33. Sebastian
Chapter 33
Sebastian
T he drive home was a blur; there was something off about that paperwork. About the whole thing, really. Throughout the rest of dinner, my grandfather and that James guy sat and talked like I wasn’t even there. My stomach still pinched with anxiety as I pulled into the parking lot and let myself into my loft.
I hadn’t been inside for more than five minutes when my phone rang. It was late at this point, and my mind immediately went to a dark place where maybe my sister was hurt, I hadn’t heard from her in a week or so. But it was Fletcher’s name that graced my phone screen. He never called me, especially this late. Sure, he was my best friend, but we mainly expressed our deep friendship in memes and random lunch outings. We didn’t really call each other.
I’m sure I sounded hesitant when I picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“We need to talk.”
I paused, my mind immediately racing with the possibilities, noticing the tense tone in his voice. “About what?”
Silence fell on his end as if he was contemplating what to tell me, even though he had been the one to call me.
“I don’t want to say it on the phone. Can I come over?” His baritone voice was quiet across the line. I took a moment to pull the phone away to look at the time; it was past 10:00 pm.
“Yeah, that's fine.”
“I’ll be there in ten.” The call went dead, the beep telling me that he had hung up. Sighing deeply, I ran my hand down my face, the thundercloud of emotions from the long day eating me alive as I slowly processed everything that had happened, how Georgia had happened.
Fuck. I was so fucked. It was working, wasn’t it? The sex, the work; I was up by over 23%, which might not seem like a lot, but it was even more than when Natalie and I had collaborated. What was it about her? Why did my skin seem to light up on fire whenever she touched me? Why was it hard to breathe when she was around?
And why couldn’t I forget the way her touch felt, or the way she felt wrapped around me in the still of the night?
I had never been in love before, and I hadn’t planned to start now. Love was never something on my mind; I had so much to do and so many people to take care of already that the thought of adding another to that list made my head hurt.
But it was like Georgia had wrapped herself around my heart and refused to let go. And despite everything, I yearned for her. Not just her body or those sweet sounds she made when I finally slipped inside of her but the way she laughed, the way her hair smelled when I kissed her neck, and even the cat that I had somehow weaseled into good graces with.
Exactly ten minutes had passed when I heard a loud knock on my door, drawing me from my thoughts as I unlocked it and a harried Fletcher slipped in without so much of a hello.
“What is so important that you need to talk to me tonight?” I demanded, locking the door behind him just as quickly as to ward out the cold November air that seemed to seep in through the cracks of the old building.
Fletcher looked around, sweeping the area with an undeniable tension lining his features. “No one else is here, right?”
I drew my arms out. “No, there is no one else here at ten at night, Fletch. What the fuck is going on? ”
Instead of answering me, the tall brunette took off his jacket and gestured to the seat next to him as he sat.“Sit down.”
Narrowing my eyes, I sat, leaning forward on my elbows and fixing him with a hard stare. “What the fuck is going on, Thomas?”
His Adam's apple bobbed at the way I said his first name; the only time I tended to do so was when I was mad at him. He and his father shared the same last name, and there was no love lost between the two.
“I have something to tell you, and I’m not sure how you’ll react.”
Well, this wasn’t off to the best start. I was silent, urging Fletcher to continue but refusing to speak again until he revealed why he had shown up at my house like he did.
Slowly, Fletcher reached a hand into his inside coat pocket and withdrew something flat. Without another word he set it down on the table, pushing it towards me.
I hesitated, watching him carefully as I turned over the object and going pale as it was revealed to be a badge—a U.S. Marshals badge, to be more precise.
“What the fuck is this, Fletcher?” I asked softly and with steel in my voice as the glint of the golden badge glared off of the overhead lighting in my dining room.
“I took a position with the U.S. Marshals over three years ago.” He paused, the muscle in his jaw working as he considered me across the table. “I’ve been assisting on an inside mission to uncover wire fraud, money laundering, racketeering, and coercion.”
Sitting back and trying not to look as affected as I was, I just focused on my breathing as more and more information assaulted me. With everything that had occurred in the past forty-eight hours, I wasn’t sure if I could be surprised or attacked any more than I had been.
I had been wrong.
“Fletcher, you have been working for my grandfather for well over a year.” It was like I was reminding myself, not him.
