last time he’d been here. Neal wasn’t surprised, the firm was as old school, white shoe, as you could get. Dark wood paneling, the firm name in bronze letters above the reception desk, marble floors separated by oriental carpets and a sense of hush, that important work is being done here, permeated the space. Maybe the lighting had been updated, new bits of technology discreetly added, but the ugly gilt framed portraits of Messers Drake, Marlowe and Hennessy, dead esquires all, reigned over everything.
The receptionist, a perfectly coiffed young blonde with equally perfect posture spoke quietly into her headset. Either she was wholly focused on her conversation, or she was deliberately ignoring them. It was probably the latter.
Neal hid a smile as Peter impatiently tapped his fingers against the reception desk. The woman held up a finger, as well manicured as her hair, holding them off. Peter just drummed his fingers that much harder, that much louder.
The receptionist ended her call and slowly looked up at them. Neal smiled, trying to exude as much charm as possible. “I need to see Stanley Volker, I’m a client.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Neal turned up the wattage on his smile, his body falling into almost-forgotten habits. His voice pitched lower, his eyes dropped to half-mast. “No. Just tell him that Neal Caffrey’s here.”
“Client or not, Mr. Volker sees no one without an appointment.”
He kept trying. “Please, just tell him. He’ll see me.” Actually, Neal was pretty certain that Stanley Volker wouldn’t see him, at least not without three weeks’ notice and then he’d probably get fobbed off to some entry level paralegal or first year associate. He’d tried to tell Peter that, but the man wouldn’t listen. And for what Neal required: the key to his safety deposit box at the main branch of Midtown Mutual, all he really needed was a paralegal with his file.
While the blonde was impervious to his charm, apparently she wasn’t impervious to the badge that Peter stuck in her face. “Stanley Volker, now, or I’m going to have a dozen FBI agents down here so fast your head will spin. Agents with warrants. And believe me, you don’t want that.”
Neal didn’t think that threat was all that hollow. Before they left the office, Peter had removed a page from the file that Clinton had given him and tucked it into his jacket. He patted the paper with a grin. Neal had to wonder just what made Peter smile like that, a smile that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
To her credit, the receptionist didn’t get flustered, but her pupils were dilated and bright red flags of color made her face blotchy under her makeup. The telephone console was lighting up, but she ignored the incoming calls and reached for a stand-alone phone, a red one. Peter grabbed her hand. “I said, we need to see Stanley Volker, now.”
The woman swallowed and pressed a button on the console and Neal heard her frantically whispering to someone, presumably Volker’s secretary. “There’s an FBI agent is here and he’s threatening to have agents come in with warrants and tear the place apart unless they see Mr. Volker right away. Neal Caffrey’s with him.” She looked up and caught Neal’s eye, then Peter’s and whatever she saw in Peter’s face must have terrified her. She blanched and turned from them, but Neal could still hear her. “Get down here now!”
Neal wandered over to the painting opposite the reception desk and Peter followed. He really wasn’t at all interested in the mid-Twentieth century corporate portraiture; he just wanted to give the poor woman some breathing room.
Peter was standing next to him, hands on his hips, feet spread, like he owned everything his eye could see. “How long do you think we’ll be kept waiting?”
“Well, if you call Jones and ask him to get those warrants, maybe another five minutes. Or maybe not.” Neal turned around at the sound the high heels striding against the marble floor. “That’s Volker’s secretary.”
As she approached, Neal thought that the woman had spent the last five years in a time capsule. She hadn’t changed since the last time he’d seen her. She had the same no-nonsense salt and pepper bob, wearing the same classic Chanel suit with a small cat pin at the lapel – the only sign of softness – which was cancelled out by the her abrupt, unfriendly manner. “Mr. Caffrey, what brings you here? Mr. Volker is a busy man. He really doesn’t have time for this.”
“Hello, Caroline, good to see you, too.” Neal had always treated the woman with friendly courtesy, despite her constantly overt hostility. He saw no reason to change now. Of course, his charm had no effect.
