So this was what winning felt like.
I didn’t expect it to taste so bitter.
***
"Sadly, he’s not wrong." Ms. Greenlee sounded slightly harried. Daniel had called her and actually put her on speakerphone, which I had to appreciate. "When it comes to guys like him, who’ve been in the system as long as they have…not to mention the fact that he’s retiring in less time than it will take to get the investigation started. They’ll grant your petition, because they don’t want the hassle, but the investigation’s probably going to be nothing more than a formality."
"I don’t understand," Daniel said. "Even if Paulson testifies against him? I’ve got my investigator looking for them right now. I’ll only be a matter of time."
Ms. Greenlee sighed, and I noticed how tired and sad she sounded. I had almost forgotten that she and the judge had once been friends. Or friendly, at least. "I doubt the judge will let that happen. Anyway, according to what you’ve told me, Paulson approached the judge for help in taking you down, not the other way around. No matter how he tries to slice it, the whole thing was his head. There’s not much advantage to him trying to throw someone else under the bus. Especially someone with as much influence as that."
Poor Kelly was working overtime on our behalf, simultaneously trying to track down Jim Paulson, Ryan Brewer, and Daniel’s broker. According to Gen’s anonymous source, he hadn’t shown up to work in over two weeks.
The local police had actually been of more help with the Flo situation than I’d anticipated, once they took their sweet time verifying all of our information and going back and forth with the SEC. They agreed that she’d mostly likely made good on her declaration to flee the country. INTERPOL was now informed, and they assured us they’d let us know just as soon as they tracked her down.
"It’s difficult to hide nowadays," the police chief had assured us. "Cell phone signals, security cameras everywhere - odds are, if she’s out there, we’ll be bringing her back in eventually."
Lying in bed one night, waiting for that elusive sleep to come, I found myself asking the question that had been lodged in the back of my mind for ages. "Are you absolutely sure it was Paulson who did it?"
Daniel didn’t answer for a moment. "Yes," he said. "Thinking back, yes, I’m certain. It was his design, mostly. The one he says I stole. He was the only one among them who had any real talent. And he was always the quietest of the bunch. The others would make fun of me to my face, but he never did. I don’t know if it’s because he respected me, or because he was afraid of me, but either way - he was the only one of them who took me seriously. The others would have most likely forgotten about me, if it weren’t for him."
I didn’t know quite what to say to that.
***
"Thank you," said Daniel, out of the blue.
I paused, in the middle of pouring my coffee. "You’re…wait, what?"
Coming to sit down, I searched his face. He looked a little bit soft and unfocused, like he’s just wandered back from being lost in thought.
"You know," he said. "Hiring Kelly. Pursuing everything. All those things I didn’t want to do. You handled this much better than I did. I don’t mind saying it."
He did mind, I think, which only made me appreciate it more. I smiled, laying my hand on top of his, which were folded on top of the kitchen island. He was still looking down, staring at the granite countertop like it held the secrets to life, the universe, and everything.
"I don’t know why I sat on my hands," he said. "I kept telling myself, for some reason, that just being innocent is enough to avoid being convicted of a crime. But I know that’s not true."
I shrugged. "I just figured I could do something about it, so I might as well. I was tired of just sitting around and waiting."
He blinked a few times, rapidly. He still looked slightly lost. "I don’t know what I would have done without you." He took his hand out from under mine and laid it on top.
This wasn’t the sort of complement I’d ever felt comfortable responding to, especially not from him. Now, I was the one staring at the counter.
"You don’t think I…overstepped, a little?" I said, finally, because dredging up something negative was easier than accepting something positive.
He shrugged. "Maybe when you took the money," he said, smiling faintly. "But I suppose that’s my fault too, isn’t it?"
My heart constricted. "I didn’t…I didn’t think you’d notice," I said finally, lamely. "Anyway, it’s my money too."
He didn’t say anything for a long while. "Kelly would have done pro bono work for you," he said. "Most people like that will. They know you have no choice but to pay up when the bill comes, because they know too much."
"Maybe," I said. "But I doubt Ryan Brewer works pro bono."
His smile twitched.
I stood up, sliding my hands out from under his and walking over to the fridge. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly, stiflingly uncomfortable - as if he he’d only stated the conversation as an excuse to scold me for what I’d done. But that was stupid. I was the one who’d brought negativity into this, not him. Still, I felt there was a lot he still wasn’t saying, and I didn’t like it.
We didn’t talk again until the afternoon, when my phone started ringing. It was one of the numbers I’d come to recognize as Kelly’s.