With that, my best friend leaned over and drew in a deep breath. “I have been. But I also have been working as an undercover agent as a witness in the case of the U.S. Federal Treasury against The Quinn Foundation.” He said it in one breath, with his grey eyes locked on mine as if he wanted to make sure that it hit home.
“What the fuck do you mean?” I felt my hands turn into fists as the air stole from my lungs. “Explain it to me like I’m fucking five.”
Thomas Fletcher II had the decency to look apologetic as he ran a hand through his hair. “Seb, your grandfather has been on the government's radar for well over ten years, but he’s smart and made the right connections so that we could never bring a suit against him. Nothing concrete, at least. When the agency found out about my connection?—”
I stood quickly before I even realized what I was doing as my chair skidded against the old wood floors. “Connection? You mean your friendship with me, you fucking asshole?”
Fletcher didn’t rise to meet me; he only kept his demeanor calm and collected as he raised his hands. “Yes. Our friendship. They knew that we were friends and that it would be easy to get myself into his organization, and it wouldn’t raise suspicions if I were suddenly around.” He set his hands back down on the table as I let my fists uncurl beside me. “Coming back home after three years, getting a job with my old college roommate? It was easy to explain. I wouldn’t have to assimilate my way into the community; I was already a part of it.”
I deflated, my body falling back into my chair. It was as if my body couldn’t take any more hurt or betrayal than it had been subjected to in the last few days.
“What do you want, Fletcher?” Deep down, I knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t something that I could give him. Not without hurting my family. Fuck my grandfather. I couldn’t care less about that old man. But Maria? And had I seen anything or anything that could implicate me in any way?
What shocked me more was that I wasn’t shocked. The fact that my grandfather was under the microscope of the U.S. Treasury Department was the least shocking piece of information I’d had all day. It was then that I remembered the manila envelope in my bag that was currently hanging on a hook near the door. I hadn’t even had a chance to open it to review the details, to confirm my suspicions.
“You saw your grandfather and a man named James Erkharst of Erkharst Earnings Group this evening, didn’t you?” His voice was matter-of-fact; it wasn’t really a question but more of a confirmation.
I bit the inside of my lip so hard I tasted blood. “And how would you know that, Fletch?”
“So you did?”
I huffed and pushed away from the table, silently cursing my family, my parentage, and the circumstances that had led me here. Feeling Fletcher’s eyes on my back, I pulled the leather portfolio from my back and gripped it tightly as I sat down. His gaze flickered to the portfolio like he already knew what was in it.
“Were you tailing me?” I asked seriously, watching for the stupid tell he had when he was lying; his eye would twitch slightly as if his body was physically against the lies he would push from his lips. But of course, I hadn’t caught him lying to me for the past two years, so he must have gotten better at hiding it.
He shook his head, his facial expression stony. “No, we were tailing Erkharst.” I nodded, believing him at least. The restaurant hadn’t been full, but it wasn’t like we were the only people there. It was believable. And he had already told me more than enough for me to deck him, so there was no reason for him to stop now.
“Do you have the evidence you need now?” My mind was a blur of twenty different outcomes of this conversation, all of them more and more bleak. I didn’t care about the downfall of my grandfather; it had been a long time coming. But what about the people caught in the crossfire?
Fletcher took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m here tonight, Seb.” His eyes darted to the portfolio I had on my lap. “While I have been able to obtain enough files and contacts for reasonable doubt, the U.S. Treasury wants ironclad evidence that would put this son of a bitch behind bars.”
Out of everyone I knew, Fletcher was one of the people who knew how I felt about my grandfather. About our relationship and how he used my sister as a bargaining chip in keeping me in line. In keeping up his wholesome family man facade that he paraded to the community.
“And my sister?” I didn’t ask about me because who the fuck cared. As long as my family was protected, that was all I needed. It wasn’t like anyone was holding me here if, for some reason, I was implicated in his dealings.
Once again, Fletcher reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and revealed a folded piece of paper with the embossed seal of the U.S. Treasury Department and signed in a scroll cursive signature.
“This is asking for your help, Seb,” Thomas Fletcher swallowed hard as if willing me to cooperate with his tone alone. “We know you had no idea, maybe suspicions but nothing that would tie you to this shit show. This is a signed document by the head of my department and the U.S. Treasury Department promising not to implicate you or Maria in any wrongdoings.”
I huffed, pulling the paper closer before looking up at my best friend. “You had this ready, did you?”
He shrugged and leaned back against the chair.“I knew what you would ask for.”
