Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(62)

Mail fraud, wire fraud, securities fraud, money laundering.

The charges that registered were all too familiar; my father had been convicted of them all. My very own worst-case scenario was playing out in a federal court. Why hadn’t I just kept running? Because I’d wanted to make things right. And maybe I would. For everyone but myself.

As the magistrate judge rambled on about being appointed counsel if I couldn’t afford my own, I knew I needed Ivers. ASAP. I needed someone to explain to me, using idiot-proof words, what the f*ck was going to happen to me.

As soon as Ivers’s name entered my thoughts, he was pushing through the doors of the courtroom. The judge dismissed me, and Ivers followed the Marshals as they led me out the back. We were escorted to a small room and Ivers shut the door. He pulled out his phone and started barking orders into it. When he ended his call, he sat down next to me.

My voice shook as I asked, “What the hell just happened?”

“In addition to conspiracy, you’ve been charged with several of the felonies of which your father was convicted.”

“But why? I had nothing to do with it.”

“Well, the information you turned over to the FBI seems to say differently.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.” My voice rose on the last words; I was barely holding it together.

The door opened.

Shit.

Cold fear snaked down my spine.

Michael Drake, the Assistant U.S. Attorney who’d eviscerated me on cross-examination during my father’s trial, had joined the burn Charlie at the stake party.

“Well, Ms. Agoston, you’re looking a little different than the last time I saw you.” If I weren’t handcuffed, I would have been tempted to slap the smug smirk off his face.

I didn’t know how to respond to his taunting statement other than telling him to go f*ck himself, so I kept my mouth shut.

“Let’s cut through the BS and get down to why you’ve bothered to drag my client through this farce when we both know she didn’t have anything to do with Agoston’s scam.”

Drake sat down across from us.

“The accounts in her name say otherwise.”

The cold fear spread from my spine to envelop my entire body like an icy straight jacket. “Wh … what are you talking about?”

Drake’s smile was triumphant. “So far, we’ve identified several accounts in your name in the Caymans and in Switzerland, courtesy of the little book you turned over to the FBI.”

“How … how is that even possible?” I stammered, between shallow, panting breaths.

“You tell me, Charlotte.”

“Cut the crap,” Ivers said. “Her father did it. She wasn’t involved. You know it, and I know it. Besides, if she was smart enough to pull this off, why the hell would she be dumb enough to put the accounts in her own name and turn over evidence to help the FBI find them?” Ivers sounded so calm and self-assured, but then, his entire life wasn’t flashing before his eyes. I thought of the days I’d spent in the bin. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

Drake’s laugh could have been used as a track for an evil movie villain. “Lucky for me, I don’t need to answer that question in order to send her to prison for the rest of her life. No jury on Earth is going to let her walk after they see the evidence.”

I lunged for the garbage and threw up the rubbery chicken patty I’d been served for lunch. I dropped to my knees, gagging and spitting, resting my arms and handcuffed hands on the edge of the trashcan for support. My head spun, and the urge to pass out was pressing down on me. Part of me welcomed the darkness and the escape it would offer.

“Disgusting.” Drake’s snide tone pulled me out of my momentary stupor. Awareness rushed back in, along with an untapped inner reserve of strength. I had to get up. I was already ashamed that he’d brought me to my knees.

Ivers crossed the room and opened the door. “Could someone get us some water?”

I pushed up and stumbled to my feet, Ivers catching me by the arm and helping me back to my chair. A few seconds later he pressed a styrofoam cup into my hands. I drank slowly, not wanting to puke again.

I fumbled the cup to the table and took a moment to compose myself. The silence in the room was deafening. Or maybe it was just the blood rushing in my ears.


Finally, Ivers crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He continued the conversation with Drake as though nothing remarkable had happened.

“Are all of the accounts you’ve been able to identify in her name?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to hear the answer that would send me running for the garbage can again. My heart thundered so loudly I almost missed Drake’s self-satisfied, “Yes.”

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. I was not going to let him see me cry.

“Do you suspect that all of the accounts are in her name?” Ivers asked, his cool tone completely at odds with the damning information he was hearing.

“No,” Drake replied. “But it’s a clear possibility at this point that dozens of them are.” I clenched my hands together to stop the shaking.

“How long do you figure it’s going to take you to cut through the red tape with all of these foreign banks and recover the money?”

Drake straightened, and looked down as he spun a cufflink. “It’ll take some time, but we’ll get there.”