"You’re not going to believe this," she said, as soon as I picked up.
"Is that good, or bad?"
"The broker," she said, sounding incredibly pleased with herself. "He’s just been at home. Holed up in his own apartment. The stupid bastard."
"Wow." My brain was racing to process this new development. "So what does that mean, exactly?"
"It means I sent the cops there as soon as I realized it, and he folded like a cheap napkin as soon as they knocked on his door."
"Cheap suit," I heard myself say. "I think it’s ‘folded like a cheap suit.’"
"Not anymore, it’s not. Anyway, they’re taking him in for questioning. He’ll probably spill everything he knows. The downside is that he probably doesn’t know much of anything. But, you’ll probably be getting another call from the station soon. Just be prepared to be underwhelmed."
"Thanks, Kelly." I sat down on the sofa, letting my head drop back on the cushions. "I appreciate the heads up."
"Well?" Daniel cut in, after I hung up. I wasn’t sure where he’d popped out from.
"The broker," I said, craning my neck to look at him. "She found him, they’re taking him in. But she doesn’t think he knows anything, really."
"Still, a confession is enough to get my case started." Daniel sat down next to me, the line of his body sagging from exhaustion, still, after all this time. "I expect to be tied up in litigations for the next ten years at least."
"Hey," I said, patting his arm. "That’s all well and good, but don’t let it age you by another ten."
"Right," he said, his eyes tightly shut. "Wouldn’t want to lose my good looks on account of all this."
I chuckled. "You know, when you actually say nice things about yourself, I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic."
"I usually am," he said. "But I’m starting to believe I’m at least good-looking enough to draw you into my web."
***
Ms. Greenlee didn’t look pleased.
"You’re familiar with the term ‘circumstantial evidence,’ yes?"
Daniel and I both nodded.
Her lips were pursed. "Without testimony from the broker, I don’t see how we can pin down Paulson. Unless he just…confesses, of course."
"But the broker doesn’t know where the money came from," said Daniel. "They didn’t tell him, of course they didn’t."
"Good for them, bad for you." Ms. Greenlee frowned. "Then again, Florence is still out there somewhere. If it’s presented to him that she’ll be found, and will testify against him anyway, which is almost certain given what she said to you, he might agree to a plea bargain. Which might be the best we can hope for."
"You don’t think they’ll find her?"
"Oh, they will. Eventually. But unless Paulson confesses to something quickly, they won’t even have precedence to hold onto him for twenty-four hours, let alone the amount of time it’s going to take them to track her down. You might think securities fraud, obstruction of justice, assault with a deadly weapon, and unauthorized flight is quite the laundry list of charges, but as far as INTERPOL is concerned, if she doesn’t have a bomb strapped to her chest, she’s not going to be their first priority."
Daniel sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. "What about one of the others? The other plaintiffs? What if one of them testified?"
Ms. Greenlee brightened a little. "That would be ideal. One or both of them. If he was in contact with them, if either of them knows enough to prosecute him - we could hold obstruction of justice over their heads until they agree to testify against him for immunity. If they can produce emails, anything like that - so much the better."
"I’ll do my best to get in touch with them," said Daniel. "I have…a friend of sorts in the alumni association."
"Good, good. Excellent." Ms. Greenlee was much happier now, and that made me feel slightly better, although my head was swimming with everything she’d told us.
Daniel made good on his promise to contact the alumni association again, that very day. After he’d spent so much time trying to roll over and accept injustice, it was encouraging to see him like this again. He explained the situation to his new friend as delicately as he could, and the alumni representative promised to put both plaintiffs directly in touch with the authorities, if he could reach them.
From then on, it was another waiting game.
***
The police chief called, a few days later. He spoke only to Daniel, who looked very solemn as he answered monosyllabically.
"Well?" I asked, as he hung up.
"One of them came in," he said. "But he won’t testify unless he gets a chance to talk to me first."
I bit my lip to keep from asking if I could be there, too. At this point, I felt like I ought to, but I didn’t want to push him.
"You should come," he said.
I didn’t realize it was that obvious that I wanted to, but I wasn’t going to say no.
When we got down to the station, I realized I was horribly nervous and I didn’t know why. I reached down and clasped Daniel’s hand as we walked through the halls, and very briefly, I felt his fingers squeeze mine.
The man who was waiting for us in the interview room had sandy blond hair and tired eyes. He didn’t look up, not even when Daniel’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pulled it out to sit.