33
I seat myself on an icy bench and feign interest in my phone. About a minute later, I hear the shuffle of another person taking the spot at the opposite end of the bench. I know better than to look at him. Instead I continue my fake obsession with Snapchat and wait for him to speak first.
“How’s New York City treating you?” Agent Beckett says.
I shrug and chance a sideways glance at him. Lines of worry crease his face. My heart picks up speed. “Did something happen to—”
“He’s fine,” Agent Beckett says, referring to Miles. “I’ve worried about you.”
“Why?” I ask. “It’s not like I’ve acquired tattoos recently or joined any shady organizations.”
“Right,” he says, and I hear the tension in his voice, the words he can’t speak here, out in the open.
Despite the fact that I’ve always respected both of Miles’s parents, I can’t help the anger that ignites inside me. No longer caring about being covert, I turn to face him. “Why would you let him…” My voice trails off. He can fill in the blanks. “He’s your son. He’s only seventeen. I don’t get it.”
“I let him because he told me he was doing it no matter what I said,” Agent Beckett says. “And because he’s right. There is work left for him to do, and it isn’t the kind of job that can be passed off to someone else. But he isn’t alone, Ellie. I’m right here with him. Always.”
“So do it for him,” I plead. “Uncover the dirty agents for him.”
“I wish I could.” He looks over at me, and he really does seem gutted over this. “But my reputation in government work and the investigations I’ve done, they make it too difficult to play the dirty-agent-undercover role. I’d never get anyone to open up the way Miles has—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, my heart pounding even faster. “You mean he’s already made connections? Earned the trust of…” Guys like Jack, but I won’t dare say that aloud. Guys who aren’t above kidnapping seventeen-year-old kids and murdering a US senator’s teenage son.
Regret is all over his face. “Just remember, Ellie. My son is brilliant. He knows what he’s doing. He’s better trained than many agents twice his age.”
Hearing Agent Beckett—a very experienced CIA operative—say those things about Miles does offer me at least an ounce of hope for his safety. It isn’t like I can hate Miles for being honorable and loyal to his best friend.
I sink back onto the bench, putting one more piece of this puzzle together. “So this new mission was the reason that you wanted me to do what I did at Holden that one night?” The night I deleted Miles Beckett from the school records.
“Couldn’t have your family connecting you and him together through Holden’s records,” he explains. “Unlikely but still too risky.”
We sit in silence for a bit, both of us watching the traffic and people out for the evening. Then I stand, preparing to leave. “Glad we had this chat,” I say, though he probably doesn’t fully deserve my sarcasm or attitude.
“Ellie,” he calls out, stopping me. “It isn’t easy what you’re doing. Take it from someone with experience turning in a family member.”
It takes me a second to realize what he’s saying, and when I do, it isn’t easy for me to hide the surprise from my face. I take a few steps closer and glance around before whispering, “Clyde?”
Miles’s uncle. Agent Beckett’s brother. He used to be a criminal. Like me, the FBI used him as an informant, offered him immunity in return for valuable information. I never would have guessed that his own brother turned him in.
Agent Beckett nods. “You can’t take it back once it’s done. But right now, you can still back out. Walk away without any consequences.”
“But don’t you get it?” I tell him. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Taking it back.”
“At what cost?”
The question floats in the air behind me as I turn to walk away, putting more and more distance between myself and another Beckett. My confidence in the job I’m doing fades with each step I take toward the hotel, and by the time I’m back in the heated building, I’m now absorbed in worry over what will happen to the rest of my family if I provide evidence to Sharp and Sheldon. What about Barney and Oscar? Will all of them be taken in?
On the way back to my room, in the hall, I bump into Dominic. “Hey,” I say, pausing for that long, awkward beat where our last conversation fills the silence. The one where I called him an idiot and he stormed off.
“Hey.” He makes eye contact with me only briefly and then stares over my shoulder. “Sheldon and Sharp are looking for you.”
My stomach knots. They want evidence. They want out of New York City.
