Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Hopped up on adrenaline and luxury jet coffee, Nic took the stairs three at a time, up from his office to the federal courtrooms. He slammed through the door, sprinted down the hallway, and rounded the corner, spotting Lauren outside the grand jury room.
The sheer relief on her face when she saw him was almost comical, as was the swift shift to raging anger.
“When you’re done in there, we’re gonna talk. ”
“Already had the talk with Cam.” He jogged to a halt in front of her, adjusting the spare tie and suit he’d changed into on the plane. “Then I asked him to marry me.”
Lauren’s anger evaporated, giving way to an exaggerated whine. “Dude, that’s so not fair. I can’t be mad at you now.” She shoved a bulging bucket file at him. “Make good use of these and all will be forgiven.”
He riffled through each colored folder inside, thumbing through the stacks of paper. Smiling, he tucked the folder under his arm. “Thank you for this. Can you bring Cole up in twenty?”
“You laying it all out for them?”
He nodded. “Now or never.”
“I’ll bring him up in fifteen, just in case.”
She bolted for the stairs, determined. Similarly resolved and imbued with energy and confidence by the folder under his arm and Cam’s favorite tie around his neck, Nic knocked lightly at the grand jury room door.
The bailiff opened the door and Nic entered, just as Bowers stood to address the jurors.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I need to apologize on behalf of . . .” His words drifted off, noticing the jurors’ wandering attention.
“No apologies necessary, sir,” Nic said.
Bowers spun, black eyes boring into his, equal parts fury and fear. He had hoped Nic wouldn’t show. Had thought Nic had played right into his hands. But the very thing Bowers had counted on to discredit Nic—his relationship with Cam—was the reason Nic was here now.
To discredit him instead.
If Nic smirked a little, it couldn’t be helped.
Stepping fully into the room, he addressed the jurors. “Thank you for the extension of time.” He gestured with the folder. “I think you’ll find I’ve used it wisely.”
Bowers straightened his spine, feigning confidence as he shifted into arrogant boss mode. “Attorney Price,” he clipped. “We should go over what you have there before you present it to the jury.”
“No need, sir.” He crossed behind Bowers and dropped the file on the prosecutor’s desk. “Though, if you’ll stay, please.” He held a hand out toward the desk at the front of the room. “I’ll be calling you as a witness.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Lou, you.”
Bowers’s beady eyes darted back and forth between him and the jurors, none of whom looked surprised. Nic had already primed them for the case against the US Attorney, a possibility Bowers’s own ego prevented him from even considering.
“Pardon, Attorney Price,” the foreman interrupted. “But we have some questions for you first.”
Nic returned his attention to the jury. “Of course,” he said amiably.
His ego wasn’t so big that he didn’t expect to have to answer some questions too.
He’d rather get that out of the way now before presenting his case.
He had to win back the jury’s trust if he wanted to convince them of his arguments.
Smug, Bowers made a show of claiming the prosecutor’s desk all for himself, leaving the witness box for Nic. Fine by Nic. It was easier to speak directly to the jurors from there, and he often did so in these hearings.
“We received a letter from the target’s counsel accusing you of conflicts of interest and prosecutorial misconduct.”
“I’ve seen the letter,” he said with a nod. “Though it requires an update. Agent Byrne is no longer my boyfriend.”
“Curious time for a breakup,” Bowers remarked.
“Not a breakup.” Nic relaxed in the chair, hands folded in his lap, one leg crossed over the other, bouncing a little as he smiled. “He’s my fiancé now.”
Bowers had quite the opposite reaction, slamming his palm on the desk. “And that’s not a conflict of interest?”
“Attorney Bowers,” the foreman said. “This is Attorney Price’s case. I believe you’re here as a witness. Not to ask questions.”
“It’s no problem,” Nic said. “I came prepared to answer.” He rotated his chair slightly toward Bowers.
“The green folder, if you’d please,” he said with a nod to the bucket file on the table.
“I’m sorry these aren’t loaded on your tablets yet,” he told the jury.
“We didn’t have time.” And they didn’t want to give Bowers a heads-up as to their strategy either.
Bowers pulled out the designated folder, opened it, and flipped through the sheets of paper held together by a large binder clip. “These are letters from the other attorneys in our office.”
“And behind the second tab?” Nic said.
Bowers flipped farther back. “Letters from agents in the FBI field office.”
