I Go Where He Goes
It was bound to happen. Nic was honestly surprised it had taken this long. That Justice, under its current leadership, hadn’t already found—or fabricated—a reason to get rid of him.
Aidan shifted forward in the chair beside him, resting his forearms on the table in Holding Room Two. “Did anyone actually see Attorney Price assault you?” he asked the visiting Assistant US Attorney across from them.
“A conference room full of agents and attorneys.”
“And yet,” Cam said from Nic’s other side, “none of them have come forward to offer statements on your behalf.”
“Conversely,” Aidan continued, “we do have statements from those same people that you were screaming in a subordinate’s face and that when you moved in a threatening manner toward her, Attorney Price intervened.”
“He slammed me to the ground!” the AUSA whined.
“Hardly,” Executive Assistant Director Moore scoffed behind them. “He tactically incapacitated you before you ended your own career by assaulting a fellow employee. He did you a favor.”
“If Attorney Price had intended to slam you to the ground,” Aidan said, the impression so uncanny that Nic was reminded again of the SAC’s past undercover exploits, “you’d be in the hospital and not sitting across from us.”
The Associate Attorney General mediating this dispute, which had broken out over how hard to press a witness in what could only be described as a political prosecution that Nic wanted nothing to do with, shifted in his chair toward the AUSA—aka Asshole Attorney in Nic’s head.
Before the Associate AG could speak, though, their visitor withdrew a photo from his briefcase and tossed it onto the table.
Pictured was Nic at the San Francisco Pride Parade two years ago, dressed in his pink fridge vest and skinny jeans, hand in hand with his husband in his Bi and Badass tee and ripped jeans with his rainbow-tipped hair.
Beside him, Cam stiffened, and Nic was angry that the bigoted asshole across from them was taking one of the best days of his life, of his and Cam’s marriage, and using it against them.
What Nic wasn’t, though, was embarrassed or the least bit chastened.
He laid a hand on Cam’s thigh and infused his voice with all the pride he’d felt that day. “That’s me and my husband.”
“This”—the AUSA poked violently at the photo—“violates the department’s code of conduct.”
Nic was tempted to reply which part? but settled for, “It didn’t then.”
“Do you pledge to never do it again?”
“Absolutely not. That”—he said with a nod at the picture he wanted to steal and frame—“is me exercising my First Amendment rights.”
“Look, Nic,” the Associate AG said. “These are serious charges.”
“Potential charges,” Aidan corrected.
“Trumped-up ones,” Cam muttered, and Nic suspected he meant in all the ways. “God forbid your best US Attorney be gay.”
“Or a proponent of the First Amendment,” Aidan added.
“Or victims’ rights,” El chimed in.
“Resign,” the AUSA snapped. “Resign, and I won’t press charges.”
And there it was, the inevitable Nic had seen coming.
But unlike other upheavals in his life, this one wasn’t accompanied by dryness in his mouth or heat prickling his skin.
Instead, a wave of sorrow crashed over him—for the unraveling of the fabric of justice, the dismantling of the ideals he’d given thirty-plus years of his life for, as a soldier, a JAG, then a federal prosecutor.
Then, on the other side of that cresting wave of sadness was relief.
The chance to get out from under a regime, an agenda so at odds with everything he stood for.
To do something to fight against the further unraveling of the rule of law he’d sworn to uphold and of the country and its people he’d spent his entire adult life protecting.
“Is VERA still on the table?” he asked.
Technically, the voluntary early retirement program had closed months ago, but Nic was sure Asshole Attorney was connected enough—and wanted him gone enough—to make it happen.
Sure enough. “One day only. Take it or leave it.”
“You can make that happen?”
A few texts later, the AUSA slid his phone across the table. “It’s done,” he said as Nic read the confirmation himself. “You and any of your ilk,” he added with a sneer directed at Aidan and Cam on either side of him.
“I’ve got it on tape,” Lauren said through the comm in Nic’s ear, and Nic glanced at the Associate AG, who nodded, giving his confirmation as well.