“I’m waiting, Mr. Caffrey.” Caroline actually crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.
Peter was about to step in, but Neal waved him off. “My business is with Stanley, not with you. If he doesn’t have time for me, he’ll have to make time for the FBI.”
Caroline’s eyes flickered from him to Peter, standing sentinel behind him. She licked her lips. “Perhaps, if you tell me what you need, I can send up one of our associates.”
Despite his simple requirement, Neal decided to tear a page out of Peter’s playbook. “No. I said, I need to see Stanley, not you, not a paralegal, not a damn associate. Stanley. Now.”
Caroline hesitated and Peter took matters out of his hands. “Fuck this, Neal, I’m calling Clinton about those warrants after all. If Volker can’t comply with a simple request for a face-to-face meeting, I have to wonder just what he’s hiding.”
Desperate to avoid that disaster, Caroline surrendered. “Okay, all right. Mr. Volker will make time to see you now.” Her lip curled in disgust and Neal had to repress the childish urge to tell the woman to be careful, her face might freeze like that.
They followed her through a maze of hallways and past conference rooms. It seemed to Neal that Peter deliberately let his suit jacket flap open, displaying his shoulder rig and gun. Word must have trickled down from reception that the FBI was in the office, because doors slammed shut as they approached. Finally, at the end of the hallway was another small, very posh seating area in front of a set of glass doors. Caroline punched in a key code and used a swipe card to open them. “Wait here” were the first words she spoke to them since they left the reception area.
Peter, though, was not inclined to listen. He didn’t quite push past the woman, but still managed to burst into the corner office that Volker now occupied. Neal followed on his heels.
The man was standing behind his desk, looking ready to burst from outrage. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Neal held up his hand, trying to calm Volker down, but then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “If you hadn’t tried to stonewall us, we wouldn’t have had to do this.”
“Stonewall, what the hell do you mean? You don’t have an appointment and I have every right to refuse to see you.”
“But you don’t have the right to refuse to see me. Peter Burke, FBI.” Peter held up his ID folder.
“FBI? What does the FBI want with me?” Neal thought it interesting how pale Volker got.
Peter gave the man that shark-like smirk. “We’ll get to that. First, Neal has some business with you.”
Neal privately thought that Peter was making way too much of this, but he remembered that mysterious piece of paper and decided to let this play out. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels and smiled. “You’ve done well for yourself, Stanley.” Neal took petty pleasure in watching the man flush a shade darker; he always hated being called ‘Stanley’. “I saw that you were made senior litigation partner for the firm. You’ve made a big name for yourself, representing the white collar criminal elite.”
Volker sat back down, ill at ease as he fiddled with a pen. “I’ve had a good run. The firm recognizes that.” He tapped the pen against the desk, dropping it as ink leaked all over his hand. “I had heard you were released a while ago. You look like you’re doing well, too.”
Neal took a seat and crossed his legs, casually brushing a piece of non-existent lint from his trousers. “Clothes make the man. It’s all surface, you know that.” Sitting here, Neal remembered what it was like to close the un-closeable deal, to go from weakness to strength in the blink of an eye. He said nothing and practically tasted the other man’s anxiety as he let the silence draw out and his eyes never left Volker’s face.
This felt almost too good; he was enjoying himself too much.
The man was sweating. Peter hadn’t said a word, stalked around the office like a lion in a cage, fiddling with the knick-knacks, looking at photographs, making a low humming sound in the back of his throat. Like a lion getting ready to roar. He picked up a small statue and Volker looked like he was ready to jump up and grab it out of Peter’s hands. “What do you want?”
Peter turned around, still holding the statue. “Are you talking to Neal or to me?”
“To both of you, damn it!”
Neal laughed; his amusement real. “You know, for a noted trial attorney, you’re remarkably nervous. Why?”
“Why? Why not! You barge your way in here, you bring the FBI and threaten to serve warrants. Of course I’m upset.”
