Chapter 23
The A Team
Fenella
“Listen. I’m fine with it all. I told you I’d wait for you, no matter how long. That’s my promise to you.”
I tilt my head toward him, blinking as I try to grasp what he really means. “Does that mean you don’t hate me?” I ask, my voice edged with doubt.
Alan shakes his head with a restrained smile. “I could never hate you, Fenella. I’d be disappointed if you lied to me, but hate you? No. I love you.”
“Alan…” I whisper his name, still unable to believe how deep this obsession runs. I take a slow breath, trying to process it all.
“I’ll wait for you. But if you think marrying me will help you get your life back on track, I—I can live with that.” He stutters, excitement flickering in his tone.
His words make me sit up straighter. I lean in a little. My mouth parts slightly, my palms pressing against the table. My heart pounds at this sudden opening.
“Marry me, and I’ll show you we belong together.” His voice softens as his hands reach across the table, wrapping around mine.
“Oh, Alan.” I sigh in relief. It worked.
A grin spreads across my face. For the first time, I’m genuinely happy to hear him propose—though for reasons that have nothing to do with love. He doesn’t know that. He smiles back, and somehow, it’s like we’re both getting what we want.
“Bring your finger here.” He opens the box, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Oh, about that,” my voice trails off as he takes out the ring, ready to slide it on.
“Why?” His brow creases.
“The ring’s too big.” I clear my throat, trying to hide my nervous excitement.
“Really?” Alan frowns, studying the ring.
Wait. What’s that reaction? Did he check my ring size from my files too? “Yes. And…” I stop myself. He raises an eyebrow, waiting. I shake my head. “No. Never mind.”
“Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. You can tell me if something’s bothering you.” His tone softens as he strokes my hand.
Wait. Sweetheart?
I stop myself from rolling my eyes. His emotions flip too fast. Now he thinks he’s entitled to call me pet names? God, he’s delusional.
I shove the irritation aside. For now, I’ll take the win. He believes me. He agreed to marry me. The next move is getting him to hand over his credit card.
“Well, I know you’ve worked hard for me all this time. You’ve spent a lot—buying Gene, helping me land projects, all that.”
“Go on,” he says, nodding.
“So after everything you’ve done, I thought you would…” I hesitate, giving him a tentative look. He nods again, waiting. “I thought you’d give me a bigger, shinier diamond than this.” I shrug lightly, my tone teasing.
“Oh.” He blinks, clearly not expecting that.
“I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it. With all the effort you’ve put into me, and the big hamper you left on my porch, I just thought it’d match our engagement ring.” I emphasize our engagement ring deliberately, and his face softens. He nods, satisfied.
“No worries. We’ll get a bigger, shinier diamond than this—something that’ll fit perfectly on your finger.” His thumb strokes my wrist as he smiles, his jaw tight but proud.
* * *
“Hello, miss. We want to buy your best diamond ring,” Alan says the moment we walk into the shop.
“Certainly, sir. Do you have your member card?” the store clerk asks, giving him a polite but stiff smile.
“Oh, right, you’re right.” Alan grins and turns to me. “Honey, I promise you won’t regret coming here with me. It’ll be like something out of a movie.” He pulls his wallet from his suit pocket and takes out a black card with silver lettering, the unlimited platinum credit card.
“This is what you mean, right? I’m sure this card covers membership at every Prestishe store in the world.” He smiles with that smug confidence as he hands it to the clerk.
“Please kindly wait, sir.” The clerk types something on her tablet, scans the card, then glances toward a woman sitting behind the glass counter in the corner.
The woman looks up at her screen, nods—a silent cue to take action—then stands, smooths her tailored suit, and walks over with a wide, practiced smile.
“Welcome, Mr. Schmidt. Glad to see you back so soon. Prestishe Boston branch welcomes you with the highest regard. Would you like to see our premium collection?” she asks.
I glance at her nameplate: Linda, Manager. The younger staff member returns the card to Alan. What’s with this whole chain of command? Did the front clerk just confirm his data with Linda?
“Of course. Show us your best collection,” Alan says.
“Please follow me to the VIP room, sir.”
Linda leads us down a narrow corridor to the back of the store. She stops in front of a beige-paneled wall and presses her thumb to a scanner. A soft beep sounds, and she pulls open a steel door.
Oh. My. God. Is this for real?
Alan might be laundering money or something, but look at this place! I’m familiar with luxury boutiques, but this is on another level. Diamonds and pieces of jewelry sparkle behind glass boxes on the walls and tables, displayed like museum collections.
