Chapter 15
Fifteen
Nic sat behind the prosecutor’s desk and spread his hands over the wood, soaking up the quiet calm before the storm.
Not that there would be a full-blown storm here, not like in a normal courtroom.
There wasn’t a judge’s bench or jury box, no other table for the defense, and no peanut gallery full of spectators.
Hell, there wasn’t even a lectern. In this renovated grand jury suite, there were display screens behind a folding faux-wood wall, an L-shaped box for the court reporter and bailiff near the entry door, the prosecutor’s boxed desk on the opposite side of the room, and in the middle, at the front, a boxed desk where either he or his witness would sit when addressing the three elevated rows of federal grand jurors.
It was more like a classroom than a courtroom, and it reminded Nic of mock trials in law school or JAG court-martial proceedings.
He appreciated the changeup but only on occasion.
Grand jury proceedings were a double-edged sword.
Less adversarial, the prosecutor worked with the grand jury—no judge, opposing counsel, or defendant were usually present.
But the cases heard before the grand jury were not the sorts of high-stakes endeavors he’d want to regularly endure. So much more was on the line.
The click of the door’s electronic lock jostled Nic out of his thoughts.
Standing, he buttoned his gray suit coat and adjusted his blue tie as the bailiff ushered in the grand jurors.
Nic greeted them cordially, saying hellos and how are yous to the faces that had become familiar over the past few months.
They filed past with their case tablets in one hand and their beverage of choice—soda, water, tea, or coffee—in the other.
They were due hospitality and appreciation, no matter how they ruled.
They’d been accommodating with their time and attention, meeting on short notice when he needed them and handling the evidence in a professional and expeditious manner.
Today was the culmination of their work, and Nic wanted to do right by them as much as he wanted to do right by all those he was protecting by prosecuting Vaughn.
Once the jurors were settled with their tablets plugged in and the court reporter signaled ready, Nic nodded for the bailiff to close the door and start the session. The bailiff called them to order, then handed the proceeding off to Nic.
“For the record, Dominic Price, Assistant US Attorney for the Northern District of California. I have called this federal grand jury to assess the merits of the case, the United States versus Duncan Vaughn and related entities.” Nic strolled to the center of the room and rested back against the witness desk.
“Now that that’s done, thank you all for coming in on such short notice and for your continued service.
We’ve seen a rapid mobilization of this matter in the last week, including two suspicious deaths.
Time is of the essence before more crimes are committed and more lives lost.
“With your help issuing warrants earlier in the week, we’ve made significant progress on the case.
Today I intend to present evidence and testimony supporting the issuance of indictments based on the charge sheets you’ll find on your tablets.
” He waited for the tap-tap-tap of nails and pens to quiet, the appropriate documents on everyone’s screens.
“The US government aims to indict Duncan Vaughn, his affiliate enterprises, and his associates identified on the charge sheets with racketeering, bank, loan, and wire fraud, witness tampering, assault and battery, conspiracy to commit murder, and murder.”
“There’s a charge sheet for your boss, US Attorney Bowers,” the jury foreman said.
“And for an FBI agent,” added another juror.
“Hence the reason I brought this case before you, the federal grand jury. We’re avoiding a public hearing to one, make sure it’s in the best interest of the people to bring this case, and two, because we’re dealing with several high-profile individuals and very sensitive legal and financial matters.
“Duncan Vaughn is an influential local investor. Implicated in his operation are multiple federal, state, and municipal employees. Before charging these individuals, before uprooting their lives and their companies and agencies, we want to be sure the evidence meets the highest standards justice requires. You, the federal grand jury for Northern California, are charged with protecting the people of this district and the United States. This falls under your purview.”
Realizing the true enormity of the case, some of the jurors appeared understandably cautious and apprehensive, but an equal number sat up straighter, features determined. Nic was likewise determined to have them all looking that way when he was finished today.
“I’d like to start by calling Elton Moore, Assistant Director of the FBI for Northern California.
” The bailiff stood and opened the door to the holding room.
Walking confidence in a tailored navy suit, El flashed his smile at the jurors, shook Nic’s hand, and slid into the witness box like he owned it.
Which he did over the next ninety minutes, working with Nic to guide the jurors through the full case background—displaying timelines on the wall screens, laying out Vaughn’s organization, and detailing the FBI’s efforts up to last week.
By the time he was done, Nic understood how El had scaled the FBI ladder so fast. He was concise, clear, and charming as hell.
He had the jury eating out of his palm, the background set up and the bases loaded for Cam and Lauren to knock it out of the park.
Cam’s dark gaze was carefully neutral as he entered the room.
A voice in the back of Nic’s head had warned him that maybe this suit and tie—Cam’s favorite—wasn’t the best idea today.
Too distracting, too on the nose. A louder voice, however, had shouted that it was exactly the confidence boost they needed to tackle this as a team.
Together. The louder voice had been right.
Cam took a seat in the witness box, their gazes briefly locked, and they were instantly on the same page. The both of them at their best.
Their back-and-forth was easy as they explained the past week’s developments, walking the jurors through crime scene photos, toxicology results, biometric readings, and interrogation transcripts.
Charming in a different way than Moore, Cam wasn’t slick or polished.
He was your next-door neighbor, your average everyday FBI agent—granted, an assistant special agent in charge, but he’d been the one putting in the work on the ground—at the crime scenes and at the interrogations.
And his experience dealing with kidnap and rescue cases, with grieving families, translated amazingly well to the courtroom, giving him the patience and ability to speak in plain English that Nic would readily admit was often lost on lawyers and higher-ups.
