Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
We step through the conference room door.
Inside, a long table dominates the space.
Harvey is seated next to several attorneys—his, no doubt.
A pitcher of water sits untouched in front of him.
His jacket is draped over the back of his chair, and his tie is loose around the neck.
Overall, though, he doesn’t look frantic or angry.
Still as cool as a cucumber, and it makes me want to rage at the unfairness of the entire system.
His eyes land on me briefly, then wander over to Mark. There’s a flicker of something there, but it’s gone before I can catch it. Hate? Envy?
Mark pulls out my chair and waits for me to sit before he takes the seat beside me.
He folds his hands on the table and regards Harvey coolly.
I wonder if the mayor is aware he’s in mortal danger.
I’ve seen my mate in almost every stage of angry he is capable of, usually at me, but I’ve never seen him this calm. It’s like the eye of a hurricane.
“Ms. Kendrick. Mr. Taylor,” Harvey says, “thank you for coming. I was hoping we could all sit down and discuss this and come to a mutually beneficial agreement between us and the attorney general.”
The prosecutor, Maria Gonzales, clears her throat and presses a button on the recorder in front of her. “For the record, this is a proffer session with Harold Harvey, current mayor of New York City. Mr. Harvey understands the limits and protections of this agreement.”
He nods.
“And you understand,” she continues, “that statements made here may guide further investigation, even if they are not directly admissible.”
“Yes.”
She clicks her pen. “Then let’s begin. Mr. Harvey, can you explain why Joseph Simmons believed he was acting with political protection from your office when he entered a New York City courthouse with a weapon?”
Harvey exhales slowly and shakes his head. “I don’t know Mr. Simmons beyond what I read in the paper about his attack on Ms. Kendrick. I certainly wouldn’t put much stock in the word of a violent criminal trying to leverage Mr. Taylor’s political aspirations to reduce his own potential charges.”
He folds his hands together on the table, posture composed. “People say a lot of things when they’re desperate. That doesn’t make them true.”
Gonzales doesn’t answer right away, just makes a note on the pad in front of her. “I understand that,” she says evenly. “For the record, we’re not asking you to validate Mr. Simmon’s credibility, merely to explain his belief.”
Harvey’s mouth tightens. I like this woman; she’s good.
“I cannot begin to explain what a criminal believes,” he replies, “nor should I be expected to.”
“Of course not,” she says. “But you do control what your office communicates, do you not?” She pauses, waiting to see if he’ll respond.
When he doesn’t, she continues. “Let’s talk about the days leading up to the incident.
Did anyone from your office contact Mr. Simmons through intermediaries after Ms. Kendrick left the dinner party at your house? ’
“No.”
She nods, as if she expected that answer. “Did anyone from your office discuss Ms. Kendrick with outside parties in that same period?”
He glances briefly at his attorney, then back. “Of course we did. Ms. Kendrick is a constantly in the press and on the NYTV channel that my office runs. I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“It’s relevant because your chief of staff exchanged twelve calls with a number later identified as a burner phone,” the prosecutor says calmly, “the majority of which occurred directly after a call with you. That phone was later recovered from Mr. Simmons.”
Harvey’s attorney stiffens. “We object to the characterization—”
She scrunches her nose and curls her lip. “This is a proffer, counselor. I’m outlining the scope of our inquiry. There are no objections here.” She looks back at Harvey. “Did you authorize those calls?”
“I did not. And I knew nothing about them,” he answers.
She makes a thoughtful sound. “Let me be clear about where the state stands. I believe we have sufficient evidence to pursue charges including conspiracy to commit official misconduct, bribery, obstruction of justice, conspiracy to intimidate an officer of the court, and several related counts.”
She meets Harvey’s eyes squarely. “What I don’t yet see is what you believe you can bring to the table in this meeting.”
Harvey leans back in his chair and folds his hands. He glances at his attorney, then returns his attention to Gonzales. “Perspective,” he says. “Context.”
“Context doesn’t matter in criminal court, Mr. Harvey.”
He scoffs. “Of course it does. It especially does in the moving parts of politics. Nothing is linear. There isn’t an order, an action, and a consequence. It’s not that neat.”
“So your position,” she says, “is that multiple individuals independently decided to intimidate or possibly even kill a defense attorney, compromise courthouse security, and delay emergency response, all in ways that conveniently benefitted you.”
He shrugs.
The prosecutor studies him for a moment. “And what are you offering in exchange for us accepting that framing?”
“I’m willing to give up information on the alphas pulling the strings on the omega rights issue that Ms. Kendrick is so passionate about, if she agrees to stand down as the injured party and not pursue charges.” His eyes lock on to mine as he speaks.
She turns to face me for a moment before looking back at him. “You’re proposing to trade information about political actors for immunity from consequences tied to a violent felony?”
He smiles, and it’s clear he thinks he’s just placed a temptation on the table we won’t refuse. “I’m proposing to make this useful for everyone. Ms. Kendrick gets to protect the cause she claims to care about. You get possible convictions of some very big names. I get this reframed.”
I shake my head. “You genuinely believe that omega rights are a bargaining chip. You’re disgusting.”
“I think,” he replies smoothly, “that movements survive on compromise.”
Mark’s hand tightens once against the table. That’s the only warning. “No,” he says quietly. “This meeting is over.”
Harvey lets out a short laugh. “You’re recused, Mr. Taylor. You don’t get to—”
Mark is on his feet instantly, his chair toppling backwards. “I am her mate,” he snarls. “You assumed her passion and her status made her open to negotiations. Worse yet, you viewed her as fucking expendable.”
Harvey jerks back in fear before catching himself, masking it with practiced boredom. “I assumed she’d care about results,” he says. “And that you’d appreciate the leverage to help your campaign.”
Mark gives a bitter laugh. “I’m not running for mayor.”
Harvey blinks in surprise.
I stand, linking my fingers with my mate. “What you failed to account for,” I say evenly, “is that I don’t need anything you can offer to bring these men down. You think I don’t already know who profits from keeping omegas in their place?”
He looks at me now, really looks.
“My family is just as wealthy as yours,” I say with a laugh, “and I’ve been fighting this battle long before you ever learned my name. You have nothing of value to me.”
The prosecutor closes her folder. “Mr. Harvey, your offer is noted. And rejected.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“No,” Mark says, guiding me toward the door, “you made that a long time ago by underestimating me and Ava.”
His voice follows behind us, stripped of its polish. “You could have changed things.”
I pause, just long enough to look over my shoulder. “I am changing things,” I say. “You just won’t be around to see it.”
The End