![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Nothing Will Remain – Part One of Two
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 Burke, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, (Peter/Neal)
Word Count: ~16,700
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:miri_thompson, coffeethyme4me
Summary: A near-canon A/U, where Neal Caffrey isn’t a forger and thief, but young Wall Street wizard who legitimately worked for Vincent Adler. He’s just out of prison, having served four years for investment fraud. He finds a job as a bookkeeper for Elizabeth Burke, Peter Burke’s ex-wife. Elizabeth and Peter have remained on excellent terms, and El wants to set Neal up on a blind date with him. But that’s not going to work as Neal’s past and Peter’s caseload collide.
Author’s Note: Written for my sweet friendsinfulslasher for Day Four of my 2013 Fic-Can-Ukah meme, for the prompt “I Was Meant to Be Someone Else”. She said “writer’s choice, but I love me some Neal angst.”
I should also note that Fic-Can-Ukah stories are meant to be short. In the original prompting post, I even said 300-500 words, knowing full well that most of these would be between 1000 and 3000 words. I was brainstorming with my enabler in chief,theatregirl7299, and she suggested that Peter and Neal are set up on blind dates with other people, but end up falling for each other. I didn’t think it quite met the prompt, but I loved the blind date idea. Next thing I knew, I had the makings of a massive fic on my hands. Seriously, if I didn’t have all the other fic-can-ukah stories left to write, this might just have ended up at 100k.
Title comes from the Oysterband song, “Someone You Might Have Been.”
__________________
“El, I don’t want to go out on a date with your ex-husband.”
His boss just gave him The Look.
Neal wasn’t the least bit cowed. “I’m sure that Peter’s a perfectly nice guy and I think it’s fantastic that you’ve remained such close friends with your ex that you try and fix him up, but could you really see me and an FBI agent?”
“I don’t see why not, Neal. You’re just Peter’s type…a tall, leggy, blue-eyed brunet. And you’re smart. Peter likes smart.” This wasn’t the first time she’d tried to set them up and Neal had to give her points for consistency.
“I’m also a criminal. I’m an ex-con who did four years hard time for investment fraud. And I believe you told me that your former husband is the head of the White Collar division.”
Elizabeth shrugged, as of that was irrelevant. “I doubt he’s ever heard of you.”
Neal had to concede that point. “You’re right, probably not. I was small beans for the FBI. They were looking for someone to blame and I was the only one conveniently available.”
“And you’re not really a criminal.” She gave him a different look, one that was full of sympathy. Neal hated that look.
“I beg to differ. I pled guilty, ergo, I am a criminal. And I somehow doubt your ex will want to date a criminal.” Even after this long, the word was still like gall in his mouth.
“Former criminal.”
It was Neal’s turn to shrug. “Look, I appreciate your interest in my social life –”
“You don’t have a social life. You work, you go home at night and you come back here every day. The same routine, day in and day out for pretty much the last year or so. You need to get out more instead of sitting home by yourself, playing with your art supplies.”
“Playing with my art supplies? Nice, El. Really nice.” Neal pretended to be insulted, but the truth was not that far off. He was a talentless hack. He could copy anything, but he lacked the spark of true creativity.
El wasn’t going to be diverted from her quest. “Look, Peter’s a good man. He won’t hold your past against you. You’re reformed, remember?”
“I guess…” He grinned at her. This was an old game. And despite his repeated use of the word, Neal knew he really wasn’t a criminal, he’d just been cast as one by the Government and circumstances.
She slapped the back of his head. “What do you mean, you guess? You’re my cousin. Are you stealing from me?”
Neal smiled and refused to rise to the bait. “You books are perfectly balanced, every penny accounted for. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Like how you didn’t answer, slick.”
“I don’t steal from friends and family.” Elizabeth was definitely both and Neal wasn’t sure he’d have survived without her.
“You don’t steal, period.” El gave him a rueful smile and rubbed the back of his head, where she’d smacked him. She knew the truth, the whole sad story.
Neal turned back to the computer screen and finished entering the last invoice. He hit the print button and the machine next to the desk started spitting out paper. This week’s check run.
Being the bookkeeper for El’s small event planning business was a long way from his days as one of Wall Street’s masters of the universe, earning every penny of his seven-figure salary and his deluxe lifestyle. Back then, he thought nothing of working seventy or eighty hours a week, flying all over the world at a moment’s notice, always ready to close the next deal.
Now, his life was circumscribed by the limitations of a very low-limit credit card and the meagre contents of his bank account. El paid him enough to afford rent in a walkup in Astoria, a monthly Metrocard, and some second-rate art supplies, but not much more than that.
He really had to thank his lucky stars that he had someone willing to help him, to let him make a chance at redemption. As a convicted felon, even for a white collar crime, he had little chance of making an honest living.
He had been a fool. Instead of taking the Fed’s offer of immunity if he rolled on his boss, he refused to testify; believing that it was all some big mistake, that there was no way that the man was running a massive Ponzi scheme. Then his boss ran off, all the money disappeared and he pretty much had no choice.
With everything gone, he had no leverage and the Government’s offer of immunity had vanished like his good name and reputation. In exchange for a four-year sentence at Club Fed, he told the Feds everything he knew and forfeited just about of all his assets. They made it clear that if he went to trial, he’d be facing life, and then some.
“Want to have dinner with me tonight?” El’s question interrupted his bitter musings.
“Just us two? No ex-husband who just ‘happens’ to be in the neighborhood?”
“Nope, but I could ask Peter …”
“El – for the last time, no. Fixing me up is a bad idea. Setting me up on a blind date with an FBI agent is an even worse idea.” He’d been working for his cousin for a year, but had never met her ex.
Elizabeth held up her hands in the classic gesture of surrender. “All right, no blind dates. But I still think that you and Peter would be a great match.”
“Why, because we’re both gay?”
“No, because you’re both smart.”
That took the wind out of his sails. Regardless, he wasn’t going to go out on a date with Elizabeth’s ex-husband. And that was final.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Okay, people. Settle down, settle down.” Peter’s recent promotion to ASAC really didn’t change how things were run in the White Collar Division. He still sat in on the morning tag up meetings, oversaw assignments, and went out in the field when it suited him (which it often did). But now Clinton Jones actually ran the meetings, handed out assignments, fielded questions.
Today was different. Something major landed on his desk and the brass in DC wanted him to take care of it personally.
One of the probies – Blake – handed out files to everyone. Peter waited for the agents around the conference table to look through the paperwork before he lit up the screen.
“Vincent Adler…” An extremely blurry photograph of a man’s face appeared on the monitor. “This is the only known picture of him. In 2008, while under investigation for numerous securities violations, he disappeared, along with nine billion dollars of other people’s money. Compared to Bernie Madoff’s scam, that’s small change, but we caught Madoff. Adler vanished as if he never existed.”
Peter tapped the remote and the photos of eight men and one woman were now displayed. “He was famous for keeping an extremely low profile. Even within his own organization, only these people ever saw him face-to-face. His vice presidents and his administrative assistant. No one else.”
Clinton asked the question that everyone else probably wanted to. “The trail has been cold for more than five years, why has this jumped up the priority list?”
Peter tapped the remote again, and another photograph appeared. A clear shot of a man sipping coffee in a fancy restaurant. “This was taken two days ago in Paris. The man has been identified as Claude Ballatin, but we think he might actually be Vincent Adler.” Another tap and the original photo appeared in a side-by-side, with facial recognition markers. “It’s an 82% match. We’ve contacted Interpol, who has helped us liaise with the Police Nationale…” Peter winced at his pronunciation of the French term.
Jones asked, “Are the French cooperating?”
“This is where things get sticky.”
“So, the French are not cooperating.” Jones concluded.
“No – they won’t agree to issue arrest warrants again Ballatin, who seems to be a French citizen, on the basis of mere computer forensics. Unless we have someone who can personally identify Ballatin as Adler, we’re screwed.”
Peter backed up to the shot of Adler’s senior staff. “Each of you is responsible for locating one of Adler’s VPs. You aren’t authorized to make contact until I clear it, but you’ll do in depth investigations on each – tear their lives apart.”
He turned to Clinton. “I want you to do the work up on Neal Caffrey. He’s the only one of the eight who actually did prison time. He’s probably in Otisville or Allenwood – I haven’t checked, but I think he got six years. Maybe we can offer him a few months off his sentence if he cooperates.”
