Page 73 of The Arrangement

What shocked me more was that I wasn’t shocked. The fact that my grandfather was under the microscope of the U.S. Treasury Department was the least shocking piece of information I’d had all day. It was then that I remembered the manila envelope in my bag that was currently hanging on a hook near the door. I hadn’t even had a chance to open it to review the details, to confirm my suspicions.

“You saw your grandfather and a man named James Erkharst of Erkharst Earnings Group this evening, didn’t you?” His voice was matter-of-fact; it wasn’t really a question but more of a confirmation.

I bit the inside of my lip so hard I tasted blood. “And how would you know that, Fletch?”

“So you did?”

I huffed and pushed away from the table, silently cursing my family, my parentage, and the circumstances that had led me here. Feeling Fletcher’s eyes on my back, I pulled the leather portfolio from my back and gripped it tightly as I sat down. His gaze flickered to the portfolio like he already knew what was in it.

“Were you tailing me?” I asked seriously, watching for the stupid tell he had when he was lying; his eye would twitch slightly as if his body was physically against the lies he would push from his lips. But of course, I hadn’t caught him lying to me for the past two years, so he must have gotten better at hiding it.

He shook his head, his facial expression stony. “No, we were tailing Erkharst.” I nodded, believing him at least. The restaurant hadn’t been full, but it wasn’t like we were the only people there. It was believable. And he had already told me more than enough for me to deck him, so there was no reason for him to stop now.

“Do you have the evidence you need now?” My mind was a blur of twenty different outcomes of this conversation, all of them more and more bleak. I didn’t care about the downfall of my grandfather; it had been a long time coming. But what about the people caught in the crossfire?

Fletcher took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m here tonight, Seb.” His eyes darted to the portfolio I had on my lap. “While I have been able to obtain enough files and contacts for reasonable doubt, the U.S. Treasury wants ironclad evidence that would put this son of a bitch behind bars.”

Out of everyone I knew, Fletcher was one of the people who knew how I felt about my grandfather. About our relationship and how he used my sister as a bargaining chip in keeping me in line. In keepingup his wholesome family man facade that he paraded to the community.

“And my sister?” I didn’t ask about me because who the fuck cared. As long as my family was protected, that was all I needed. It wasn’t like anyone was holding me here if, for some reason, I was implicated in his dealings.

Once again, Fletcher reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and revealed a folded piece of paper with the embossed seal of the U.S. Treasury Department and signed in a scroll cursive signature.

“This is asking for your help, Seb,” Thomas Fletcher swallowed hard as if willing me to cooperate with his tone alone. “We know you had no idea, maybe suspicions but nothing that would tie you to this shit show. This is a signed document by the head of my department and the U.S. Treasury Department promising not to implicate you or Maria in any wrongdoings.”

I huffed, pulling the paper closer before looking up at my best friend. “You had this ready, did you?”

He shrugged and leaned back against the chair.“I knew what you would ask for.”

Rubbing the expensive paper in between my fingers, I chewed my bottom lip between my teeth. “And this is a guarantee, but you must want something in return, or you wouldn’t be here telling me all of this.”

Fletcher cocked a lazy smile. “We want a confession. And I think you can get it.” He opened his wallet and pulled out a card embossed with his name next to the emblem of the U.S. Marshals. Thomas Fletcher II, Deputy U.S. Marshal, and next to it, a number I didn’t recognize.

“Think about it.” He once again cast his gaze to the leather portfolio in my lap, but didn’t ask for it like he knew not to push it. “If what is in the portfolio is what I think it is, you need to read it. Look at it, Sebastian, very hard. Because once you do, you’ll know too much, and if you don’t cooperate, our friendship won’t be enough to save you.” He stood, his eyes clouded as if he hated saying that as much as I hated hearing it.

Fletcher pulled back on his jacket and tapped the card he had left on the table. “Call that number; don’t text my usual phone about this. And it goes without saying, don’t tell anyone about this if you can help it.”

Picking up the card, I didn’t turn to see Fletcher head to the door, but I heard him pause as he opened the door and felt the cold air wrap around my ankles.

“And Sebastian?”

My voice was rough as I answered, still not turning towards him. “What, Fletch?”

“I’m sorry.”

With that, Thomas Fletcher left, and my apartment was once again empty.

I pored over the document:the map, the blueprints, and the fine print of the agreement. Pulling out my work computer, I quickly logged into the firm’s CMS. When I found the file for Erkharst Earnings Group, I clicked on it, and I was immediately prompted to reenter my password. I halted, knowing that by accessing this folder and putting in my login, it would flag me and keep a log of my access.

I thought about it long and hard, my fingers hovering over the keys as the login screen blinked on my laptop for me to continue.

Fuck it.

With the stroke of a key, my screen changed as my access was granted. Without thinking about it, I turned on the record option on my laptop; I knew if I copied any files or tried to move them, my grandfather would have questions. This way, it would just look like I was researching this potential client, and I could cover my tracks easily.

That was the thing about my grandfather; he’d never thought I was smart enough to look into this, to suspect. A smile tugged at my lips as I thought about what he would look like in orange.

I quickly sobered when I remembered how wealthy and connected he was and that the threat of doing hard time was reserved for thosewho couldn’t afford the crime. For the rich, crime was just a matter of whether they could afford the fees if they were caught. And that was a big if.

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