Chapter 13
13
Lyric
A week goes by and it’s still quiet in Chicago. I don’t know what to make of it. Ivan thinks it’s the calm before the storm. I stay on my toes with my head down, buried in my work.
I carry this little secret in my womb every day, working up the courage and waiting for the right time to talk to them about it.
One morning at the library, I’m logging a daytime shift while combing through several files to consider for an algorithm scenario regarding the Bratva. That entire conversation with the guys sparked my curiosity. Whatever I input now, however, is barely skimming the surface, and therefore, I expect some loose predictions at best. I still want to know how things might turn out for them though. It could be telling of how things might turn out for me, too, since our lives have become so tightly intertwined.
I spend my nights at their penthouse. The Feds have yet to come around, most likely due to the fact that it’s still in Max’s father’s name. Besides, there’s an unmarked cop car watching my apartment building. Another drives past the library every couple of hours.
I see it parked across the street as I do my work. I can’t see who’s inside, but I can almost feel them looking at me through the window.
My phone rings, startling me.
“Miss Phelps,” a woman’s voice comes through. “I’m sorry it has taken me so long to follow up after the missed interview with Mr. Bowman.”
“Hi.”
My blood runs cold.
“He’s back in the saddle, as you may or may not have heard, following that horrendous ordeal,” she says, her tone mellow and honey-sweet. “I spoke to him about the interview and he asked me to extend his apologies.”
“Oh, please, no apology needed. It’s not like he stood me up,” I nervously chuckle.
“True, but even so, Mr. Bowman also wanted to know if you’d be interested in trying again for that interview. Given that he is close friends with your father, Mr. Bowman wanted to give you the courtesy. If I remember correctly, the interview is meant to be part of your doctorate thesis right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“How does next Monday sound? Six p.m., in his office?”
“Yes, that should be fine.”
I don’t know why I said yes to this. Perhaps saying no would’ve made Bowman suspicious. At least this way I can try to pretend that I don’t know anything.
“I’ll call back on Friday to confirm the appointment if that’s alright with you?” the assistant asks.
“Thank you, that would be perfect.”
My stomach churns incessantly, no matter how much clean food and water I give it. Then again, there’s no amount of clean food and water that can help reduce the stress level of the situation I’ve gotten myself into. I can only own it, deal with it, and roll with it. Once my shift is over, I put my laptop away, leaving my colleague to take over the desk, then head out, eager to get home and fix myself a scrumptious dinner. Ivan sent me several pieces of prime beef from their dedicated butcher shop—one of the least expected perks of dating a Russian mobster, it seems.
A man waits next to my car. I stop when I spot him. I can’t make out much from where I’m standing, but he seems to be casually leaning against it. The view is rather offensive.
“Cocky bastards,” I murmur and start walking again.
“Miss Phelps,” SSA Smith says, a smile stretching to reveal two rows of eerily white and perfectly straight teeth. Veneers, most likely. Fake. Like him. “I was hoping I’d run into you today.”
“Run into me?” I bluntly reply. “You’re waiting for me.”
“Figure of speech. How’ve you been?”
“Fine, thank you,” I am so nervous, tension cuts through my muscles as I work overtime to keep a straight face and a calm demeanor. I can’t let this man see that I’m afraid. “Can I get in my car, please?”
Smith chuckles dryly. “You know that’s not how this goes.”
“How does it go then?”
“I have a few follow-up questions, Miss Phelps. It’s in your best interest to answer them, believe me.” He pauses and glances around. There are plenty of people out at this hour, most on their way home from work. Tired and weary. He seems tired and weary, too. “You paid Ivan Sokolov’s bail. Why? I thought you had no idea who the Sokolov’s were.”
“I’d rather not answer that question.”
“I could take you in for an official interview, Miss Phelps, yet here I am, being nice and discreet about it. Please, do not test my patience. It’s already wearing thin.”
I take a deep breath, my synapses firing rapidly as I try to find the right thing to say. I can’t incriminate myself. “We met after your first visit, under completely separate circumstances. They paid me for IT services I provided for them. And then, last week, they called to explain the rather delicate situation in which you and the Department of Justice put them in, asking if I would kindly use the money they paid me with to bail Mr. Sokolov out.”
“What did they pay you for, exactly?” He narrows his eyes at me. I’m sure he doesn’t believe a word that’s coming out of my mouth, but everything is purely circumstantial at this point.