“What’s wrong?” Dominic asks immediately.
I shake my head. “Are they down the hall?”
“Yeah, I think so.” He reaches for my sleeve before I can walk away. “Are you having second thoughts?”
I release a breath and turn to face him. “About turning in mobsters? No. But Barney and Oscar and Milky…”
“What are you…” He shifts from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you going to?”
Agent Beckett said it wasn’t too late to back out.
I lift an eyebrow at Dominic’s concerned face. “Worried about your new BFF?”
Dominic’s face contorts, and for a second I think he might hit me or punch a wall or something, but instead he glances around the hotel hallway and says in the lowest voice possible, “Last night Bruno invited me over for poker night…some of his friends, too. And, well, I got some evidence. From Bruno’s place.”
My eyes widen. “What, like a dead body?”
“No! Jesus Christ, Ellie.” He looks a little panicked now and leans in closer. “Like bank deposit slips. Some unopened mail that might be bank statements.”
“Could be something to build a case,” I say slowly, thinking. “But money alone doesn’t mean fraud. We need to prove that the agency has no intention of seeking out work for those kids.”
“You know that’s probably more than half the talent and modeling agencies in the city,” Dominic says.
I look up at him, complete shock washing over me. “You’re right. You’re so right.”
This isn’t the Dr. Ames con where we had no actual rehab or boot camp facility, no professional addiction counselors. All the things my family took payment for should have existed in the case of an honest business. But show business isn’t like that.
“I need to find Sheldon and Sharp,” I say after several seconds of mulling over this new discovery.
“Okay…?” Dominic prompts. “What about the evidence I have?”
“Sit on it,” I tell him firmly. “Bruno will know where it came from and, well, you know what that means…” I make a motion of slicing my throat. Color drains from Dominic’s face, but he nods. Before heading down the hall, I turn to Dominic. “Thanks for taking that risk. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The look of both shock and pride on his face is worth the swallowing of pride it took on my end to utter those words.
***
“This is not how the FBI works,” Sheldon snaps at me. “You don’t get to keep dictating the terms of this operation.”
“You asked me to follow the money,” I argue. “It isn’t my fault that you didn’t specify which direction I had to go in.”
“You’re working right under the nose of a highly skilled crook, and now you want me to chase some hypothetical third party?” Sheldon says. “And let your entire family—of criminals—off the hook in the process. Just stick to the plan and find me a crime in this agency.”
“There is none,” I tell her for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. “They are legitimately offering what is advertised, at least to the extent of similar businesses that have been in operation for years.”
“Oh, so you’re telling me those outsourced services are run by individuals with credentials to legally work in this country?” Sheldon counters.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Are you really gonna go back home and tell your FBI peers that you set up this big operation in New York City all to catch a handful of undocumented workers?”
Her head looks ready to explode all over this hotel room. I glance around. “Where is Sharp?” I ask.
He’s good at being the middleman. The voice of reason.
“He’s in the workout room,” she says, still fuming.
My gaze lands on a newspaper lying on one of the double beds. The headline says: Jojo Offers Foster Kids a Chance to Speak at City Council Meeting.
Another paper sits about a foot away, flipped open to the Arts & Life section featuring a column titled: Jojo Takes Family to See Hamilton on Broadway.
Agent Sheldon looks beside herself when I turn my back on her to get a closer look at one of the papers. “Who is this Jojo person?”
“He’s a city council member we’re investigating,” Sheldon answers mechanically, before switching gears. “I think we just need to retrace all the details thus far, create a storyboard and see if something comes out of the current evidence.”
“It won’t,” I say, not taking my eyes off the paper. It can’t be a coincidence, can it? Finally I spin back to face her. “Is it possible this city council member, Jojo, might be involved with the Zanettis?”
Sheldon looks genuinely confused for a second but quickly crosses the room and takes the paper from my hands, studying it. “That’s a great big leap with no evidence to back it, but he’s definitely up to something.”