Alan leads me to a plush, dark-blue velvet sofa. Linda’s smile widens. A minute ago, they were checking me out from head to toe like I didn’t belong. If Alan hadn’t flashed that black card, they probably would’ve kicked me out.
No one would guess we actually have that membership. I’ve sold most of my designer stuff at the bazaar. Now I’m only wearing a black knit turtleneck, an old lilac checkered jacket, a black midi skirt, and knee-high boots.
Alan’s suit looks expensive, but I bet they still think I don’t fit their world. Jessy’s voice echoes in my head: appearance, visual, style. None of which I have today.
Alan sits beside me, grinning as Linda disappears deeper into the vault. The younger staff member rolls in a white cart loaded with fancy tea and snacks.
“Are we overboard with the ring? I mean, I don’t need a premium collection.” I whisper while watching the staff pour hot tea into delicate white porcelain cups. She also closes the door, trapping us inside the room.
“No. You said it yourself, you need a ring that’s bigger and shinier.” He raises his voice just enough for the staff to hear.
We sip our tea while waiting for Linda to return. She comes back, pushing a small trolley covered in black satin. Velvet boxes line the top in perfect rows. She opens them one by one, explaining each ring like it’s a royal artifact.
“Which one do you like?” Alan asks.
“I don’t know. There are so many.” I chuckle, cheeks warming.
“You can try them on to see which one you prefer. Do you know your ring size?” With her gloves on, she takes out a small box of ring sizers, then carefully measures my finger and selects a few designs for me to try.
Moments later, we move from rings to entire jewelry sets: necklaces, bracelets, earrings. Boxes open, glass displays unlocked, all just for me to try. We laugh and joke as I try them on. They’re all stunning. The cuts, the clarity, the shine—I could stare at these diamonds for hours.
Wait. What am I doing? I’ve drifted way off mission. Damn it. Focus, Fenella.
Alan’s card is back in his wallet. The only way to get the info I need is when he pays. I’ll distract him, grab the card myself, get a good look at the card so Laird can record the details. The sooner, the better.
“I’ll take this one.” I point to a rose-gold ring with a massive 24K diamond in the center. It’s only to fasten the payment, so I pick one at random.
“You sure you want that one?” Alan beams.
“Yes, I love the design. And they come as a set, right?”
“Yes, miss. This is our newest signature design,” Linda says with an eager nod.
“It’s okay, right?” I ask Alan.
“Sure.” He smiles, pulling the card from his wallet again. “Anything for you.” He holds up the black card right in front of my eyes. I smile back, my eyes wide, though for reasons completely different from his. I lift my hand to block his.
“Um… sweetheart,” the way I say it makes Alan blink, “please, can I… tap the card to pay?” My eyes go even wider, and this time it’s real pleading.
Alan chuckles, and Linda does too. It’s embarrassing, but they seem to get it. This really is a wild feeling, holding that black card and actually using it.
“Sure, darling.” He hands the card to me.
* * *
“Woohoo! Awesome!”
Matthew cheers in the living room. He rubs his palms together, eyes burning with excitement. He bites his lower lip and waits for the next instruction.
Laird, Matthew, and I sit around my laptop, connected to Dave through an online meeting. Meanwhile, Matthew’s laptop is open to an online gambling site, the sound of slot machines clinking nonstop, breaking our focus.
“Calm down, buddy. I still need to break through one more defense on your favorite site,” Dave mumbles from New York, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
“Come on, I can’t wait to try it,” Matthew groans, tapping his fingers against his laptop.
“Patience, dude. Let him work,” Laird says firmly.
I sit quietly, praying Alan doesn’t find out about any of this. My mission to steal his credit card data already succeeded, but now we have to cover our tracks before the transaction gets traced back to us.
This is serious criminal activity. Laird says we’re doing the right thing; my stomach doesn’t agree. We need to make the transaction look like it’s coming from Alan himself so the feds can openly investigate all his accounts.
“Done!”
Dave signals that the card is now safe to use. No notifications will be sent to Alan’s phone or email, no PIN requests, and our location is blurred.
“Showtime.” Matthew cracks his knuckles with a wicked grin. “Let’s see…” He clicks through gambling tickets, lotteries, and dark web listings. In fifteen minutes, he burns through almost two hundred grand.
“Is this safe? Aren’t we gonna get caught by the FBI?” I ask, heart pounding as I stare at Matthew’s screen.
“If Dave says it’s safe, then it’s safe. Besides, the money on that card is dirty anyway. What goes around comes around,” Laird says, trying to calm me down.