“What about the woman?”
“Kate Moreau – I’ll take her.” Peter picked up a folder. “Okay, everyone – this is priority. We’ll tag up before the end of the day.” The agents scattered, but Clinton stayed behind.
“Why do I feel like someone’s pushing an agenda on us?”
Peter motioned for his right hand agent to go into his office. “Because someone is. The photo is courtesy of the CIA and Ballatin has apparently gotten himself on some pretty serious lists. He’s a registered arms dealer, and apparently been supplying both sides in Syria.”
“And the CIA just made the association between Ballatin and Adler?”
Peter shrugged. The only reason he told Clinton was because the agent, like him, had a TS-level clearance. “I don’t need to tell you that no one else in the office can know about this. All I know is that we need to get to this guy, but the French won’t play ball.”
Clinton grimaced. “I got out of Naval Intelligence because I hated shit like this.”
“I know.” Peter sighed. “But we’ve got a job to do. And if Ballatin is Adler, well – it’s still a win for our side.”
Clinton gave him is customary salute and headed back to his desk. Peter sat down at his desk and started looking for Katherine Moreau. She had been questioned by the FBI after Adler disappeared, and was apparently very convincing in her ignorance about the man she had worked for. When Caffrey took his plea deal, the FBI lost interest and she slipped away.
But apparently only as far as Hillside, Queens, where she was buried next to her father and mother. About a year after Adler did his vanishing act, she had been killed when a small private jet had crashed on take-off. Her body had been recovered and positively identified. Peter made a few notes and closed the file. A sad waste of a life.
Kate Moreau had been an attractive young woman, and she bore a startling resemblance to his ex-wife, at least as far as coloring went. Same long dark hair and large blue eyes. Kate had come to New York after college and landed a job with Adler, which raised all sorts of questions in Peter’s mind. She had been barely old enough to drink, her degree was from a middle-tier college in upstate New York, and she’d majored in art history. Nothing that would qualify her to work for a financial wizard.
But that was a closed book now. The young woman was dead and could tell him nothing.
Even though his staff was doing the research, Peter figured he might as well contribute. Anything to get out of the administrative paperwork that filled his days these days. It would help him get up to speed. He’d been in DC when the Adler investigation went down and hadn’t come back until the case had closed. He knew the players and results of the investigation, but none of the nitty-gritty details. Peter picked a name at random – Robert Caldwell seemed like a good place to start. He was the Chief Financial Officer for the Adler Organization, and worked for the company for the better part of fifteen years. Caldwell had been conveniently out of the country when Adler disappeared, but he agreed to cooperate – from a distance, in exchange for immunity and no extradition. The US Attorney had struck a deal.
He punched in the man’s social security number. Even if he was living abroad, he’d still be paying taxes. Unless he was dead.
Robert Caldwell died from a massive heart attack two days before he was scheduled to give his deposition.
Peter didn’t like what his gut was telling him. He was zero-for-two. The next name on the list was Rajeev Bhara, the head of trading operations. Rajeev hadn’t had a chance to strike a deal, either. He was killed when his car crashed into a barrier on the Cross County Parkway. Police ruled it an accident.
He sat there, staring at the screen, wondering if any of those other men were still alive.
“Peter?” Clinton tapped on his door frame.
“Don’t tell me, Caffrey’s dead, too.”
The man gave him a puzzled look. “No, not dead at all. But he’s not in prison either. He was given four, not six years like you thought. He’s been out for about fifteen months.”
“We’d better find him.”
“That won’t be hard.”
There was something on Clinton’s face that made Peter’s gut churn again. “And why is that?”
Clinton handed him a file. Peter read the contents and hoped his jaw didn’t hit the floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“Nope. He’s been working there for over a year. IRS says that his tax return lists his profession as ‘bookkeeper’.”
Peter pulled his gun and holster out of the safe and put them on. He grabbed his coat and headed out of the office. He needed to talk to his ex-wife.
Now.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The last person Elizabeth expected to come bursting into the small downtown Manhattan storefront that housed Burke Premier Events was her ex-husband. They usually got together for drinks and dinner once or twice a month, though lately, he’d been so busy that he’d had to cancel out on her for their last three “dates.”
And not for any good reason, at least in her eyes. He’d taken a promotion that was supposed to mean mostly desk work, except that he told her that he’d been spending ten to twelve hours a day just trying to keep from drowning in the paperwork.
She wished he’d find someone and settle down and be happy. Peter was a man made for domesticity. It was only unfortunate that she wasn’t a man. They’d been happy for the entire eight years of their marriage, committed to each other in ways that their friends couldn’t understand. But she owed no one any explanations. Six years ago, Peter had the opportunity to take a posting in DC – it was too good of a career move to pass up. But she didn’t want to go to DC, her business was going too well to just pick up and relocate.
It seemed like a natural breaking point for them. The divorce was quick and painless. El got the house in Brooklyn, Peter had wanted to pay alimony, but she said no way. Her business was self-supporting, there was no need.
Peter had reluctantly agreed, but snuck behind her back and paid off the mortgage, telling her it was the very least he could do.
She wasn’t sorry that Peter’s assignment in Washington only lasted a year, that she could have stayed in New York and kept up the fiction of their marriage. She just wished that Peter would find a nice man to settle down with. But she also knew that Peter had little patience for the dating game, the rituals of courtship. Which was why setting him up with Neal seemed so perfect.
Neal was adamant, however. She could see his point, too. Peter was, in so many ways, a professional paranoid, and the idea of dating a man who had served time for investment fraud would probably be too hard to sell.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” She didn’t like the look in his eyes or the way his jaw was clenched. A sure sign of aggravation.
“Neal Caffrey – where is he?”
El blinked. “My bookkeeper? What do you want with my bookkeeper?”
Peter ignored her question. “Damnit, El, where is he?”
“Not until you tell me what you want with him.”
“You’ve hired a felon, you know that? Did you know the man did time for investment fraud. Did you know that he was in prison for four years? And you’ve entrusted him with your finances!”
Elizabeth sighed and guessed it was a good thing she hadn’t tried to set Neal up with Peter, if this was her ex’s reaction.
“The answer to your question is yes. I know that Neal did time, and why he did time. And yes, I trust him completely with my finances.”
That seemed to take the wind out of Peter’s sails, but he wasn’t letting go so easily. “So, you just decided to hire a criminal, a white collar criminal? To be charitable? Did you think it might be a good idea to ask me to check him out?”
“Peter, you’re my ex-husband, you don’t run my business or my life. And even if we were still married, I wouldn’t ask you to do a background check on a prospective employee. There are services for that – “
“You don’t need to spend the money, El. I can – “
“Abuse government resources on my behalf?” El held up a hand, stopping Peter in his tracks. “You have got to stop this, Peter.”
“Stop what?”
“Treating me like I can’t stand on my own.”
“El – that’s not true.”
“It’s not? It sure looks that way. You’re now running random checks on my employees?” El felt herself working up a head of steam. How dare he!
“No – I’m not. Not in the least.”
“Then why did you barge in here, ready to play the big, bad Federal Agent.”
“Neal Caffrey’s name came as part of an investigation, El. Jones ran him and found that he’s working for you. Can you imagine my concern?”
It was El’s turn to step back. “An investigation? That’s not right. Neal’s done nothing wrong – he works long days like I do and he does nothing else.”
“Look, I can’t discuss it with you.” Peter moved around her, heading to the back of the shop, where her offices were.
He didn’t get far. Neal stepped into the showroom, his face pale, fists clenched. “What do you want with me, Agent Burke?”
“Neal – “ El stepped between them, and didn’t let Peter by. “I’m going to call Mozzie – you don’t have to talk to the FBI without an attorney present.”
Neal, being Neal and being something of a self-destructive idiot, contradicted her. “That’s not true, unless I’m under arrest.”
And predictably, Peter interrupted. “You’re not calling Moz – “ He turned back to Neal. “And you’re not under arrest.”
“Yet?” Neal asked, challenge dripping from that single word.
If El wasn’t so worried about Neal, she’d clap her hands in delight. She could almost see the sparks flying between them.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The day had started out with so much promise.
He’d helped El win a big corporate account, a couple getting married for the third decided they needed to be reasonable about their wedding cake, and he’d managed to have a coherent conversation with his mother.