I’m not ready to tell her about the surveillance that Miles, Dominic, and I did involving the Zanettis, so I come up with an alternative on the spot. “Dominic heard Bruno talking about Jojo.”
Sheldon waves a hand toward the newspapers, pointing out others lying on the table that I hadn’t seen. “The man’s a media favorite; I’m sure lots of people are talking about him.”
“Bruno said”—I close my eyes, recalling the exact words; Sheldon will want exact—“that Jojo owed them a favor, that they had dirt on him.”
I open my eyes again and see that Sheldon has ditched the indifferent look she wore moments ago. “Bruno said that my dad dug up the dirt and he and his family held a gun to Jojo’s head.”
“Why am I only now hearing all of this?” Sheldon starts pacing. “You can’t just pick and choose which information you share.”
I ignore her lecture and dig for one more bit of info. “City council…that’s not, like, a big deal or anything, right?”
As someone who went to school with a senator’s son among other kids of politicians who have offices in DC, city council member hardly seems like a power position.
“In New York City?” Sheldon heads for her laptop on the table. “It’s definitely a big deal.”
Now it’s my turn to pace. “So the Zanettis blackmailed Jojo with something my family found…” I nod to myself. “That fits. We’ve been known to excel at blackmail.”
I stare at the good-looking man in the newspaper photo. His charming smile reaches all the way to his eyes as he sits behind a long table, admiring a kid standing in front of the microphone, probably speaking to the city council about life in the foster care system. Caption beneath the photo reads: City councilman Joey Joplin, affectionately called Jojo, was moved to tears by young Byron Campbell’s story at Tuesday night’s city council meeting.
“The Zanettis forced Jojo to offer up some fancy building space,” I continue, more to myself than to Sheldon, who is now busy pounding away at her laptop. “Probably fast-tracked all their business credentials. The Zanettis needed my family to sell the product, because who would put their kids in the hands of those New Jersey thugs?”
“Every party in this scam is interdependent,” Sheldon adds. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Zanettis put a good bit of cash into Jojo’s campaign fund.”
Her hands hover over the keyboard, suddenly still. The look on her face is one of pure discomfort, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize she hadn’t meant to jump on my train, to be my partner like she is Sharp’s.
And I really wish my face wouldn’t heat up after figuring this all out. Who cares what Sheldon thinks of me? Screw her.
She’s too one-dimensional. In one swift movement she snaps her laptop shut and returns to standing. “Stick to the plan. Get your dad alone and push for the confession, with or without the mention of this hypothetical third party.”
I release an angry breath. “I’ll get his confession but no one else’s. I didn’t agree to convicting everyone in my family.”
She busies herself stacking papers on top of the table. “You were right earlier. I’m not interested in catching small fish.”
Even though she doesn’t tell me to get out, the dismissal is clear in her tone. Being on the same train of thought as me, the idea of really working together, it was too much for straitlaced Agent Sheldon.
I give her ten more seconds to redeem herself, and then I storm out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind me. I thought Miles was infuriating when I first met him—his high moral conscience, his hot-and-cold feelings toward me—but that was nothing compared to the way Sheldon treats me. She could definitely use a lesson from Mr. Lance’s friend, Immanuel Kant.
The long hotel hallway provides a good runway for my pent-up frustration. I make it nearly to the end, but someone grasps my arm, stopping me.
“What happened to you?” Agent Sharp says, concern on his face.
I tug my arm free but stay in my spot. “Sheldon. That’s what. But whatever. It’ll be over soon.”
“Is that what she told you?” He lowers his voice, leaning in like he’s afraid she’s listening.
Both of us glance around at the same time, checking the hallway—all clear.
“That’s what I told myself.” The storm in my gut calms enough to be curious. “Why?”
Sharp looks around again then nods toward the stairwell. I follow him down several flights to a lower level that appears to be only for staff. He pushes open a random door, and soon we’re walking down what appears to be an underground tunnel.
