Page 80 of Her Boss

“Who the fuck are you?” Chester said, sneering.

The man pulled a badge out of his pocket and laid it down on the table in front of Chester’s lawyer. “My name is Stanton Ellison. I work for the United States Department of Justice. Western division.”

The air in the room changed abruptly. Willington examined the credentials, but I knew it was only for show. They believed him. I believed him… though I had no idea what was going on.

“Did you know anything about this?” Rick asked me, his face pale.

“No way,” I whispered.

Cold dread settled deep in my belly.

Chester and his lawyer exchanged panicked glances, then my uncle pointed at the agent.

“I don’t know why you’re here, Stanton Ellison—” Chester spat the words out as one would a revolting piece of gristle, “—but this is a private meeting. Get the fuck out of here. Or do I need to have you removed?”

I shifted in my seat, my nerves suddenly making it almost impossible to sit still. The suited men standing against the wall straightened up, and Chester’s beady-eyed lawyer blinked in surprise.

Rick didn’t say a word, silently watching the newcomer with an unreadable expression.

“I don’t think you’ll be doing anything of the sort.” Ellison propped an elbow on the table, crooking a thumb toward the conference room door. “Outside there is a team of U.S. Marshals. So, you can tell your wallflower boys over there to stand down, unless they feel like doing a fresh twenty in the gray bar hotel.”

Chester gave his men a subtle shake of the head.

“That’s better. Now, that reminds me.” Ellison reached down for his case, opening it, dropping a thick manila folder on the table, several glossy photos spilling out. “You boys have been up to all sorts of things. Very busy.” Ellison sorted through the photos, showing Chester one. “Look familiar? Maybe you can tell me who that might be?”

Chester grimaced. “I think you know. I’m not doing a question and answer with you, Mr. Ellison. Not without counsel present, that is.”

Stanton raised a brow. “What about Mr. Willington?”

Chester’s lawyer replied in a tight voice, “Ah, I’m a real estate attorney…”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Ellison said in a mocking, almost singsong tone. “But I’ll answer it for you. That there is one Marko Salazzo. I believe you’re already familiar with him. Oh, he had plenty to say about you.” Stanton leveled a withering glare at Rick. “And you too, Mr. Trafford.”

“Never heard of him,” Chester muttered, his cheeks growing ruddy. “Is there a point to this, mister D-oh-fucking-Jay man?”

I squeezed Rick’s hand feverishly.

God, please tell me this isn’t happening!

“Oh, there’s much more, Mr. Nantes,” Ellison said, reaching inside the folder once again. “What do we have here? Payments to inspectors? A sewer district manager? Union bosses?” Stanton’s eyes went wide as he feigned shock, his words softening to almost a murmur. “Why, these look a lot like… bribes. Oh, wait, they don’t just look like them.” He held up several written documents, each annotated with myriad colored sticky notes. “They are bribes. These handy little sworn affidavits say so, anyway. I find that to be… quite interesting.”

Chester’s face was so red, he looked like it might explode at any moment. “You have shit.”

Stanton closed the folder, laying a palm gently down upon it. “I think a federal grand jury is going to have a different opinion.”

Chester’s nostrils flared. “Fine. We talk then. I’m prepared to make a statement.”

“Under oath?” Ellison asked, lifting a finger from the folder.

“Yes.”

Oh, no.

Rick leaned close, whispering in my ear, “Don’t say a fucking word. You got me? Not one.”

I gave him a quick nod, looking down, my mouth so dry it was like I’d swallowed a mouthful of desert sand.

Stanton stroked his chin. “Talk? Yes, that might work.”

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