But that promise was rapidly circling the bowl. Even with the door closed, he could hear Elizabeth arguing with her ex-husband about him. He knew it was only a matter of time until the storied Agent Burke found out that his ex-wife was employing a criminal and came storming down here.
Which made the idea of El setting the two of them up on a date more than ridiculous.
“You’ve hired a felon, you know that? The man did time for investment fraud. Did you know that he was in prison for four years?”
Neal sighed. He wasn’t worried that El would fire him or take her ex’s side. He just didn’t want her to have to defend him. At least she wasn’t playing the family card…
“Neal Caffrey’s name came as part of an investigation – “
That was troubling. He’d kept his nose clean, that was for certain. Hell, it wasn’t like he’d been a criminal before his guilty plea. He’d better find out what the FBI wanted with him.
Heading into the showroom, Neal told himself to keep his temper under control. These sorts of things were inevitable. Moz, El’s lawyer, had been quick to tell him that. A nice guy, if a little strange, but Neal had no reason to doubt his advice: “Play it cool and don’t give the Suits anything to latch onto.” They were worse than leeches, according to Moz, and would suck a man dry if he wasn’t careful.
He’d seen pictures of Peter Burke. El kept one on her desk, but the picture couldn’t convey the sheer presence of the man. Neal blinked and caught his breath. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, at least not in the rather ill-fitting suit and regulation haircut, but there was something there that caught Neal and reeled him in like a fish.
He swallowed and clenched his fists, the bite of his fingernails against his palms steadied him and reminded him of the stakes.
El looked furious, and it was nice to know that the anger was as much for him as it was for her own self-esteem. Yes, Peter Burke was definitely a man who’d steamroller over everyone to satisfy his good intentions.
“What do you want with me?” He ignored El’s offer to call Mozzie.
Burke looked around, clearly uncomfortable with having this conversation in the open. “Can we talk somewhere privately?”
Neal wasn’t sure he wanted this man in his office. It was tiny, barely enough room for his workstation and the filing cabinets. But he gestured for the agent to precede him. The man stalked past him. Of course he’d been here before and knew where he was going.
El put a hand on his arm, holding him back. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call Moz?”
Neal shook his head. “Not necessary. Maybe if I have to go down to the FBI offices, but if he’s just fishing for information, there’s no need to get Mozzie involved.”
“No need to make it a federal case?” El grinned at him.
“Cute, really cute.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need me.”
Neal nodded.
El had one more piece of advice. “Peter’s a good man, and he plays it straight. He won’t trick you.”
Neal wasn’t so sure about that. The Feds could lie and cheat in an interrogation if it got them what they wanted. He knew that all too well.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter couldn’t figure out why Neal Caffrey was working for his ex-wife as a bookkeeper. It didn’t make sense. According to the information in the file, Caffrey had been one of the brightest stars on Wall Street before he’d been recruited by Adler. Even though he did time, it didn’t seem plausible that he was the type of man who’d settle for such a low-level job, earning chicken scratch.
He knew all too well that when white collar felons got out of prison, they usually managed to land on their feet, hooking up with old connections, setting up hedge funds and boiler rooms, running just below the radar.
But not Caffrey. He’d gotten out of Otisville a little more than sixteen months ago, and according to his tax return, he’d almost immediately started working for Elizabeth. Which didn’t make sense. His ex-wife knew better than to hire someone who knew how to rob her blind.
Peter wedged himself into the tiny office that Caffrey pointed him to and took the opportunity to look around. Not that he expected to find anything incriminating. Not out in the open. The screensaver was activated and Peter tapped on the keyboard, hoping that it wasn’t password protected.
It was.
He kept an ear open, listening to Caffrey and his wife talk in hushed, urgent tones, but he was unable to make out more than a few words. El wanted to call her friend, Moz. Peter didn’t exactly dislike the man. He was a little different, and not in a good way. More like a paranoid eccentric with occasional delusions. But he was intensely loyal to Elizabeth and in Peter’s book, that was the only thing that mattered.
Caffrey joined him, closing the door and leaning against it. His arms were crossed and the expression on his face was as closed off as his posture. “What do you want from me?”
“Vincent Adler.”
If he’d hoped for a reaction, he was disappointed. Caffrey’s expression didn’t change.
“I worked for him for three years, but you know that. And you know that I did four years in prison because I worked for him.”
Interesting. “You pled guilty to investment fraud and a host of related charges, but you’re saying that the only thing you’re really guilty of is working for Adler?”
Caffrey shrugged, giving nothing else away.
The silence stretched out uncomfortably. “I need something from you. Something very simple.”
“It can’t be all that simple if Vincent Adler’s involved.”
Peter felt a smile curve on his lips. Of course Caffrey was smart. “Actually, in this case it is.”
“I can’t help you find him. I haven’t seen him in five years, seven months and an odd assortment of days.”
“Don’t need you to do that. We’ve found him. Or we think we have.” Peter enjoyed the look of surprise on the other man’s face.
“Then what do you need my help with?”
“Adler was practically a hermit. He was almost never photographed and very few people can give a reliable description. You, however, worked with him on a day-to-day basis. You can identify him.”
Caffrey’s expression closed off again. “No, I can’t.”
“What do you mean? You were part of his inner circle. You know what he looks like.”
“And I won’t identify him for you.” There was ice dripping from his voice.
“Oh, come on – Adler was responsible for your arrest and imprisonment. He left you holding the bag – do you want to get something back?” Peter tried to sound cajoling, friendly.
“No, Agent Burke, I don’t. And you can ask until the ocean swallows the mountains, but there’s nothing you can offer that will make me cooperate and there’s nothing you can do to force my cooperation, either.”
“Mr. Caffrey, surely you’d want to see justice served …”
Neal cut him off. “I did my time, my nose is clean. Now, go away and leave me alone.” He crowded against Peter and opened the door.
Peter didn’t move. He just looked down into Caffrey’s set face, noting the differences from his file photo. In a way, the years in prison had refined him, paring away the youthful roundness, honing the planes on his face, sharpening the edges. At this close distance, he could see the flecks of gray in the man’s stubble.
A part of him – the human part, the part that was a man first, an FBI agent second, also noted that Neal Caffrey was stunningly gorgeous. In that photo – taken five, maybe six years ago, he was just another handsome, fit young man, one of hundreds that worked on Wall Street. Nothing particularly special.
Against his will, Peter found himself wondering what those lips tasted like.
What the hell?
He had absolutely no right to even think those thoughts. Caffrey was a felon, and more importantly, a witness in an on-going investigation.
Peter pushed his way out of the office. “You’re wrong about there being nothing we can do to compel your assistance. You’re a material witness, Mr. Caffrey. I can get a warrant and have you detained indefinitely.”
Caffrey turned pale then flushed, a line of white appeared around his lips. “I think I need to call my lawyer. I won’t be bullied.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it.”
Elizabeth was standing in the hallway, glaring at him. There was a short, bald, bespectacled man standing next to her.
Moz. Damn.
“Suit – you’re harassing my client. Unless you want to face civil rights charges that will tie you up until your pension runs out, I suggest you leave. Now.”
Peter nodded, but turned back to Neal. “Think about what I told you. This is a chance to get back some of your own.”
Caffrey just stood there, anger and frustration radiating from every muscle.
Peter bent to kiss Elizabeth, but she stepped out of his reach and held up a hand to his face. “I’m not talking to you.”
He sighed. This was not going well at all.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal closed the door, shutting Elizabeth and Mozzie out. Heartsick, he couldn’t deal with them at the moment. It took all of his self-control not to sweep the contents of his desk onto the floor, to cry and scream and rage at the unfairness of everything.
He should have figured that this would happen sooner or later. Adler was always going to turn up, it was inevitable. And someone was going to ask him to identify him. To look into the face of the man who betrayed him and betray him in turn.
“This is a chance to get back some of your own.”
A chance for a little vengeance. A little justice.
It made sense and there was little reason for Neal not to grab hold of that opportunity. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t take that last step. It would mean that everything that happened was for nothing. That he destroyed his life for nothing. That there was no hope left.
Neal covered his face and wept, wishing that his life was different, that he wasn’t this craven, this much of a coward, a fool.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter went back to his office and tried not to let his frustration get the better of him. If Caffrey wasn’t going to cooperate, they’d have to get help from one of the other members of Adler’s inner circle. Despite the threat, it wasn’t going to be all that easy to get a material witness order and compel Caffrey’s cooperation. Caffrey wasn’t a flight risk and to be honest, Peter didn’t have the stomach to carry out that threat.
