Chapter 9
Nine
Biometric readings were a no-go for Vaughn’s interview.
Too many people in and out of the interrogation room.
Nic had worried that might be the case. Inside, he and Cam sat across from Vaughn and his attorney, Carl Patton.
Contrary to his insistence yesterday, Bowers decided to stand on the other side of the glass in the observation room with Aidan, Jamie, Lauren, and El.
Nic suspected his boss had remembered the capabilities of this room or had been reminded of such by someone—Vaughn’s FBI mole—and wanted to overhear the analysis.
Nic wouldn’t have that, nor would he further remind Bowers of the full capabilities of Holding Room Two, in case Bowers might be in here for questioning one day soon.
“Dom,” Vaughn started once they were all situated. “You look refreshed for having had such a late night. Your partner is good for you.”
He cast a significant glance toward Cam, making it clear he knew they were more than colleagues.
That Cam was important to him. They hadn’t hidden it, and after stepping out of the house together and being captured on the morning news, everyone knew it.
Right then, Nic couldn’t help but wonder whether they should have kept things hidden until this was over, whether he should have taken that job in San Diego, whether he should have gotten involved with Cam at all. It wasn’t fair to put him at risk.
But then Cam shifted next to him, fire in his eyes and a not-so-subtle threat in his voice. “And it’d be good for you if you’d refer to the AUSA as Attorney Price.”
Vaughn backed off. “Of course, Agent Byrne.”
Cameron Byrne could take care of himself just fine. And he was the partner Nic needed, personally and professionally.
Back on steady ground, Nic relaxed back in his chair, unbuttoning his suit coat. “We have some questions for you.”
Vaughn spread his hands in invitation. “I’m an open book.”
Hardly.
With so many closed doors, Nic had a hard time choosing which one to knock on first. He and Cam had gone over several scenarios last night.
Nic decided to go right for the one at the end of the hall, to the heart of what he suspected this was all about.
And because he wanted to start by knocking Vaughn off balance.
“What was your relationship with Victoria Scott?”
Vaughn’s eyes flared before they narrowed and the corners of his mouth tightened, like he was holding back a curse or a gasp.
Bingo.
When he didn’t speak, his attorney did for him. “What does this have to do with the warrant executed on Mr. Vaughn?”
From the evidence box on the floor between them, Cam withdrew a handful of the pictures from the lockbox they’d seized and spread them out on the table. “These were found at Mr. Vaughn’s residence.”
“She was a childhood friend,” Vaughn said, voice measured, flat.
“Whom you kept pictures of until she was in her thirties?”
“She was my best friend.”
No inflection but by the twitch of his fingers, the start of the motion to curl them into a fist, aborted as soon as he realized what he was doing, Nic was more sure than ever that Victoria was the reason they were all here.
He pushed the door open some more. “I heard tell you wanted more.”
Patton cleared his throat. “Again, I ask, what does this have to do with the investigation into my client?”
“Establishing motive.”
“Motive for what?”
Nic answered but kept his eyes locked on Vaughn, watching for any reaction, any other tells that escaped Vaughn’s control. “The murder of Curtis Price.”
Vaughn spread his hand on the desk, fighting that fist. “Your father died of a heart attack.”
“Did he?”
Patton jumped in again. “Your warrants also state Mr. Vaughn is under suspicion for an overly broad list of financial crimes.”
“Curtis Price was also a victim of those,” Cam replied.
Vaughn spoke directly to Nic. “Your father was a terrible businessman.”
“Duncan,” Patton warned.
“The deeds of trust are on record, Patton.” He waved his other hand in the air like he was swatting at a gnat. He probably did view his attorneys that way, convinced they were a necessary evil. “Yes, I made a loan to him.”
“And when he didn’t pay,” Cam said, “you made threats against him and Attorney Price to collect.”
“His word against my client’s,” Patton argued. Then to Nic, “And you should be recused. You stand to benefit if your father’s debts to Mr. Vaughn are excused.”
This was one of the scenarios Cam had thrown at him last night.