“I didn’t bring Agent Burke with me just to threaten you, we have … hmmm … parallel interests, you might say.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Volker ground out.
He didn’t explain. Nor did Peter.
Neal sat there, content to let Volker sweat. At least until Peter stopped his perusal of the books and bibelots, caught his eye and tapped his watch. Right, time to bring this little drama to a close. “You have something of mine, Stanley.”
Volker blanched, looking even more shaken, if possible. “I do?”
“Of course you do. I left the key to my safety deposit box with you before my sentencing. I want it, now.”
“You mean, all this was because of a goddamned safety deposit box key? You’ve got to be kidding me.” He pounded a button on his desk phone and screamed for Caroline. “Get me Caffrey’s goddamned file – the post-trial one. And I don’t want to hear that it was moved to storage.”
“Yes, Mr. Volker. I’ve already told the clerk to pull Mr. Caffrey’s client file, it should be up in a few minutes.”
Suddenly, Volker seemed a lot less nervous. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his belly and smiling. “I’m sorry for the over-reaction, Neal. It’s been a tough week and there’s a lot going on. You were a good client and I should have made certain that your needs were given priority. Forgive me?”
Neal wanted to burst out laughing, but he was too stunned by Volker’s abrupt change in demeanor. Maybe it was damage control, or maybe his attorney was relieved about something. But his role in this farce was over.
It was time for Peter to take center stage.
Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. His promotion to ASAC meant that he spent a lot more time than he liked at his desk, handling paperwork, dealing with the administrivia required to run a large and busy department. On occasion, his agents would graciously let him join in field operations but he was careful not to get in the way or step on anyone’s toes.
This fishing expedition was paying off big time. He wasn’t surprised that Neal’s old attorney fought tooth and nail against seeing Neal. What did surprise him, though, was his shift from righteous anger to expansive bonhomie. What had he been so afraid of? And why wasn’t he afraid now?
Peter sat down next to Neal and pulled out the list that he’d asked Clinton to prepare. He read it through again, occasionally looking up at Volker and giving him a slight smile before turning his attention back to the list. It was all theater. There was nothing damning in it, no smoking gun, but it served its purpose. Volker didn’t lose his temper again, but he was starting to sweat. He’d taken out a handkerchief and was trying to remove the ink stains from his fingers. They were red. How appropriate.
“You know, Stanley… ”
The man looked up from his scrubbing, much like a deer caught in the headlights. “What?”
“The FBI finds your track-record very interesting.”
“My track record? What do you mean?”
“Your win-loss ratio over the last five years. Or should I say your plea agreement record.”
“My clients are generally satisfied.”
“Most of them, I suspect. But perhaps, not all.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?” Volker’s nerves were showing again.
“Well, take Mr. Caffrey, here, for instance...”
Volker blinked and then smiled at Neal. “I’m sure Neal was very satisfied with my representation. Weren’t you?”
Neal started to say something, but Peter gave him a minute shake of his head. “I’m not so sure about that. You encouraged him to take a plea, to surrender almost all of his assets, to give up four years of his life when the Government’s case was made of fairy dust and unicorn’s tears.”
Volker did a very good impression of a guppy. “I sure that’s not true.”
Peter was disgusted. Stanley Volker was the worst of his breed. “Actually, it is very true. You had a slam-dunk on an acquittal. I’ve seen the evidence files from the U.S. Attorney’s office. They had no proof of Neal’s involvement in any of the fraud in any of Vincent Adler’s hedge funds. You never even filed a motion to compel production, or interrogatories, or anything diligent legal representation requires. There’s so little communication between your office and the AUSA that it screams ineffective assistance of counsel.” Peter waited for just a moment. “Or so I’ve been told by attorneys who’ve looked at the file, too.”