The jurors asked questions about the evidence, about the interrogations and conversations Cam had overheard and relayed—because hearsay was not prohibited in this context—and about the inferences they drew.
Nic gave Cam the floor. Tying A to B to C was more convincing from him—the investigator explaining the facts and helping the jurors make the connections.
Not the attorney trying to manipulate the facts or sway the jury to his position.
Sometimes Nic had to do that if a witness wasn’t convincing or if the evidence wasn’t strong enough, but in this case, while there was no smoking gun, the way Cam plainly put what they did have all together made it seem a near thing.
Lauren got them that much closer. Nic had contemplated putting her on the stand before Cam, but right after the lunch break, with the food coma and multiple hours of testimony taking their toll, Lauren was the shot of energy and humor he needed to keep the jurors engaged.
She was a bit over the top at first, but Nic got her settled and got her explaining the financial and document trails that Duncan and Bowers had left behind.
If a juror had a question, she had an analogy or pop culture reference that made the complicated soup of numbers and transactions relatable, the jurors nodding their heads along with her.
She magically made the sea of bank statements and spreadsheets comprehensible.
When she finished, Nic offered the jurors a short break, but the foreman, after a quick survey of the jurors, declined.
“We’ve just got a few follow-up questions for you, Attorney Price.
I don’t think a break is necessary. Time is of the essence.
You made that clear in your opening, and it came across clear in the presentation as well.
” That sounded promising. It had not been something he’d mentioned directly after that first statement, but the fast-moving developments were impossible to miss. As was the need for action.
“I’m happy to answer any questions you have.” Rather than sit behind the desk in the witness box, he swung the chair around and sat closer to the front row, emphasizing that this was a conversation.
“It’s about US Attorney Bowers. Your boss.”
Nic unbuttoned his coat and rested an ankle on his knee. He had to play this cool. Impartial. Not like the put-upon, frequently hamstrung subordinate who’d been under Bowers’s dirty thumb for years.
“Indictments against Duncan Vaughn are one thing,” a juror said. “Against a US Attorney are another.”
“I completely agree,” Nic said. “I don’t introduce the prospect lightly.
I know the oaths and obligations of attorneys practicing at the USAO—I made them and accepted them myself—and that’s precisely why I’ve proposed indictments against Attorney Bowers.
He’s lost sight of those oaths and obligations. He’s compromised.”
“The evidence does seem to indicate that,” the foreman said. “If we assume he is, why do you think Bowers is working for Vaughn?”
“Speculation. I can’t answer that.” He could personally, but not professionally.
The foreman smiled, one hand raised in concession. “I had to try to ask.” Nic chuckled, as did the other jurors. “Let me try it this way,” the foreman persisted. “Why would you do something like that? What would you risk your career and freedom for?”
Not to climb the political ladder, was on the tip of Nic’s tongue, but he bit it back.
That would be as good an answer as any to the foreman’s original question, and it would be speculation Bowers could later argue in a case against him.
Nic had to answer for himself, truly, and let the jurors draw their inferences from there.
He grabbed his shin, stopping his foot from bouncing.
“I’d like to think I wouldn’t do it under any circumstances.
This”—he gestured at the room around them—“is too valuable to me. As is my reputation as someone who upholds and protects the law. And so too is my other job, my home, and my family.” He had jobs and a life he wouldn’t want to compromise, but .
. . “I think the only reasons I’d consider breaking my oaths would be to protect my family or someone I loved. ”
“Attorney Bowers could learn from you,” one of the other jurors said. “About reputation and how to get it the right way.”
Nic bowed his head, the compliment meaning more than he could say.
At the same time, he didn’t want to compromise the case.
This wasn’t about picking favorites; he didn’t want it to seem that way.
But it was rewarding as hell to have someone impartial commend him for doing his job, the thing Bowers was daily threatening and telling him he didn’t know how to do. “I appreciate that,” he said sincerely.
“So do we.” The foreman closed his tablet and tucked the stylus in its elastic loop. “We’ll get back to you quickly, Attorney Price.”
“Thank you.”
Nic stood as the bailiff led the jurors out, back into their holding room.
Then Nic exited and met up with the rest of his team in the lobby. “Good job, everyone.”
“We should be telling you that,” Moore said, hand outstretched. “Damn impressive, as always. You are by far the easiest AUSA to work with on the stand.”
“He’s right,” Cam said. “You don’t try and move us. You nudge maybe, one direction or the other as far as what part of the story to tell, but you let us tell it.”
“You’re all professionals. You know what you’re doing.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Lauren said, shrugging one shoulder. “But it was a lot less scary than I thought it would be.”
“You did great,” Nic said with a smile. “Though it won’t always be that easy, especially when there’s a cross-examination.”
She flailed her arms dramatically. “Now you tell me.”
“Moore was right,” Cam said after the AD and Lauren left, headed back to the FBI’s floor. “That was damn impressive.” He stepped closer, a growl in his voice. “Seeing you in that suit in action makes me want to take you home and show you just how sexy you are.”
“Do you have a suit porn fetish, Agent Byrne?”
“No, I have a you fetish, Attorney Price.”
“Later, Boston. We have some work to do first.”
“Sooner, Price,” Cam argued, dark eyes swirling with intensity. “Much sooner if I have anything to say about it.”
A commotion at the stairwell broke their heated stare-down. On the other side of the security guard, Nic spied a panicked Garrett with bruises and bandages on his face. What the fuck had he missed while locked in that courtroom?
“He’s clear,” Nic called to the guard. “He’s with us.” The guard stepped out of the way, and Garrett charged over. “What’s happened?” Nic asked, dreading the answer.
His instincts weren’t wrong. “Lette’s gone.”