As a result, Nic was prepared, and Cam knew it too, shifting back in his chair, smiling at the trap Patton had stepped into.
Nic bit back his own, barely, as he pulled a folded paper out of his jacket pocket.
“A pledge.” He set the unfolded sheet on top of the photos.
“Any money I receive from my father’s estate will go to pay his debts that are deemed legal.
If any money is left over, I’ll donate it to the Trevor Project and to RAINN. ”
Patton snatched up the document while Vaughn tilted his head, considering him with assessing eyes.
“So you know the kind of man your father was?”
“The fact I thought the Navy during Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was a better place for my gay eighteen-year-old self than my own home should answer that question.
” He leaned forward, forearms on the table.
“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, with your attorney present, I don’t want a cent of Curtis’s money. There’s no conflict of interest.”
Picking up the serve Nic had lobbed, Cam got them back on track, likewise homing in on Vaughn’s motives. “Did you loan money to Mr. Price with a plan to ruin him for stealing Victoria Scott from you?”
Vaughn couldn’t stop the fist from forming this time. “She wasn’t mine to steal.”
“Answer the question,” Cam pressed.
“I did not,” Vaughn snapped. “We’re in the same business—real estate investment. I made him several loans, one businessman to another.”
“Even though you didn’t think highly of him as a businessman?”
“He needed a bailout,” Vaughn said. “I could provide it.”
It was a weak comeback and not a refutation of the argument. Patton knew it. Point for Cam as pride swelled in Nic.
And the agent had another teed up to go too. Reaching into the box again, Cam righted himself with two evidence bags, the pistols thumping on the table as they landed. “Do you provide guns too, Mr. Vaughn?”
“All of my client’s firearms are licensed,” Patton replied.
Cam tucked the bag tight around the weapon, the plastic stretched over the barrels. “Even these with the scratched-out serial numbers?” He pushed the bags farther across the table.
“Those are not Mr. Vaughn’s weapons.”
“I’ll admit that your client’s fingerprints are not on them,” Cam said. “They’re wiped clean. But they were collected from his office.”
Patton angled toward Vaughn. “How many other people are in your office each day?”
“At least a half dozen.”
“We’ll need their names.”
“We can provide that,” Vaughn replied.
“Who among them would be likely to use illegal weapons with their serial numbers scratched out?” Cam asked.
Vaughn shrugged. “I can’t control the weapon of choice of everyone who walks into my office.”
“You sure?” Cam said. “Desert Eagles seem to be popular.”
“I can’t imagine who you’re talking about, but I can assure you, whoever used or owned those guns”—he nodded toward the table—“they’re not on my payroll.”
“Let’s talk about that,” Nic said, reentering the fray. “We have money running from accounts that trace to you or your companies to at least seven different municipal employees.”
“Investors.” Vaughn sat back, crossing one leg over the other, looking intrigued. Or maybe relieved that Nic had chosen another door to open.
“Try again,” Nic said, determined to make him second-guess that relief. “There are no registered investments to these people.”
Everyone startled as a commotion erupted on the other side of the glass.
Just as Nic had intended. This line of questioning, this door, wasn’t only meant for Vaughn’s ears. The noise quieted and Nic prompted Vaughn for a response again. “Do you have an explanation?”
“Not every investment has to be registered, Attorney Price,” Patton replied. “I’m sure you know that. And dividends pay out regularly.”
“That’s correct,” Vaughn said.
“Lump sum payments, though, other than on a sale or IPO, that’s less common, wouldn’t you both agree?”
The door opened behind them. “Attorney Price,” Bowers barked. “A word, please.”
Vaughn didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “Problem, Dom?”
Nic pushed to his feet, with an “Excuse me” to Vaughn and Patton and a look at Cam, which the agent correctly read.
“I’ll stay.” Neither of them wanted to leave Vaughn and Patton alone in the room to confer. Granted, they had the right to ask for that, but if they weren’t asking, Nic didn’t want to give them the opportunity.
Nic barely left the room before Bowers jumped down his throat. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, loud enough for the whole bullpen to hear.