“Will this trigger the reaction we need from Golden?” I ask.
“Of course. This is the fastest way to draw out the FBI, OFAC, and Golden himself. That’s what we want, remember?” Matthew licks his lips, hitting enter again to spin the slots.
“Oh.” I bite my nail. Anxiety creeps in, mixing with guilt. The thought of dragging Alan to court eats at me. He used to be a nice kid. But now? I have to drag him to court.
“Relax. This is just bait to expose the case,” Laird says, squeezing my hand. I nod, trusting him.
The minutes crawl. I still can’t believe we’re in the middle of something this big. Celebrities like Mallory West, politicians like Peter Morgan, and billionaires like Alan Schmidt always seem untouchable. I’ve only seen stories like this on TV.
“Alright, that’s enough. Now we wait for their reaction,” Matthew says with a satisfied chuckle.
“Well, we might not have to wait,” Laird says, pulling out his phone. He calls someone and puts it on speaker so we can all hear. The line buzzes before connecting.
“Hello, Golden.”
“Good evening to you too, Evans.” Golden’s voice sounds rough, tired.
“You might wanna check your surveillance again. See if anything’s setting off alarms,” Laird says with a half-smile.
“Oh, yes, thanks for that. I already informed the judge this afternoon. The account will be blocked soon.” Golden sounds smug.
“What do you mean?” Laird asks, frowning. We all look at each other.
“Your plan worked. The order for an official investigation is just waiting for the Attorney General’s signature.”
“Wait, when did that happen?”
“This afternoon. Around four p.m.,” Golden says with a sigh.
Our eyes widen. It’s six now, so four p.m. was two hours ago. We didn’t touch the card then. My mouth falls open. I glance at Laird. How could a suspicious transaction be detected at four p.m.?
“That wasn’t us. We used the card less than ten minutes ago,” Laird says, brows furrowed deep.
“Really? Well, whoever did it bought illegal goods from a dark web site we’ve been monitoring, naively without any protection. Bad move,” Golden chuckles.
“Right. Got it. Good luck,” Laird says and ends the call. His face is blank, same as mine.
“What the hell happened at four p.m.?” Matthew asks, frowning hard.
“So we did all this for nothing?” Dave groans through the speaker.
“Not for nothing. We still got what we wanted, just a different player. Now we wait for Golden’s next move. If Alan reports the transaction as fraud, the case will shut down before it even reaches court,” Laird mutters, expression grim.
“That sucks. I’m out for now,” Dave says before ending the call.
“So someone else already used Alan’s card? On a site traceable by the FBI?” I ask, trying to make sense of it.
“Brilliant,” Matthew says with a sarcastic laugh. “Shit. I need more wine.” He pours himself another glass from the wine bottle Alan gave me.
“Who did it? Were they helping us?” I ask, brows knitted.
“This is wild. I never believed in coincidences, but this is either destiny or divine trolling,” Matthew rambles, sounding half-drunk, half-shocked.
Laird squeezes my hand again. His warmth steadies me.
“For now, let’s stay low until Alan and his people get arrested,” Laird says calmly.
“When’s that gonna happen?” I ask, gripping his hand tighter.
“When the evidence is solid enough for court. Could be anytime—from tonight to a few weeks.”
“All this waiting is killing me,” I groan.
My phone rings. Alan. “Oh my God.”
The ringtone I set for him cuts through the room. My fingers go cold. My stomach knots. I hold the phone up for Laird and Matthew like it’ll absolve me. “What do I do? Does he know everything?”
I bite my lip, forehead creasing. Both of them freeze. Matthew whistles low, and Laird’s gaze snaps to mine, then to the screen that lights up with Alan’s name.
“Don’t answer,” Laird says.
“He’ll keep calling.” I rub my face and set the phone on the table.
The call stops, but Alan won’t give up. It rings again. “I should answer. He’ll get suspicious if I just got a diamond ring and start ignoring him.”
“You know this all ends once Golden arrests him, right?” Laird says, raising an eyebrow.
I pause, then nod. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll ignore him.”
Before I can breathe, the doorbell rings. We all freeze. “Is that Alan?” I whisper.
“Impossible,” Laird whispers, holding his breath. Matthew’s face drains of color. Laird straightens, every muscle sharp with tension.
We stand still, waiting. The bell rings again, insistently.
“Yes?” My mom walks out of the kitchen toward the door.
“Wait,” I hiss, rushing toward her. “Mom, don’t—” I raise my hand to stop her midstep.
“Come on, hide,” Laird says, dragging the drunk Matthew toward the bathroom.