And his gut was telling him that regardless of his record, Caffrey wasn’t a criminal.
Jones was waiting for him when he walked in the office, and he didn’t like the look on the man’s face.
“What’s the matter?” He headed up to his office and Clinton was just a step behind him.
“You’re not going to believe this, but every single one of Adler’s inner circle is dead. Except for Caffrey.”
An icy knot formed in his gut. “Give me the rundown.”
“Kate Moreau – “
“I know – she was killed in an airplane accident. Caldwell died of a heart attack and Bhara was killed in an automobile accident.”
Clinton picked up from there. “In 2010, Adam Markham was killed in street robbery – never caught the guy, but it looked like a drug buy gone bad. Silvio Carreri committed suicide about a year ago, after his wife took him to the cleaners. Sixteen months ago, William Hunter died while on the operating table – he was having a facelift, except he stroked out. Four years ago, Steven Richardson developed a cardiac infection after gum surgery. Apparently he had an undetected heart murmur. Peter Wylie was in poor shape when he was working for Adler – diabetes that he didn’t take care of, and he died from complications after needing his leg amputated.
“Of the eight men, five died of natural causes during the last five years, plus one suicide and one unsolved homicide. There was nothing to tie these men and their deaths together – they happened at random intervals in completely unrelated locations and circumstances.”
“There’s nothing to make their deaths anything more than a statistical anomaly. Even the homicide and the suicide.”
“Except for Kate Moreau. You might want to add her death to the list of unsolved homicides – the airplane accident wasn’t an accident. I did some digging, there was evidence of tampering in the fuel lines but the NTSB closed the investigation and labelled it faulty wiring. The investigator in charge was fired and the whole thing swept under the rug. I’m going to see if he’s interested in talking.”
“Just be careful, okay?”
“Always.”
Peter leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “And Neal Caffrey is still alive.”
“Did you find out why Elizabeth hired him?”
“No, but that’s less important than why he won’t talk.” Peter opened the folder with Caffrey’s information. “Start digging. Get everything you can on this guy. Call the Justice Department, the US Attorney probably has cartons of information on him. I want to know his shoe size and his kindergarten teacher’s assessment of his ability to nap. I’ll reach out to the warden at Otisville and find out who visited Caffrey during his stay.”
Peter couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in his gut that something was terribly wrong.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Elizabeth had waited as long as she could before giving into the need to comfort Neal. She’d sent Mozzie off, promising to call if they needed him and she stood on the other side of the closed door, listening to a very strong man cry.
She and Neal went back a long ways, all the back to their childhood. Some of her earliest memories were of playing with a little boy with blue eyes and dark hair. Neal had been a fixture in her life, he always seemed to be there. He might have been a couple of years younger than she was, but they were inseparable.
She couldn’t really remember Neal’s father, but his mother was her mother’s cousin and they were close. When she was little, El figured that Neal must have been a lot like his father because Vivian Caffrey was – in her child’s mind – the exact opposite of her son. She was sad and quiet and always talked in whispers and even though she was technically a cousin, because she was her mother’s age, Elizabeth called her Aunt Vivian. Neal loved her, but he was an active boy, loud and boisterous and inventive. His smile could make every kid in the neighborhood want to join into whatever game he was organizing.
When she was twelve, Neal disappeared out of her life. No letter or postcard or anything. One day they were playing stickball, the next day he was gone. His house was empty and her mother would only say that Neal and his mother had to go away and they wouldn’t ever be back.
El didn’t understand. In her life, people just didn’t leave like that.
Time lessened the aching wound Neal’s absence left in her life, and eventually she forgot about him. Until one evening, about sixteen months ago, when he showed up on her doorstep, looking a hell of a lot older than his thirty-three years.
“What happened to you?” El wasn’t asking about the recent past. She’d get to that eventually. She wanted to know why he’d disappeared.
Neal shrugged. “I – I really don’t know. I remember that it was summer, right after school was out and we’d been playing until it got dark. So it was probably after nine. My mother was frantic and there were these men in suits at the house. Mom told me that we had to leave immediately. I could pack one suitcase, but everything else was left behind. I didn’t want to go. I remember screaming and yelling and begging her to let me stay with you and Aunt Donna and Uncle Allen. But she said no and I couldn’t even leave a letter for you.”
Neal wrapped his arms around himself. “I’m pretty sure that it had something to do with …” He paused and to El’s mind, it seemed like Neal was trying not to lie. “My father.”
“Your father was a cop, right? I remember that. I even remember when he died. I think I was five and my mom and dad telling me I had to be very quiet and very nice to Aunt Vivian.”
“Yeah, I was three when he was killed. In the line of duty.”
“So – eight, nine years later, something happens and you and your mom had to just pick up and leave?”
Neal nodded. “I’m sorry that I never wrote, but my mom said that no one could ever know where we were. I missed you, a lot.”
El made coffee and handed Neal a cup. “And now? Is it safe now?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. There’s no danger. I don’t think there ever was.”
El accepted that and moved on to more pressing questions. “So, what’s going on with you?”
“You mean, why have I just turned up on your doorstep almost twenty years later?”
“That thought has crossed my mind.”
He sighed and met her eyes. “You’ll probably kick me to the curb when I tell you, but you should know.”
“Know what?” She wanted to smack Neal.
“I just got out of prison.”
She blinked, not sure that she’d heard him correctly. “Huh?”
“Not ‘just’ but about week ago.” He didn’t say anything more, now focusing on the contents of his coffee cup.
“Neal?” She hadn’t been afraid, just curious.
“Look, I pled guilty to charges of investment fraud, and spent the last four years as a guest of the Federal Government at the minimum security prison in Otisville, that’s upstate. I’ll understand if you want me to leave.” He put the cup on the counter and stood up. El stopped him.
“Leave? Why?”
“Because – you know. I’m sure you don’t want an ex-con around your family.” Neal looked around, as if he suddenly expected a husband and children to pop out of the woodwork.
“I’m divorced, and no kids. And anyway, even if I had a family, I wouldn’t kick you out. You’re part of my family, too.” She wrapped her arms around him, surprised at how fragile he felt. “You’ve been gone a hell of a long time, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
And she hadn’t, not that night nor for the next three months. He needed a place to stay, so she gave him her extra bedroom. He needed a job, so she made him her bookkeeper. He needed someone to talk to in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t stop shaking, she listened and fed him tea and toast and dug out her old photograph albums so they could recapture their history.
Listening to him sob, the sounds were so gut wrenching, she couldn’t stand by any longer. She went into Neal’s office and put a hand on his back, trying to give what comfort she could. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, because he wasn’t okay, but she didn’t know what else to do, what else to ask.
So she stood there, just keeping that simple physical connection, hoping that Neal wouldn’t shrug it off, he wouldn’t put on one of his smiling masks and tell her he’d overreacted and everything was fine.
“Thanks.” Neal seemed to get control of himself. “Sorry about that.”
“Nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry that Peter upset you.”
Neal turned around, his face tear streaked, his lashed spiked. He was a beautiful wreck. “He was doing his job, El.”
“Can you talk about it?”
“No – and you’d be better off staying out of the loop.”
“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.” She tried for a little levity.
Neal gave her a sad smile. “You’re not a cat, El. Your curiosity needs to stay unsatisfied.”
“Okay, but if you need anything…”
Neal understood perfectly. “I will, don’t worry.”
She kissed his forehead, then gave him a hug. It was the best she could do for the moment.
End Part One
Go to Part Two – On DW | On LJ
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, (Peter/Neal)
Word Count: ~16,700
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit:
miri_thompson, coffeethyme4me Summary: A near-canon A/U, where Neal Caffrey isn’t a forger and thief, but young Wall Street wizard who legitimately worked for Vincent Adler. He’s just out of prison, having served four years for investment fraud. He finds a job as a bookkeeper for Elizabeth Burke, Peter Burke’s ex-wife. Elizabeth and Peter have remained on excellent terms, and El wants to set Neal up on a blind date with him. But that’s not going to work as Neal’s past and Peter’s caseload collide.
