Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(63)

Ivers leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “So the reason you ran down here so damn fast isn’t because you want to cut a deal in exchange for Charlotte’s help to recover the money? Because we both know if she’s the one signing the withdrawal slips and approving the wire transfers, it’ll take weeks rather than months or years of the red tape you’ll be wading through to get it back.”

Drake looked bored as he said, “We might be willing to discuss the possibility.”

The icy grip clutching my chest receded a fraction. I reminded myself that with my recent luck, a deal could still mean years in prison. If not decades.

I held completely still, as if afraid any movement from me would derail whatever ground Ivers had just gained.

“Recovery of the funds from the accounts you identify in her name, but only if the subject bank is willing to cooperate, in exchange for full dismissal of the charges with prejudice. And no re-filing any state or federal charges arising out of, or related to, any aspect of Agoston’s scheme,” Ivers said.

“Full recovery of the funds,” Drake shot back.

“With interest, even a partial recovery is going to approach the original amount Agoston took, and she can only get you money from accounts in her name identified by the FBI, and only if the bank cooperates. She can’t agree to things that are outside of her control.”

Drake leaned back in his chair, taking his time to mull over Ivers’s words as if my future wasn’t hanging in the balance.

“I don’t know…” Drake drawled.

Ivers went in for the kill. “Would you prefer the media know that the DOJ has the ability to recover the money right now, and it’s considering throwing that advantage away and taking years to accomplish the same result because it wants to prove a point by locking up one innocent girl?”

Drake’s features were carved in stone. I held my breath as Ivers and I waited for his response.

“Let me make a call.” Drake rose and left the room.

I sucked in huge breath and looked over at Ivers. “Is this really going to work?”

Ivers didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Sweet relief rushed through me for a beat before another thought struck me.

“Do … do I have to go back to Rikers? Because … I don’t know if I can handle that.”

He bit his bottom lip. The action was decidedly at odds with his expensive suit and air of confidence. After a moment, he shook his head.

“I can’t imagine the feds are going to let you out of their sight now that we know you’re effectively the key to recovering the money. It’s much more likely that they’ll stash you somewhere in protective custody. If this gets out, people would kill to get to you. They can’t risk that happening.”

Then I asked the question that had been reverberating through my head since Drake had dropped the bomb about the accounts being in my name.

“I didn’t set up any of those accounts, so how could they possibly be in my name?”

Ivers’s expression was sympathetic when he said, “I really think that’s a question for your father, Charlotte.”

We sat in heavy, awkward silence while we waited for Drake to return.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, the door to the room swung open, and Drake strode back in, expression unreadable.

He crossed his arms over his chest, and once again, I held my breath.

“You’ve got a deal.”





Three weeks later.

I grabbed the heavy bag to slow its swinging motion. Sweat stung my eyes as I swiped the back of my forearm across my dripping face. Releasing the bag, I reached up with both hands to grip the beam where it hung from the ceiling of my garage. I leaned into the stretch and dragged in a few deep breaths. Exhaustion was the only way I could shut my brain off for a few minutes at a time. And God knew I needed a break.


To say the last three weeks had been brutal would be an understatement.

Prolonged uncertainty took a vicious toll on a person. Physically, mentally, and otherwise. The ability to compartmentalize that I honed in the service was all that was holding me together. My father had tapped into a well of strength I hadn’t known he possessed. Even before my mother opened her eyes, he’d seemed to make a decision that his capacity to fight for her was stronger than his fear of losing her. His spine had straightened, he’d cleaned himself up, and his eyes had regained the sharpness I was used to seeing there. I was starting to think he’d brought my mother back from the brink by force of will alone. She’d opened her eyes two days ago with a lopsided smile and whispered, “Jefferson? What happened?”

I’d dropped to my knees beside her bed as my father had pressed her small hand to his lips and thanked every deity known to man for bringing her back to us. A portion of the crushing weight I’d been carrying had lifted. She wasn’t out of the woods completely, but it was a hell of an improvement over watching her lay there, motionless, for weeks on end. The doctors had already started discussing moving her to a rehab facility. Today she’d insisted that I go home and get some rest. Take some time to myself.

Which is why I’d spent the last hour pounding the bag until my arms were almost too heavy to lift.

My father had urged me to go to New York, but Ivers had told me unequivocally it would be a wasted trip. The FBI wouldn’t let Charlie see anyone except him, and his visits were extremely limited. For ethical reasons, he couldn’t tell me anything except she was fine. It was a small consolation.