My gaze roams around the cement walls and the low lights hanging near the ceiling every couple of feet. “What is this? A secret FBI lair? Or is it your special place where you come to contemplate your feelings?”
Sharp laughs. “That last one, definitely. Sometimes I recite poetry to myself.”
Now that’s an image I can’t quite swallow. “Seriously, where are you taking me? I’m starting to see shades of all those serial-killer plots.”
“Just service tunnels.” He points left, down a new tunnel. “Leads you to Penn Station if you walk a bit. Supposedly Washington’s spies used these tunnels to get around the city and pass information during the Revolutionary War.”
“Guess they weren’t afraid of catching the plague from all the rats that were likely running around down here in the eighteenth century.”
“Brave men,” Sharp muses. “True loyalty pushes past self-preservation.”
Yeah, I’m aware. In fact I’d like to go back to being unaware of that fact. I stop, preparing to turn back. “Thanks for the tour. I’ve seen enough already.”
Sharp leans against the wall, facing me. “This isn’t a tour. I just didn’t want to chance any listening ears.”
Doesn’t he inspect his room for bugs daily? I know I do. Especially with Oscar running around, getting a little better at things he used to suck at. I tap my foot impatiently. If he’s planning on giving me another self-defense lecture, I’m not in the mood.
“It’s Sheldon,” he says.
“If you’re about to tell me that you like her like her, I might throw up,” I say.
“What I mean is,” he adds, looking nervous now, “she hasn’t been completely honest with you.”
“Probably because she doesn’t trust me,” I respond. Where is he going with this?
“Look, Ellie, if anyone found out I told you this…” His face pinches with worry. “I’ll lose my job. But it isn’t right what she’s doing.”
I shift from one foot to the other, catching some of Sharp’s nerves. “What isn’t right? Is she planning to convict the rest of my family? She just said that she’s not interested in small—”
“You,” he says quickly, forcing out the word. “You’re her Plan B. If you work your dad and come up empty, she’s wasted thousands of FBI dollars on this operation. Again. If she at least got another big player to convict, she’ll stay on the director’s good side.”
My chest tightens. It feels like I’ve just fallen flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me. Then I remember something important. “I signed an agreement as an informant. I have immunity.”
Sharp lifts an eyebrow. “Did you read that agreement?”
“Of course I read it,” I snap. Plus Aidan and Harper read it. “I’m not an idiot.”
“What did it say?” Sharp prompts.
“That as long as I follow FBI undercover protocol, I can’t be charged for any crimes related to this New York City con.” Hearing it out loud eases my nerves a little.
“You can’t be charged for anything related to New York City,” Sharp repeats.
“Yeah, that’s what I said—” The words get lodged in my throat, panic crawling up my insides. New evidence surfaced against my mom, tying her to the Dr. Ames con. I was right by her side during that con. The loyal rehabilitated daughter. “But…I’m only seventeen.”
The words come out in a whisper. I don’t trust my voice to hold steady.
“It isn’t right,” Sharp says. “If I thought it was okay, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here, risking my job. Sheldon’s crossing a line I didn’t think she’d go near. But she’s got a case. Maybe a good one. And you need to know what’s at stake when your dad’s hovering over a confession and you’re afraid to close the deal…think about Plan B.”
Sharp turns quickly, and before I can get another word in, he heads off in the direction he’d pointed earlier, the way to Penn Station. I fall back against the wall and scrub my hands over my face, wishing I had cold water to splash in my eyes, to wake me up from this nightmare.
How could I be so stupid? How could I walk right into this? I begged for it, actually. No wonder Sheldon got so uncomfortable when we were bouncing ideas around like teammates. Like equals. Nobody wants to arrest their teammate. Not even Sheldon.
For a few long, dark minutes I debate waving a white flag, giving myself up now and hoping for the best. Or disappearing down these tunnels and never coming out again. But the low point doesn’t last long. Soon it’s clear what I need to do. Exactly what Sharp and Sheldon told me to do.
Get my dad to confess.