And loud enough to draw Aidan out of the observation room. Good, another attorney, another witness. “Let’s go to my office.”
Neither he nor Aidan gave Bowers the opportunity to object, heading in the direction of Aidan’s office and assuming Bowers would follow. Aidan closed the door and Bowers started right back in on where he’d left off. “Do you actually have anything, Price?”
“Enough that I got a warrant.”
“Who do the accounts trace to?”
“Not you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He probably should have held that for another time, played the card when the timing was exactly right, but after twenty minutes of cat and mouse with Vaughn, his exhausted patience and Bowers’s righteousness got the better of him.
Bowers’s beady black eyes looked like they would pop out of his head. “What did you just say?”
“Oh, you heard me.”
He chose not to respond, deflecting the blame and accusations back on Nic. “You’re leading a witch hunt out of my office.”
“The witches were innocent, sir,” Aidan said with a smirk. “Duncan Vaughn is not. Are you?”
Aidan’s utter smugness, his going along with Nic’s play, tamped down Nic’s own frustration. Two against one, and they had Bowers and this case in hand.
“As I mentioned before,” Nic said, “the Deputy AG reviewed all of this and signed off on the warrants.”
“As did AD Moore,” Aidan added. “The FBI has been building this case for some time.”
“Well, I sure hope you have more than what you’ve put on display today. It might have been enough to convince our bosses and get warrants out of the grand jury, but indictments?” Bowers scoffed, hands on his hips. “There’s no smoking gun. You can’t win without.”
Nic straightened and stepped forward, towering over Bowers. “I’ve won plenty of cases with less.”
“But do you want to lose this one?”
Fair question. But before he could give Bowers credit, the US Attorney began digging his grave again, fishing for himself and for the man who was truly his boss. “What else do you have?”
“We’re still processing the evidence collected in yesterday’s seizures and at Harris Kincaid’s house last night.”
Bowers blanched. “What did you collect from Kincaid? I want to see it, right this minute.”
Nic took a step back, buttoning his coat again. “Respectfully, sir, I have my target in Agent Talley’s interrogation room. The evidence has been vetted. Now I’m going to go ask the man it’s concerning what it’s about. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the Deputy AG.”
Aidan opened the door, making it clear this conversation was over, and Bowers charged out, to the elevators instead of the observation room.
Probably to call the Deputy AG. That call wasn’t going to go the way he planned at all.
On their way back across the bullpen, Aidan voiced what they both had deduced from that showdown. “He was fishing.”
“And he caught a shark that’s going to take his line.”
Crinkles formed at the corners of Aidan’s warm brown eyes dancing with amusement. “Would that be you or Duncan?”
Nic returned the sly smile, barely tucking it away before Aidan opened the interrogation room door for him. “As you were, Attorney Price.”
Nic slid back into his seat, begging the room’s pardon.
“Everything okay, Dom?”
“Better than okay, Duncan.”
Patton interrupted their stare-down. “Do you have proof those deposits actually trace to Mr. Vaughn?”
“Enough that the grand jury granted us warrants.”
“If that’s all—”
Nic reached into the box, claiming the stack of deeds, and placed all but one of them on the table in the spot Cam had cleared for him. “Curious that you also have unrecorded mortgages from at least three of those investors.”
“Were you going to record them,” Cam asked, “if they got behind on their payments?”
“Don’t answer that,” Patton said.
Nic laid down the last sheet of paper. “Even more curious, this reconveyance to Beth Kincaid was drafted before her husband’s death. It would wipe out the debt on their house completely. Have you ever forgiven a family member’s loan before?”
Vaughn remained silent, no longer happy with the line of questioning behind this particular door.
“Or is this what you used to convince Harris Kincaid to kill himself?”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Patton rocketed to his feet. “We’re done here.”
Vaughn, however, remained seated. “He killed himself. You just said that. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
Nic leaned forward, adding a thumb drive to the stack. “On the contrary.” He tapped the drive. “You visited Harris hours before his suicide. You showed him that reconveyance and made him a bargain he couldn’t refuse. He killed himself because you didn’t give him another choice.”