“Like I said, IT services.”
“What kind of IT services?”
I can’t help but scoff. “I’m sorry, but I don’t disclose the delicate type of work that I provide for my high-paying clients.”
“Fair enough, but they paid you four-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars for a so-called IT job? I’m curious.”
“If you really want to know, the work I did for them is adjacent to the project I’m currently developing for my doctorate thesis. I can send you the introductory chapter of my dissertation if you want. Anything more might be too complicated for you.”
Smith raises an eyebrow. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“It’s an algorithm designed with specific parameters and computations, meant to analyze an existing scenario, based on detailed information which it then translates, runs through an AI interface, and ultimately outputs in the form of predictive scenarios. It has distinctive applications across different fields, including business and finance-related industries. Which is what the Sokolov’s were interested in.”
I hope I’ve hurled enough technical jargon at Smith to befuddle him and stop him from digging deeper. If I have to slap him with my entire thesis, I absolutely will.
Smith nods slowly. “And you just decided to give them their money back.”
“Agent, I understood the situation they were in. And they promised they would transfer the same amount back to me once their accounts were in the clear. Including a bonus, for the inconvenience. I did what any person would do in this situation, especially since I would like to retain them as clients.”
He chuckles, shaking his head, processing and rejecting every layer of this lie with the condescension of a man who knows the truth, and the frustration of a man who can’t prove it.
“Miss Phelps, I will only say this once. Whatever it is that you’re doing with these people, you should stop. Your father’s career will be negatively affected. Not to mention your own career, your future, your entire life, for that matter.”
“Are you threatening me, Agent Smith?”
“Not at all. But you clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with. I warned you before. The Sokolov’s are dangerous Russian mobsters. They will kill anyone who stands in their way. They build their empires on the bones of innocent people. Corruption. Trafficking. Most of Chicago’s high crime rates occur because of them and the other mafia families. You have no business aligning with them.”
“As far as I’m concerned, all my work with Mr. Sokolov is legal and fully certified,” I reply. “It pertains to the financial sector. I have nothing to do with whatever it is that you’re accusing them of.”
“You keep telling those lies, Miss Phelps. Maybe somebody else will believe you.”
“Agent, I would appreciate it if you’d stop harassing me. Bringing my father into the conversation won’t yield the results you desire. He and I have nothing to do with each other when it comes to business. He’s in the political field, I’m in academics. I’m just a doctorate student trying to do my best with what I know.”
Smith curses under his breath and straightens himself, moving away from my car and coming closer toward me. Instantly, my muscles tighten and my temperature rises as I try to keep my composure.
“I know you know more than what you’re saying. One way or another, I’m going to take down those fuckers. Let’s get that clear right now, so there’s no misunderstanding later,” he says, giving me a hard, mean look. “Anyone who gets in my way will understand why it’s the worst fucking idea to mess with me. And I’m not a Supervisory Special Agent, anymore, Miss Phelps. You will address me as Director Smith from now on. I lead the Bureau’s field office in Chicago, and I’ve got my sights set on the Sokolov’s. They’re going to burn. You should be careful so you don’t end up burning with them.”
“That definitely sounded like a threat.”
“It isn’t. It’s a promise. Don’t fuck with me, Miss Phelps. Don’t get in my crosshairs, because not even your daddy will be able to save you if you do.” With that, Smith walks off, leaving me a quivering mess.
“Son of a…” I mumble, barely catching my breath as the adrenalin begins to wear off. My muscles turn to jelly. I’m sweating through every pore as I fumble through my coat pocket for the damned car keys.
My phone rings. It’s my father. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
He wants to meet with me.I jump in my car and drive to a café close to his campaign offices. I’d rather get this over with than postpone it, because there’s already enough tension in my life.
It’s not a coincidence that my father called on the same day that Smith showed up and Bowman’s assistant reached out. There’s a play happening here, and I need to be particularly careful with how I handle it.
I find my father sitting at a corner table, out of sight, sipping slowly from his cappuccino. He looks exhausted, shadows lurk under his eyes, and a three-day-old stubble grayer than the last time I saw him covers his jaw.
I guess it’s true what they say about politics eating people alive.
“Caffeine at this late hour?” I quip, taking my seat across the table from him.
“I have to be back in the office after this,” Dad says, eyeing me closely. “You don’t look so spry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I had a long day, that’s all.”