Author’s Note: Written for my sweet friend
sinfulslasher for Day Four of my 2013 Fic-Can-Ukah meme, for the prompt “I Was Meant to Be Someone Else”. She said “writer’s choice, but I love me some Neal angst.” I should also note that Fic-Can-Ukah stories are meant to be short. In the original prompting post, I even said 300-500 words, knowing full well that most of these would be between 1000 and 3000 words. I was brainstorming with my enabler in chief,
theatregirl7299, and she suggested that Peter and Neal are set up on blind dates with other people, but end up falling for each other. I didn’t think it quite met the prompt, but I loved the blind date idea. Next thing I knew, I had the makings of a massive fic on my hands. Seriously, if I didn’t have all the other fic-can-ukah stories left to write, this might just have ended up at 100k. Title comes from the Oysterband song, “Someone You Might Have Been.”
“El, I don’t want to go out on a date with your ex-husband.”
His boss just gave him The Look.
Neal wasn’t the least bit cowed. “I’m sure that Peter’s a perfectly nice guy and I think it’s fantastic that you’ve remained such close friends with your ex that you try and fix him up, but could you really see me and an FBI agent?”
“I don’t see why not, Neal. You’re just Peter’s type…a tall, leggy, blue-eyed brunet. And you’re smart. Peter likes smart.” This wasn’t the first time she’d tried to set them up and Neal had to give her points for consistency.
“I’m also a criminal. I’m an ex-con who did four years hard time for investment fraud. And I believe you told me that your former husband is the head of the White Collar division.”
Elizabeth shrugged, as of that was irrelevant. “I doubt he’s ever heard of you.”
Neal had to concede that point. “You’re right, probably not. I was small beans for the FBI. They were looking for someone to blame and I was the only one conveniently available.”
“And you’re not really a criminal.” She gave him a different look, one that was full of sympathy. Neal hated that look.
“I beg to differ. I pled guilty, ergo, I am a criminal. And I somehow doubt your ex will want to date a criminal.” Even after this long, the word was still like gall in his mouth.
“Former criminal.”
It was Neal’s turn to shrug. “Look, I appreciate your interest in my social life –”
“You don’t have a social life. You work, you go home at night and you come back here every day. The same routine, day in and day out for pretty much the last year or so. You need to get out more instead of sitting home by yourself, playing with your art supplies.”
“Playing with my art supplies? Nice, El. Really nice.” Neal pretended to be insulted, but the truth was not that far off. He was a talentless hack. He could copy anything, but he lacked the spark of true creativity.
El wasn’t going to be diverted from her quest. “Look, Peter’s a good man. He won’t hold your past against you. You’re reformed, remember?”
“I guess…” He grinned at her. This was an old game. And despite his repeated use of the word, Neal knew he really wasn’t a criminal, he’d just been cast as one by the Government and circumstances.
She slapped the back of his head. “What do you mean, you guess? You’re my cousin. Are you stealing from me?”
Neal smiled and refused to rise to the bait. “You books are perfectly balanced, every penny accounted for. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Like how you didn’t answer, slick.”
“I don’t steal from friends and family.” Elizabeth was definitely both and Neal wasn’t sure he’d have survived without her.
“You don’t steal, period.” El gave him a rueful smile and rubbed the back of his head, where she’d smacked him. She knew the truth, the whole sad story.
Neal turned back to the computer screen and finished entering the last invoice. He hit the print button and the machine next to the desk started spitting out paper. This week’s check run.
Being the bookkeeper for El’s small event planning business was a long way from his days as one of Wall Street’s masters of the universe, earning every penny of his seven-figure salary and his deluxe lifestyle. Back then, he thought nothing of working seventy or eighty hours a week, flying all over the world at a moment’s notice, always ready to close the next deal.
Now, his life was circumscribed by the limitations of a very low-limit credit card and the meagre contents of his bank account. El paid him enough to afford rent in a walkup in Astoria, a monthly Metrocard, and some second-rate art supplies, but not much more than that.
He really had to thank his lucky stars that he had someone willing to help him, to let him make a chance at redemption. As a convicted felon, even for a white collar crime, he had little chance of making an honest living.
He had been a fool. Instead of taking the Fed’s offer of immunity if he rolled on his boss, he refused to testify; believing that it was all some big mistake, that there was no way that the man was running a massive Ponzi scheme. Then his boss ran off, all the money disappeared and he pretty much had no choice.
With everything gone, he had no leverage and the Government’s offer of immunity had vanished like his good name and reputation. In exchange for a four-year sentence at Club Fed, he told the Feds everything he knew and forfeited just about of all his assets. They made it clear that if he went to trial, he’d be facing life, and then some.
“Want to have dinner with me tonight?” El’s question interrupted his bitter musings.
“Just us two? No ex-husband who just ‘happens’ to be in the neighborhood?”
“Nope, but I could ask Peter …”
“El – for the last time, no. Fixing me up is a bad idea. Setting me up on a blind date with an FBI agent is an even worse idea.” He’d been working for his cousin for a year, but had never met her ex.
Elizabeth held up her hands in the classic gesture of surrender. “All right, no blind dates. But I still think that you and Peter would be a great match.”
“Why, because we’re both gay?”
“No, because you’re both smart.”
That took the wind out of his sails. Regardless, he wasn’t going to go out on a date with Elizabeth’s ex-husband. And that was final.
“Okay, people. Settle down, settle down.” Peter’s recent promotion to ASAC really didn’t change how things were run in the White Collar Division. He still sat in on the morning tag up meetings, oversaw assignments, and went out in the field when it suited him (which it often did). But now Clinton Jones actually ran the meetings, handed out assignments, fielded questions.
Today was different. Something major landed on his desk and the brass in DC wanted him to take care of it personally.
One of the probies – Blake – handed out files to everyone. Peter waited for the agents around the conference table to look through the paperwork before he lit up the screen.
“Vincent Adler…” An extremely blurry photograph of a man’s face appeared on the monitor. “This is the only known picture of him. In 2008, while under investigation for numerous securities violations, he disappeared, along with nine billion dollars of other people’s money. Compared to Bernie Madoff’s scam, that’s small change, but we caught Madoff. Adler vanished as if he never existed.”
Peter tapped the remote and the photos of eight men and one woman were now displayed. “He was famous for keeping an extremely low profile. Even within his own organization, only these people ever saw him face-to-face. His vice presidents and his administrative assistant. No one else.”
Clinton asked the question that everyone else probably wanted to. “The trail has been cold for more than five years, why has this jumped up the priority list?”
Peter tapped the remote again, and another photograph appeared. A clear shot of a man sipping coffee in a fancy restaurant. “This was taken two days ago in Paris. The man has been identified as Claude Ballatin, but we think he might actually be Vincent Adler.” Another tap and the original photo appeared in a side-by-side, with facial recognition markers. “It’s an 82% match. We’ve contacted Interpol, who has helped us liaise with the Police Nationale…” Peter winced at his pronunciation of the French term.
Jones asked, “Are the French cooperating?”
“This is where things get sticky.”
“So, the French are not cooperating.” Jones concluded.
“No – they won’t agree to issue arrest warrants again Ballatin, who seems to be a French citizen, on the basis of mere computer forensics. Unless we have someone who can personally identify Ballatin as Adler, we’re screwed.”
Peter backed up to the shot of Adler’s senior staff. “Each of you is responsible for locating one of Adler’s VPs. You aren’t authorized to make contact until I clear it, but you’ll do in depth investigations on each – tear their lives apart.”
He turned to Clinton. “I want you to do the work up on Neal Caffrey. He’s the only one of the eight who actually did prison time. He’s probably in Otisville or Allenwood – I haven’t checked, but I think he got six years. Maybe we can offer him a few months off his sentence if he cooperates.”
“What about the woman?”
“Kate Moreau – I’ll take her.” Peter picked up a folder. “Okay, everyone – this is priority. We’ll tag up before the end of the day.” The agents scattered, but Clinton stayed behind.
“Why do I feel like someone’s pushing an agenda on us?”
Peter motioned for his right hand agent to go into his office. “Because someone is. The photo is courtesy of the CIA and Ballatin has apparently gotten himself on some pretty serious lists. He’s a registered arms dealer, and apparently been supplying both sides in Syria.”
“And the CIA just made the association between Ballatin and Adler?”
Peter shrugged. The only reason he told Clinton was because the agent, like him, had a TS-level clearance. “I don’t need to tell you that no one else in the office can know about this. All I know is that we need to get to this guy, but the French won’t play ball.”