Rubbing the expensive paper in between my fingers, I chewed my bottom lip between my teeth. “And this is a guarantee, but you must want something in return, or you wouldn’t be here telling me all of this.”
Fletcher cocked a lazy smile. “We want a confession. And I think you can get it.” He opened his wallet and pulled out a card embossed with his name next to the emblem of the U.S. Marshals. Thomas Fletcher II, Deputy U.S. Marshal, and next to it, a number I didn’t recognize.
“Think about it.” He once again cast his gaze to the leather portfolio in my lap, but didn’t ask for it like he knew not to push it. “If what is in the portfolio is what I think it is, you need to read it. Look at it, Sebastian, very hard. Because once you do, you’ll know too much, and if you don’t cooperate, our friendship won’t be enough to save you.” He stood, his eyes clouded as if he hated saying that as much as I hated hearing it.
Fletcher pulled back on his jacket and tapped the card he had left on the table. “Call that number; don’t text my usual phone about this. And it goes without saying, don’t tell anyone about this if you can help it.”
Picking up the card, I didn’t turn to see Fletcher head to the door, but I heard him pause as he opened the door and felt the cold air wrap around my ankles.
“And Sebastian?”
My voice was rough as I answered, still not turning towards him. “What, Fletch?”
“I’m sorry.”
With that, Thomas Fletcher left, and my apartment was once again empty.
I pored over the document: the map, the blueprints, and the fine print of the agreement. Pulling out my work computer, I quickly logged into the firm’s CMS. When I found the file for Erkharst Earnings Group, I clicked on it, and I was immediately prompted to reenter my password. I halted, knowing that by accessing this folder and putting in my login, it would flag me and keep a log of my access.
I thought about it long and hard, my fingers hovering over the keys as the login screen blinked on my laptop for me to continue.
Fuck it.
With the stroke of a key, my screen changed as my access was granted. Without thinking about it, I turned on the record option on my laptop; I knew if I copied any files or tried to move them, my grandfather would have questions. This way, it would just look like I was researching this potential client, and I could cover my tracks easily.
That was the thing about my grandfather; he’d never thought I was smart enough to look into this, to suspect. A smile tugged at my lips as I thought about what he would look like in orange.
I quickly sobered when I remembered how wealthy and connected he was and that the threat of doing hard time was reserved for those who couldn’t afford the crime. For the rich, crime was just a matter of whether they could afford the fees if they were caught. And that was a big if.
Still, I flipped through the file, and my eyes narrowed as I trained my gaze on the nestled L.L.C. listings in its group of operations and under the various names of board members and investors. A lot of times, these groups had various L.L.C.’s and D.B.A’s, but it was one in particular that caught my eye.
Chase and Harper Trust L.L.C.
I let my mouse hover over the name as cold realization washed over me.
Chase and Harper were the names of my grandfather’s childhood dogs. Erkharst Earnings wasn’t just some business that was willing to invest in some old buildings. It was a company that he was on the board of, and a founding member by the looks of it.
I logged out, saved the file of the recording to my computer, pulled out an empty thumb drive that I used for my more…illicit work, and dragged the video file onto it.
Standing up, I paced the room for a moment, the thumb drive clenched in my sweaty hand as I breathed deeply. It took me only a moment, that back and forth of right or wrong—the swell of misplaced loyalty to my family's patriarch.
The phone only rang once before Fletcher picked up.
“Seb?”
“I’m still fucking pissed at you.”
“I know.”
“We’ve been friends since ninth grade.”
It was quiet on the other side, then he shamefully replied, “I know, Seb.”
“Tell me how it happened,” I demanded, the papers clenched in my hands.
A deep sigh, the sound of a car door shutting and heavy footfalls as Fletcher apparently made it to his apartment. Was it his apartment? Was the government paying for it? Did I even know him?
“I was recruited over the summer of last semester of college. You know my father’s in the military, Seb. I didn’t say anything because I was told not to. I got swept up pretty quickly, but I swear to you I haven’t lied to you about anything else.”
“Why didn’t you come to me right away?” I snapped, my anger and frustration a living thing in my chest.
“Because I wasn’t allowed. I needed the evidence, I needed proof.” He paused, “And if there wasn’t anything concrete I wasn’t going to let you get caught in the cross hairs.”
There was silence on both ends of line because I let out a ragged breath.
“What do you need from me?”