Peter continued to enjoy himself, dropping bombshell after bombshell. He waved the report from Clinton. “And what’s really interesting is that for the last five years, every case you’ve defended in Federal Court has gone just the opposite way. In cases where the Government’s evidence was overwhelming, you managed to secure plea deals with little or no jail time, no asset forfeiture, not even any quid pro quo – none of your clients were cashing in information they had, testifying against their bosses, even though they were pretty high up on the food chain. I have to wonder how you went from total incompetence with your handling of Neal Caffrey’s case to becoming super lawyer for everyone else.” Peter tossed the paper on Volker’s desk. “It’s all there, in black and white.”
Volker licked his lips, no longer so self-satisfied. “What do you want?”
Peter looked over at Neal, who was white around the lips, his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes blazing with anger. Neal wisely didn’t say a word.
But Stanley Volker proved himself to be as stupid as he was venal. “How about I refund your fees, Neal? I can do that, you know. I’m on the executive committee here, and I can get a check cut today. Within an hour. What do you say?”
Neal still kept his silence and Volker took that as assent. “Good, good. Your final bill should be in the file that Caroline’s bringing. I’ll just ...” There was a sharp knock on the door, interrupting Volker’s babble. “Ah, that must be Caroline. Look, would you like some coffee? Something stronger? I have a bottle of Glen Garioch that I’ve been saving for a special occasion.” Volker went to the door, took the file that his secretary brought and turned back to them.
“Here – your summary bill is right here.” He opened the file and turned bright red before doing that guppy imitation again.
Peter asked, his tone angelic, “Everything all right?” He suspected that the firm had billed Neal an exorbitant amount for services that weren’t actually provided, and refunding that money wouldn’t be easy or comfortable.
“Yes, yes – fine. Um, this refund...”
Finally, Neal spoke. “Having second thoughts about that offer?” Peter loved how he stared at Volker, just one eyebrow raised.
“No – not at all. I’ll just have this check cut. And you’ll ...”
Neal asked with a deliberate lack of concern, “I’ll what?”
“You’ll take this no further.”
Neal looked over at Peter, and he gave him a slight nod. “I’m not sure what you mean by that. Explain.”
“You really want me to spell it out for you?”
Neal said, “Yes, I do.”
“Okay – I refund your fee and maybe some interest and you don’t file a complaint with the Bar or go to the U.S. Attorney about this. You get your money back and we’re fair and square. I’ll have your records shredded and you’ll forget you were a client. The past is over and done, we can’t change it, right? Do we understand each other?”
Peter couldn’t believe the man was really that stupid.
“I need my key before you shred anything.” Neal held out his hand and Peter had to admire his icy poise.
Volker ripped something out of the folder – a small manila envelope – and handed it to Neal.
“Is that it?” Peter looked at what Neal took out of that envelope. It was another, smaller envelope, sealed and stamped. Neal opened that and a large flat bank vault key dropped into his hand.
“I think I have everything I need. You?”
Peter grinned. Working with Neal was really such an unexpected pleasure. “Yeah, we’re done here.”
“Wait, wait – what about …” Volker tried to stop them. Which was really too ironic.
“Your bribe?” Peter finished for him.
“What! I didn’t offer anyone bribe!” Volker practically shrieked. He was playing the outrage card, now.
“Actually, you did. You offered Neal a payment to keep him from filing an official complaint. You said you would destroy evidence in exchange for Neal accepting that payment. You did so in the presence of a Federal official. That, Mr. Volker, is a bribe.”
Peter got up and motioned for Neal to join him. “It’s fortunate for you that Neal and I need to be somewhere else right now. I’ll be back, though – with warrants. I suggest you don’t destroy a single piece of paper in Neal’s files. Evidence tampering is a serious crime. Just as serious as bribery.”
Tags:
- character: bancroft,
- character: clinton jones,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: lauren cruz,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- character: vincent adler,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: coming out,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: neal as artist,
- genre: pre-slash,
- genre: romance,
- genre: slash,
- genre: ust,
- pairing: neal/adler,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: nothing will remain,
- white collar,
- written for: wcrbb,
- year: 2014