Clinton grimaced. “I got out of Naval Intelligence because I hated shit like this.”
“I know.” Peter sighed. “But we’ve got a job to do. And if Ballatin is Adler, well – it’s still a win for our side.”
Clinton gave him is customary salute and headed back to his desk. Peter sat down at his desk and started looking for Katherine Moreau. She had been questioned by the FBI after Adler disappeared, and was apparently very convincing in her ignorance about the man she had worked for. When Caffrey took his plea deal, the FBI lost interest and she slipped away.
But apparently only as far as Hillside, Queens, where she was buried next to her father and mother. About a year after Adler did his vanishing act, she had been killed when a small private jet had crashed on take-off. Her body had been recovered and positively identified. Peter made a few notes and closed the file. A sad waste of a life.
Kate Moreau had been an attractive young woman, and she bore a startling resemblance to his ex-wife, at least as far as coloring went. Same long dark hair and large blue eyes. Kate had come to New York after college and landed a job with Adler, which raised all sorts of questions in Peter’s mind. She had been barely old enough to drink, her degree was from a middle-tier college in upstate New York, and she’d majored in art history. Nothing that would qualify her to work for a financial wizard.
But that was a closed book now. The young woman was dead and could tell him nothing.
Even though his staff was doing the research, Peter figured he might as well contribute. Anything to get out of the administrative paperwork that filled his days these days. It would help him get up to speed. He’d been in DC when the Adler investigation went down and hadn’t come back until the case had closed. He knew the players and results of the investigation, but none of the nitty-gritty details. Peter picked a name at random – Robert Caldwell seemed like a good place to start. He was the Chief Financial Officer for the Adler Organization, and worked for the company for the better part of fifteen years. Caldwell had been conveniently out of the country when Adler disappeared, but he agreed to cooperate – from a distance, in exchange for immunity and no extradition. The US Attorney had struck a deal.
He punched in the man’s social security number. Even if he was living abroad, he’d still be paying taxes. Unless he was dead.
Robert Caldwell died from a massive heart attack two days before he was scheduled to give his deposition.
Peter didn’t like what his gut was telling him. He was zero-for-two. The next name on the list was Rajeev Bhara, the head of trading operations. Rajeev hadn’t had a chance to strike a deal, either. He was killed when his car crashed into a barrier on the Cross County Parkway. Police ruled it an accident.
He sat there, staring at the screen, wondering if any of those other men were still alive.
“Peter?” Clinton tapped on his door frame.
“Don’t tell me, Caffrey’s dead, too.”
The man gave him a puzzled look. “No, not dead at all. But he’s not in prison either. He was given four, not six years like you thought. He’s been out for about fifteen months.”
“We’d better find him.”
“That won’t be hard.”
There was something on Clinton’s face that made Peter’s gut churn again. “And why is that?”
Clinton handed him a file. Peter read the contents and hoped his jaw didn’t hit the floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“Nope. He’s been working there for over a year. IRS says that his tax return lists his profession as ‘bookkeeper’.”
Peter pulled his gun and holster out of the safe and put them on. He grabbed his coat and headed out of the office. He needed to talk to his ex-wife.
Now.
The last person Elizabeth expected to come bursting into the small downtown Manhattan storefront that housed Burke Premier Events was her ex-husband. They usually got together for drinks and dinner once or twice a month, though lately, he’d been so busy that he’d had to cancel out on her for their last three “dates.”
And not for any good reason, at least in her eyes. He’d taken a promotion that was supposed to mean mostly desk work, except that he told her that he’d been spending ten to twelve hours a day just trying to keep from drowning in the paperwork.
She wished he’d find someone and settle down and be happy. Peter was a man made for domesticity. It was only unfortunate that she wasn’t a man. They’d been happy for the entire eight years of their marriage, committed to each other in ways that their friends couldn’t understand. But she owed no one any explanations. Six years ago, Peter had the opportunity to take a posting in DC – it was too good of a career move to pass up. But she didn’t want to go to DC, her business was going too well to just pick up and relocate.
It seemed like a natural breaking point for them. The divorce was quick and painless. El got the house in Brooklyn, Peter had wanted to pay alimony, but she said no way. Her business was self-supporting, there was no need.
Peter had reluctantly agreed, but snuck behind her back and paid off the mortgage, telling her it was the very least he could do.
She wasn’t sorry that Peter’s assignment in Washington only lasted a year, that she could have stayed in New York and kept up the fiction of their marriage. She just wished that Peter would find a nice man to settle down with. But she also knew that Peter had little patience for the dating game, the rituals of courtship. Which was why setting him up with Neal seemed so perfect.
Neal was adamant, however. She could see his point, too. Peter was, in so many ways, a professional paranoid, and the idea of dating a man who had served time for investment fraud would probably be too hard to sell.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” She didn’t like the look in his eyes or the way his jaw was clenched. A sure sign of aggravation.
“Neal Caffrey – where is he?”
El blinked. “My bookkeeper? What do you want with my bookkeeper?”
Peter ignored her question. “Damnit, El, where is he?”
“Not until you tell me what you want with him.”
“You’ve hired a felon, you know that? Did you know the man did time for investment fraud. Did you know that he was in prison for four years? And you’ve entrusted him with your finances!”
Elizabeth sighed and guessed it was a good thing she hadn’t tried to set Neal up with Peter, if this was her ex’s reaction.
“The answer to your question is yes. I know that Neal did time, and why he did time. And yes, I trust him completely with my finances.”
That seemed to take the wind out of Peter’s sails, but he wasn’t letting go so easily. “So, you just decided to hire a criminal, a white collar criminal? To be charitable? Did you think it might be a good idea to ask me to check him out?”
“Peter, you’re my ex-husband, you don’t run my business or my life. And even if we were still married, I wouldn’t ask you to do a background check on a prospective employee. There are services for that – “
“You don’t need to spend the money, El. I can – “
“Abuse government resources on my behalf?” El held up a hand, stopping Peter in his tracks. “You have got to stop this, Peter.”
“Stop what?”
“Treating me like I can’t stand on my own.”
“El – that’s not true.”
“It’s not? It sure looks that way. You’re now running random checks on my employees?” El felt herself working up a head of steam. How dare he!
“No – I’m not. Not in the least.”
“Then why did you barge in here, ready to play the big, bad Federal Agent.”
“Neal Caffrey’s name came as part of an investigation, El. Jones ran him and found that he’s working for you. Can you imagine my concern?”
It was El’s turn to step back. “An investigation? That’s not right. Neal’s done nothing wrong – he works long days like I do and he does nothing else.”
“Look, I can’t discuss it with you.” Peter moved around her, heading to the back of the shop, where her offices were.
He didn’t get far. Neal stepped into the showroom, his face pale, fists clenched. “What do you want with me, Agent Burke?”
“Neal – “ El stepped between them, and didn’t let Peter by. “I’m going to call Mozzie – you don’t have to talk to the FBI without an attorney present.”
Neal, being Neal and being something of a self-destructive idiot, contradicted her. “That’s not true, unless I’m under arrest.”
And predictably, Peter interrupted. “You’re not calling Moz – “ He turned back to Neal. “And you’re not under arrest.”
“Yet?” Neal asked, challenge dripping from that single word.
If El wasn’t so worried about Neal, she’d clap her hands in delight. She could almost see the sparks flying between them.
The day had started out with so much promise.
He’d helped El win a big corporate account, a couple getting married for the third decided they needed to be reasonable about their wedding cake, and he’d managed to have a coherent conversation with his mother.
But that promise was rapidly circling the bowl. Even with the door closed, he could hear Elizabeth arguing with her ex-husband about him. He knew it was only a matter of time until the storied Agent Burke found out that his ex-wife was employing a criminal and came storming down here.
Which made the idea of El setting the two of them up on a date more than ridiculous.
“You’ve hired a felon, you know that? The man did time for investment fraud. Did you know that he was in prison for four years?”
Neal sighed. He wasn’t worried that El would fire him or take her ex’s side. He just didn’t want her to have to defend him. At least she wasn’t playing the family card…
“Neal Caffrey’s name came as part of an investigation – “
That was troubling. He’d kept his nose clean, that was for certain. Hell, it wasn’t like he’d been a criminal before his guilty plea. He’d better find out what the FBI wanted with him.