“Saying what?”
Bowers pressed his lips together, reluctant to answer.
“What do they say, Attorney Bowers?” the foreman pressed.
Bowers stood, shoved the papers back in the folder, and walked it over to the foreman. “That there’s been no evidence of unprofessional conduct between Attorney Price and Agent Byrne.”
Taking the folder, the foreman quickly reviewed the letters inside, before passing it down the row. “Those letters all say cases run more smoothly when Attorney Price and Agent Byrne work together.”
Bowers didn’t have a counterargument for the truth. Nic, however, needed to explain the truth further.
“The letter from Mr. Vaughn’s counsel is true in part.
” He rested his forearms on his knees, having a conversation with the jury.
Not testifying, not preaching, and certainly not raising his voice like Bowers was prone to do.
“Compared to other FBI agents I work with, I do know better how Agent Byrne thinks. I can anticipate his answers and strategies. Hell, I can finish his sentences. But that doesn’t disqualify him from being a witness in my cases.
Nor does it disqualify me from this one.
I just don’t have to prep him as much as I would any other witness.
He makes my—our—job easier. I also trust him to do his job because I trust him implicitly.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t have left him to rescue my sister while I’m here. ”
“What about the fact that this case involves your father?” Bowers said, standing once more.
“You have a vendetta against Mr. Vaughn. A personal stake in putting him behind bars. If he’s indicted and found guilty of the crimes on your charge sheet, the loans he made to your father would be fraudulent, would be wiped out, and your inheritance would be safe. ”
“One,” Nic said, ticking off with his fingers, “there’s nothing left for me to inherit, and I’m not seeking remuneration from Duncan Vaughn.
Only justice. Two”—he withdrew a folded sheet from inside his coat pocket—“this is a copy of the letter I previously presented to Mr. Vaughn’s attorney.
” Nic waited for the bailiff to hand it over to the foreman.
“If I do inherit anything, the proceeds will be donated to several charities. Organizations that help the sort of people my father abused. I do not want a cent of his money.”
Bowers sneered. “That’s a nice sob story.”
“I don’t want your pity either, Lou,” Nic sniped.
Then said more politely to the jury, “Or yours, respectfully. I just want to keep my family safe, along with what’s left of Harris Kincaid’s family, and all the other families and individuals Duncan Vaughn has threatened over the years.
He should be brought to justice, as should his associates who have abused the system in his name. ”
It took all Nic had not to glance at Bowers as he delivered that line. But it wasn’t Bowers he needed to convince. Bowers knew the truth of what he’d done. Nic’s job was to convince the jury, who, as they passed the various papers around, had begun to nod their heads.
“I’d like to proceed with my case,” he said, “as it’s time sensitive. But if you need to consider this matter further, we can take a recess.”
The foreman swiveled in his chair, canvassing the other jurors on whether they were ready to proceed. They all answered “yes.” The foreman rotated back around. “You’ve been nothing but by the book, Attorney Price. Please proceed. We’re eager to hear what you’ve got for us.”
“Thank you.” Standing, he stepped out from behind the witness desk and addressed the bailiff. “Agent Hall should be outside with my first witness, Special Agent Francis Cole.” While the bailiff retrieved Cole, Nic moved to stand behind the prosecutor’s table.
Bowers squirmed beside him. “If you’ve got this under control, then I’ll go.”
Nic lowered his voice for their ears only. “You do that, and I’ll make sure the bailiff blocks your exit.” He turned a shark’s grin on his boss. “Is your house in order as well as mine was, Lou? Or did I just take your house?”
Bowers blanched, sinking down into his chair while Nic remained standing, biting back his smile as the bailiff led in Agent Cole.
A half hour later, Bowers was even paler and damn near sweating.
Nic had systematically laid out the evidence against Cole—his presence on each compromised op, the mysterious injections of cash into his account, his intense interest in the case against Vaughn, and the calls Lauren had traced between Cole’s FBI-issued phone and another government-issued phone. Another of Vaughn’s moles.
“Who was on the other end of that line, Agent Cole?”
The young agent lowered his chin, eyes downcast, until they rose again and skipped past Nic to the other attorney at the prosecutor’s table. “The calls were with Attorney Bowers.”
Several jurors gasped. While Nic had prepared them for this possibility, it was another thing to have the reality confirmed, especially from someone outside Nic’s circle.
Two someones in fact.