Nic bit back his threatening smirk as he held out a hand to Cam, who withdrew several sheets of folded paper from his coat pocket. He handed the first to Nic.
“My letter of resignation,” Nic said as he flattened and pushed it across the table. The AUSA’s victorious smile only lasted as long as it took Nic to lay the second sheet of paper on the table. “If you ever pay those benefits out, this is where they should go.”
“The Talley Foundation? What kind of bullshit is this?”
“I am an immigrant,” Aidan said as he placed his own letter of resignation atop Nic’s and unfurled his full Irish accent.
“My family immigrated here to escape domestic terrorists and religious zealots. I am done watching and aiding your cruel and illegal campaign to use those same tactics against our country and the people in it. I’ve still got a law degree.
I’m going to put it to better use protecting our democracy and everyone in it. ”
El reached over Aidan’s shoulder, gold band with its etched grape leaves twinkling on his ring finger, and added his resignation letter to the pile.
“I couldn’t agree more, which is why I’ve agreed to serve as the Foundation’s executive director.
” He loosed his gleaming politician’s smile.
“This ‘DEI hire’ will see you on the Hill, lobbying for the people.”
“And you?” Asshole Attorney sniped at Cam.
Leaning forward, Cam laid his resignation on the stack, then rested back in his chair, stretching one arm behind Nic and crossing the other in front of him to clasp Nic’s hand. “I go where he goes.”
A snide this is what real partnership looks like was on the tip of Nic’s tongue, but the words were stolen by the lump in his throat that formed when the door opened, and a line of attorneys and agents passed through to lay their letters atop his and Cam’s.
The lump grew bigger as Lauren added her resignation to the stack and moved to stand beside El behind him, followed by Marsh and Levi, SAC Kwan, Matty fucking Kim, Jazz Hands, and Farmer, and from the other coast, Charlotte Henby, another friend and the Bureau’s star organized crime SAC.
She was at the top of her game, as were all these attorneys and agents, his friends and family, his community, who were making a stand with him.
Whose names he would ink on his skin like he had his SEAL teammates who hadn’t left him behind.
Jamie was the last of his family to crowd into the packed room.
He had no resignation to give, years retired from the FBI, but the former baller and current coach brought juice of a different kind.
“And I’ll be making very public matching donations to the Foundation.
” He lowered himself into Aidan’s lap, and the simmering outrage on the AUSA’s face dissolved the lump in Nic’s throat, his laughter bubbling up and out.
Outrage boiled over. “This is un-Amer—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Marsh drawled in his deep Texas accent. “Everyone in this room has served their country, and many of us are decorated military veterans, including Attorney Price.”
“This wasn’t what I intended.”
“Funny thing that with your lot,” Nic said as he leaned more fully into Cam’s side. “You never think about the long game.”
“You can’t do this.”
“You want to go to war with us?” came Mel’s voice from the doorway, her shoulder leaned against the jamb, and Nic mentally thanked her for getting all their friends and family here in such short order.
“You planned this,” the AUSA seethed.
“Yes,” Nic said. “Because I was the best US Attorney that Justice had, and I did think of the long game. I knew it was only a matter of time before you went after one of us.”
“And if one of us goes,” Aidan said, “we all go.”
“We were ready,” Cam agreed as he bumped his free fist against Jamie’s.
From over Cam’s shoulder, Matt slung a business card the AUSA’s direction, hitting the asshole square in the forehead.
It landed on the table, face up: Rook Private Security.
“They’re protected, if you and your boss even think of pulling some wannabe mobster bullshit.
I’m from New York and worked in Boston. I know how real gangsters—and grifters—work. ”
“And if that doesn’t convince you . . .” came the icy sharp voice of Hawes Madigan from beside Mel in the doorway.
He didn’t need to say more.
Asshole Attorney paled, and the Associate AG quickly rose, knowing the game was up. “I believe we’re done here.”
With his friends and family at his back, his husband by his side, Nic’s heart was full of love and pride, his soul filled with relief and purpose. He finally let his smirk loose.
“On the contrary—we’re just getting started.”