Heading into the showroom, Neal told himself to keep his temper under control. These sorts of things were inevitable. Moz, El’s lawyer, had been quick to tell him that. A nice guy, if a little strange, but Neal had no reason to doubt his advice: “Play it cool and don’t give the Suits anything to latch onto.” They were worse than leeches, according to Moz, and would suck a man dry if he wasn’t careful.
He’d seen pictures of Peter Burke. El kept one on her desk, but the picture couldn’t convey the sheer presence of the man. Neal blinked and caught his breath. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, at least not in the rather ill-fitting suit and regulation haircut, but there was something there that caught Neal and reeled him in like a fish.
He swallowed and clenched his fists, the bite of his fingernails against his palms steadied him and reminded him of the stakes.
El looked furious, and it was nice to know that the anger was as much for him as it was for her own self-esteem. Yes, Peter Burke was definitely a man who’d steamroller over everyone to satisfy his good intentions.
“What do you want with me?” He ignored El’s offer to call Mozzie.
Burke looked around, clearly uncomfortable with having this conversation in the open. “Can we talk somewhere privately?”
Neal wasn’t sure he wanted this man in his office. It was tiny, barely enough room for his workstation and the filing cabinets. But he gestured for the agent to precede him. The man stalked past him. Of course he’d been here before and knew where he was going.
El put a hand on his arm, holding him back. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call Moz?”
Neal shook his head. “Not necessary. Maybe if I have to go down to the FBI offices, but if he’s just fishing for information, there’s no need to get Mozzie involved.”
“No need to make it a federal case?” El grinned at him.
“Cute, really cute.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need me.”
Neal nodded.
El had one more piece of advice. “Peter’s a good man, and he plays it straight. He won’t trick you.”
Neal wasn’t so sure about that. The Feds could lie and cheat in an interrogation if it got them what they wanted. He knew that all too well.
Peter couldn’t figure out why Neal Caffrey was working for his ex-wife as a bookkeeper. It didn’t make sense. According to the information in the file, Caffrey had been one of the brightest stars on Wall Street before he’d been recruited by Adler. Even though he did time, it didn’t seem plausible that he was the type of man who’d settle for such a low-level job, earning chicken scratch.
He knew all too well that when white collar felons got out of prison, they usually managed to land on their feet, hooking up with old connections, setting up hedge funds and boiler rooms, running just below the radar.
But not Caffrey. He’d gotten out of Otisville a little more than sixteen months ago, and according to his tax return, he’d almost immediately started working for Elizabeth. Which didn’t make sense. His ex-wife knew better than to hire someone who knew how to rob her blind.
Peter wedged himself into the tiny office that Caffrey pointed him to and took the opportunity to look around. Not that he expected to find anything incriminating. Not out in the open. The screensaver was activated and Peter tapped on the keyboard, hoping that it wasn’t password protected.
It was.
He kept an ear open, listening to Caffrey and his wife talk in hushed, urgent tones, but he was unable to make out more than a few words. El wanted to call her friend, Moz. Peter didn’t exactly dislike the man. He was a little different, and not in a good way. More like a paranoid eccentric with occasional delusions. But he was intensely loyal to Elizabeth and in Peter’s book, that was the only thing that mattered.
Caffrey joined him, closing the door and leaning against it. His arms were crossed and the expression on his face was as closed off as his posture. “What do you want from me?”
“Vincent Adler.”
If he’d hoped for a reaction, he was disappointed. Caffrey’s expression didn’t change.
“I worked for him for three years, but you know that. And you know that I did four years in prison because I worked for him.”
Interesting. “You pled guilty to investment fraud and a host of related charges, but you’re saying that the only thing you’re really guilty of is working for Adler?”
Caffrey shrugged, giving nothing else away.
The silence stretched out uncomfortably. “I need something from you. Something very simple.”
“It can’t be all that simple if Vincent Adler’s involved.”
Peter felt a smile curve on his lips. Of course Caffrey was smart. “Actually, in this case it is.”
“I can’t help you find him. I haven’t seen him in five years, seven months and an odd assortment of days.”
“Don’t need you to do that. We’ve found him. Or we think we have.” Peter enjoyed the look of surprise on the other man’s face.
“Then what do you need my help with?”
“Adler was practically a hermit. He was almost never photographed and very few people can give a reliable description. You, however, worked with him on a day-to-day basis. You can identify him.”
Caffrey’s expression closed off again. “No, I can’t.”
“What do you mean? You were part of his inner circle. You know what he looks like.”
“And I won’t identify him for you.” There was ice dripping from his voice.
“Oh, come on – Adler was responsible for your arrest and imprisonment. He left you holding the bag – do you want to get something back?” Peter tried to sound cajoling, friendly.
“No, Agent Burke, I don’t. And you can ask until the ocean swallows the mountains, but there’s nothing you can offer that will make me cooperate and there’s nothing you can do to force my cooperation, either.”
“Mr. Caffrey, surely you’d want to see justice served …”
Neal cut him off. “I did my time, my nose is clean. Now, go away and leave me alone.” He crowded against Peter and opened the door.
Peter didn’t move. He just looked down into Caffrey’s set face, noting the differences from his file photo. In a way, the years in prison had refined him, paring away the youthful roundness, honing the planes on his face, sharpening the edges. At this close distance, he could see the flecks of gray in the man’s stubble.
A part of him – the human part, the part that was a man first, an FBI agent second, also noted that Neal Caffrey was stunningly gorgeous. In that photo – taken five, maybe six years ago, he was just another handsome, fit young man, one of hundreds that worked on Wall Street. Nothing particularly special.
Against his will, Peter found himself wondering what those lips tasted like.
What the hell?
He had absolutely no right to even think those thoughts. Caffrey was a felon, and more importantly, a witness in an on-going investigation.
Peter pushed his way out of the office. “You’re wrong about there being nothing we can do to compel your assistance. You’re a material witness, Mr. Caffrey. I can get a warrant and have you detained indefinitely.”
Caffrey turned pale then flushed, a line of white appeared around his lips. “I think I need to call my lawyer. I won’t be bullied.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it.”
Elizabeth was standing in the hallway, glaring at him. There was a short, bald, bespectacled man standing next to her.
Moz. Damn.
“Suit – you’re harassing my client. Unless you want to face civil rights charges that will tie you up until your pension runs out, I suggest you leave. Now.”
Peter nodded, but turned back to Neal. “Think about what I told you. This is a chance to get back some of your own.”
Caffrey just stood there, anger and frustration radiating from every muscle.
Peter bent to kiss Elizabeth, but she stepped out of his reach and held up a hand to his face. “I’m not talking to you.”
He sighed. This was not going well at all.
Neal closed the door, shutting Elizabeth and Mozzie out. Heartsick, he couldn’t deal with them at the moment. It took all of his self-control not to sweep the contents of his desk onto the floor, to cry and scream and rage at the unfairness of everything.
He should have figured that this would happen sooner or later. Adler was always going to turn up, it was inevitable. And someone was going to ask him to identify him. To look into the face of the man who betrayed him and betray him in turn.
“This is a chance to get back some of your own.”
A chance for a little vengeance. A little justice.
It made sense and there was little reason for Neal not to grab hold of that opportunity. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t take that last step. It would mean that everything that happened was for nothing. That he destroyed his life for nothing. That there was no hope left.
Neal covered his face and wept, wishing that his life was different, that he wasn’t this craven, this much of a coward, a fool.
Peter went back to his office and tried not to let his frustration get the better of him. If Caffrey wasn’t going to cooperate, they’d have to get help from one of the other members of Adler’s inner circle. Despite the threat, it wasn’t going to be all that easy to get a material witness order and compel Caffrey’s cooperation. Caffrey wasn’t a flight risk and to be honest, Peter didn’t have the stomach to carry out that threat.
And his gut was telling him that regardless of his record, Caffrey wasn’t a criminal.
Jones was waiting for him when he walked in the office, and he didn’t like the look on the man’s face.
“What’s the matter?” He headed up to his office and Clinton was just a step behind him.
“You’re not going to believe this, but every single one of Adler’s inner circle is dead. Except for Caffrey.”
An icy knot formed in his gut. “Give me the rundown.”
“Kate Moreau – “
“I know – she was killed in an airplane accident. Caldwell died of a heart attack and Bhara was killed in an automobile accident.”