“I imagine you did. With a federal agent coming to see you.”
I stare at him for a long, heavy second. “You called right after he left. Did you have me followed, Dad?”
“Not followed. I just asked a few folks to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re okay.”
“You could’ve asked me,” I reply, anger sending a noticeable tremor through my voice. “What is going on here? What’s this whole cloak and dagger nonsense?”
“Cloak and dagger nonsense? Lyric, you’re the one associating with dangerous criminals! Did you think I wouldn’t hear about it?”
He’s furious. I see it now. Absolutely furious.
“I figured you would hear about it, but you don’t know all the facts yet,” I say. “I’m not associating with dangerous criminals.”
“You posted Sokolov’s bail.”
I roll my eyes and tell him the same thing I told Smith, though the lie does roll off a tad easier from my tongue the second time around. “So, you see, it’s nothing to worry about. All I did was give them their money back.”
My father studies my face with the curiosity of a mad scientist about to crack a body wide open, a muscle twitching furiously in his jaw. “You know the difference between Director Smith and me is that I raised you, right Lyric? I know you better than most. And I know I didn’t raise a bumbling idiot, so why are you trying to play one?”
“What do you mean?” I’d blush and take it as a compliment under different circumstances.
“There is something going on with you and the Sokolov’s, Lyric. I don’t know whether or not you’re engaging in some kind of liaison with one of them, or if it’s something else. But whatever it is, it needs to stop.”
“Dad, forgive me, but where do you get off telling me what I can and cannot do? I’m an adult.”
“Sooner or later, those bastards are going to get what they deserve. They will be arrested, and everyone around them is likely to go down with them. It’s part of my campaign promise. I intend to make it happen, and I’ve got Bowman and Smith’s support. The FBI is behind me on this, along with several other divisions of the Justice Department. Lyric, this will not end well for them, and I certainly don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. Do not let this moment of, let’s call it temporary insanity, steer you away from your true calling.”
I can’t help but scoff, shaking my head in disappointment. “Do you even know who it is you’re teaming up with? Do you have any idea as to who’s got your back or who the Sokolov’s really are? Because I’ve got a feeling that you’re just parroting popular campaign promises to get votes, but you don’t know what you’re truly signing up for.”
“And you do?” he laughs. “You, the kid who has her nose stuck in books and computer programs all day? I’ve been working in politics since you were a baby. I know more about this than you ever will, which is why I’m here talking to you. Father to daughter, adult to adult. Be reasonable.”
“I don’t think I’m the one who’s being unreasonable.”
Truth be told, I can’t trust my father. I understood that long before the Sokolov’s came along. He’s let me down in so many different ways over the years, especially after Mom died. This is just one of the many instances where I can see that we’re fundamentally different people.
“Lyric, I love you more than anything in this world,” he leans forward, a gentle gaze scanning my face. “I promised your mother I’d keep you safe. I offered you an opportunity to work with me, to stay close to me.”
“You just want to use my algorithm for your own political benefits. Please, don’t pull the Dad card. Like you said, I’m not a bumbling idiot.”
“Regardless of my reasons, you still have that choice,” he insists. “You can stay close to me, or you can pull yourself farther away. But I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like where the latter takes you, honey. And when the shitstorm that’s about to hit the Sokolov’s engulfs you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you out of it.”
I’ve had enough. It’s been a long day, made only longer and more insurmountable by unexpected interventions. The last thing I need right now is a lecture from a man whom I could never follow, whose example I was never inspired by, regardless of our blood ties and affections.
“Thank you for your concern,” I mutter and get up. “I’m going to go home now. Take care.”
“Lyric, don’t take it the wrong way.”
“How else am I supposed to take it?” I snap, drawing attention from other patrons. Curious eyes linger on us, making me uncomfortable. “You don’t think I’m capable of making sound decisions with my life unless it involves doing your bidding. Working for you, to be specific. Let’s just leave it at that, Dad. Have a great evening, and good luck with your campaign.”
“Lyric—”
He doesn’t get any more out of me. I’m out the door and fuming as I stalk back to my car and get behind the wheel. I’m starting to think that this is just part of the process. The payment for everything that I’ve been doing with Max, Ivan, and Artur is coming through. That must be what this is.
Smith has his eyes on me, he made that painfully clear.
And now my father is trying to meddle in my life as well.