Clinton picked up from there. “In 2010, Adam Markham was killed in street robbery – never caught the guy, but it looked like a drug buy gone bad. Silvio Carreri committed suicide about a year ago, after his wife took him to the cleaners. Sixteen months ago, William Hunter died while on the operating table – he was having a facelift, except he stroked out. Four years ago, Steven Richardson developed a cardiac infection after gum surgery. Apparently he had an undetected heart murmur. Peter Wylie was in poor shape when he was working for Adler – diabetes that he didn’t take care of, and he died from complications after needing his leg amputated.
“Of the eight men, five died of natural causes during the last five years, plus one suicide and one unsolved homicide. There was nothing to tie these men and their deaths together – they happened at random intervals in completely unrelated locations and circumstances.”
“There’s nothing to make their deaths anything more than a statistical anomaly. Even the homicide and the suicide.”
“Except for Kate Moreau. You might want to add her death to the list of unsolved homicides – the airplane accident wasn’t an accident. I did some digging, there was evidence of tampering in the fuel lines but the NTSB closed the investigation and labelled it faulty wiring. The investigator in charge was fired and the whole thing swept under the rug. I’m going to see if he’s interested in talking.”
“Just be careful, okay?”
“Always.”
Peter leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “And Neal Caffrey is still alive.”
“Did you find out why Elizabeth hired him?”
“No, but that’s less important than why he won’t talk.” Peter opened the folder with Caffrey’s information. “Start digging. Get everything you can on this guy. Call the Justice Department, the US Attorney probably has cartons of information on him. I want to know his shoe size and his kindergarten teacher’s assessment of his ability to nap. I’ll reach out to the warden at Otisville and find out who visited Caffrey during his stay.”
Peter couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in his gut that something was terribly wrong.
Elizabeth had waited as long as she could before giving into the need to comfort Neal. She’d sent Mozzie off, promising to call if they needed him and she stood on the other side of the closed door, listening to a very strong man cry.
She and Neal went back a long ways, all the back to their childhood. Some of her earliest memories were of playing with a little boy with blue eyes and dark hair. Neal had been a fixture in her life, he always seemed to be there. He might have been a couple of years younger than she was, but they were inseparable.
She couldn’t really remember Neal’s father, but his mother was her mother’s cousin and they were close. When she was little, El figured that Neal must have been a lot like his father because Vivian Caffrey was – in her child’s mind – the exact opposite of her son. She was sad and quiet and always talked in whispers and even though she was technically a cousin, because she was her mother’s age, Elizabeth called her Aunt Vivian. Neal loved her, but he was an active boy, loud and boisterous and inventive. His smile could make every kid in the neighborhood want to join into whatever game he was organizing.
When she was twelve, Neal disappeared out of her life. No letter or postcard or anything. One day they were playing stickball, the next day he was gone. His house was empty and her mother would only say that Neal and his mother had to go away and they wouldn’t ever be back.
El didn’t understand. In her life, people just didn’t leave like that.
Time lessened the aching wound Neal’s absence left in her life, and eventually she forgot about him. Until one evening, about sixteen months ago, when he showed up on her doorstep, looking a hell of a lot older than his thirty-three years.
“What happened to you?” El wasn’t asking about the recent past. She’d get to that eventually. She wanted to know why he’d disappeared.
Neal shrugged. “I – I really don’t know. I remember that it was summer, right after school was out and we’d been playing until it got dark. So it was probably after nine. My mother was frantic and there were these men in suits at the house. Mom told me that we had to leave immediately. I could pack one suitcase, but everything else was left behind. I didn’t want to go. I remember screaming and yelling and begging her to let me stay with you and Aunt Donna and Uncle Allen. But she said no and I couldn’t even leave a letter for you.”
Neal wrapped his arms around himself. “I’m pretty sure that it had something to do with …” He paused and to El’s mind, it seemed like Neal was trying not to lie. “My father.”
“Your father was a cop, right? I remember that. I even remember when he died. I think I was five and my mom and dad telling me I had to be very quiet and very nice to Aunt Vivian.”
“Yeah, I was three when he was killed. In the line of duty.”
“So – eight, nine years later, something happens and you and your mom had to just pick up and leave?”
Neal nodded. “I’m sorry that I never wrote, but my mom said that no one could ever know where we were. I missed you, a lot.”
El made coffee and handed Neal a cup. “And now? Is it safe now?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. There’s no danger. I don’t think there ever was.”
El accepted that and moved on to more pressing questions. “So, what’s going on with you?”
“You mean, why have I just turned up on your doorstep almost twenty years later?”
“That thought has crossed my mind.”
He sighed and met her eyes. “You’ll probably kick me to the curb when I tell you, but you should know.”
“Know what?” She wanted to smack Neal.
“I just got out of prison.”
She blinked, not sure that she’d heard him correctly. “Huh?”
“Not ‘just’ but about week ago.” He didn’t say anything more, now focusing on the contents of his coffee cup.
“Neal?” She hadn’t been afraid, just curious.
“Look, I pled guilty to charges of investment fraud, and spent the last four years as a guest of the Federal Government at the minimum security prison in Otisville, that’s upstate. I’ll understand if you want me to leave.” He put the cup on the counter and stood up. El stopped him.
“Leave? Why?”
“Because – you know. I’m sure you don’t want an ex-con around your family.” Neal looked around, as if he suddenly expected a husband and children to pop out of the woodwork.
“I’m divorced, and no kids. And anyway, even if I had a family, I wouldn’t kick you out. You’re part of my family, too.” She wrapped her arms around him, surprised at how fragile he felt. “You’ve been gone a hell of a long time, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
And she hadn’t, not that night nor for the next three months. He needed a place to stay, so she gave him her extra bedroom. He needed a job, so she made him her bookkeeper. He needed someone to talk to in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t stop shaking, she listened and fed him tea and toast and dug out her old photograph albums so they could recapture their history.
Listening to him sob, the sounds were so gut wrenching, she couldn’t stand by any longer. She went into Neal’s office and put a hand on his back, trying to give what comfort she could. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, because he wasn’t okay, but she didn’t know what else to do, what else to ask.
So she stood there, just keeping that simple physical connection, hoping that Neal wouldn’t shrug it off, he wouldn’t put on one of his smiling masks and tell her he’d overreacted and everything was fine.
“Thanks.” Neal seemed to get control of himself. “Sorry about that.”
“Nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry that Peter upset you.”
Neal turned around, his face tear streaked, his lashed spiked. He was a beautiful wreck. “He was doing his job, El.”
“Can you talk about it?”
“No – and you’d be better off staying out of the loop.”
“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.” She tried for a little levity.
Neal gave her a sad smile. “You’re not a cat, El. Your curiosity needs to stay unsatisfied.”
“Okay, but if you need anything…”
Neal understood perfectly. “I will, don’t worry.”
She kissed his forehead, then gave him a hug. It was the best she could do for the moment.
Go to Part Two – On DW | On LJ
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: case fic,
- genre: pre-slash,
- genre: ust,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- white collar,
- written for: fic-can-ukah,
- year: 2013
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-11-30 07:32 pm (UTC)And I've only just read the summary...
Thank you so much! ILU!
*runs off to read*
no subject
Date: 2014-02-03 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-30 09:04 pm (UTC)The case is beyond intriguing - there's gotta be a reason behind all the "natural" deaths! And why the hell isn't Neal cooperating?! (other than the fact that Peter would've probably rubbed me the wrong way, too *g*)
Oh, and can I just add one thing? Neal = beautiful wreck = most perfectest description ever!
*runs to read part 2*
no subject
Date: 2014-02-03 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-03 01:55 pm (UTC)And my apologies for taking so long to thank you for your feedback.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 05:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-03 01:56 pm (UTC)And my apologies for not responding sooner.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-01 05:19 am (UTC)"He was a little different, and not in a good way"
Poor old Moz, you've got to love him! It's fun to see him 'legit' in this AU (unless you're going to drop something on us in part 2).
And Neal as a 'beautiful wreck', talk about taking our breath away with one simple turn of phrase. That was an Elr special if ever there was one. You have to find a photo to match it.
Heading off for Part 2 ....
no subject
Date: 2014-02-03 01:57 pm (UTC)I am so sorry it's taken me this long to respond.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-02 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-03 01:58 pm (UTC)I was just rereading this and was struck by the "beautiful wreck" line, too - amazing how it resonates.
My apologies for taking so long to respond to your lovely feedback.