Chapter Text
Sometimes, home feels like a prison.
White sprawling walls adorned with monochromatic paintings procured from several art galleries around the world, couture furniture flown in from Italy and yet it never feels like yours.
You’ve never cared for them really – another overt display of the amount of wealth that your husband, Nick, has acquired through his art dealer, a posh Englishman that he refers to only as Jonathan.
Nights like tonight feel like you’d rather be anywhere but home, your glass house as your glided cage. It’s been two years since you said your ‘I dos’ and it still feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop with the amount of money that has been spent since you’d met.
The anxiety comes from never having ends meet when you were child, the hand-me-downs never enough to take the chill away from your bones when the cold seasons would start. With no help from your parents, you clawed your way out of poverty and into college, scholarships paving the way while the second and third jobs at your local department stores gave you a sense of how to dress on the off-chance you’d get into the offices of places that would eventually offer you a job.
And one day, they did.
Some would call it kismet.
You would call it hard work and focus.
But then again, that’s what your mother calls your marriage.
“Lucky.”
“Blessed beyond belief.”
Truth be told, your mother had done well for herself. Not so much for her children but you were thriving, an enigma of sorts. In her eyes, that made you valuable.
It also helped that your husband was none other than Nick Fowler, a corporate lawyer that turned partner before he’d even proposed. As much as those in his inner circle laud his accomplishments, you see the good and the bad – including the bribery and intimidation, the underbelly of what his job hides when he’s in the courtroom. There used to be moments when you would think of reminding him of his job, the integrity of the law and letting the system do the work.
Courage could have won out if he hadn’t silenced you with his own twisted facts and the burgeoning confidence of a lawyer that had never lost a court case, prompting him to remind you that this was the way of things – it was a dog-eat-dog business, and he had the sharper bite.
As it turns out, your mind could be a prison as well.
Sipping your glass of wine, tension spikes in your neck, haphazardly rubbing the ache away with your fingers. It’s hard to relax when your mother calls, knowing that if you don’t answer, she’ll incessantly wear you down with text messages and eventually make a call to Penelope, your beloved assistant, who is a people pleaser at heart.
“Hi Mom,” you answer, looking out at the sparkling cityscape.
“I’ve only been trying to call you for over an hour. It’s important,” she begins, her dramatic sigh giving you a sense of foreboding. “I need you to tell me the truth.”
“What truth? What are you talking about?”
“Well, I don’t know,” your mother fires back, clearly agitated. “I’m hearing that the FBI came to Nick’s firm? Did you know?”
The news makes you sit up, teeth crushing your lower lip in worry.
“What?”
“You mean you didn’t know? How could you not?” your mother asks, her irritation apparent.
“Who told you this?”
“A good friend! Well? Is it true or not?”
“I-I,” you stammer, placing your wine glass down, searching in vain for the TV remote. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me anything.”
“Get him on the phone,” your mother directs. “You have a right to know, you know. This could be a big deal.”
“A right to know or a right for you to know?” you answer her bluntly, hearing her gasp of surprise.
“I just want to make sure my baby girl is taken care of, and this is very troubling news, sweetheart. The FBI doesn’t just make social calls.”
“I’ll deal with it when I can. Nick’s very busy, Mom.”
“He’s never too busy for you. Call him,” she urges before she hangs up. “You don’t want to end up blindsided.”
-
It isn’t a social call.
Not at this hour.
He has to hand it to Fowler, his security checking every credential before he’s even allowed to step inside the elevator. He shouldn’t feel the sense of dread, looming over him like a shadow as he watches the numbers light up with every floor they pass.
Instinctively, he adjusts his jacket, the bulletproof vest underneath his garments giving him a sense of security., even if he knows it’s simply just a standard in his line of work.
Business as normal, even at this time of night. So many unaware of what they will wake up to in the morning.
He’s greeted by you at the door, confusion and fear on your features. A smile is forced upon his lips, looking up at the paintings. They’ll be returned within a week or so – once the place has been thoroughly searched.
“Mrs. Fowler,” he begins, extending his hand to yours as you shake it firmly. “Please, have a seat.”
“What’s going on? You don’t do house calls.”
You’re astute – to a point.
It almost pains him to have to break the news to you. It’s a not exactly a textbook case – you’ve been followed for months, and everything has come up empty., unaware of what has gone on behind the scenes and what is to come.
Your name will be splashed across various news screens, reporters will be relentless in their pursuit for you to tell your side of the story – one that you won’t have an absolute narrative over.
Yet, when you sit, he can see it in your eyes. The defeat, knowing that something is wrong.
“First,” he begins with a slight clearing of his throat. “Perhaps I should re-introduce myself."
He sits across from you, watching your expression change.
“Jonathan Pine,” he continues, sliding a card your way, seeing your face fall when you read the card, your hand covering your mouth. “MI6.”
Tears brimming in your eyes, he can tell the emotion is from confusion and anger when the realization hits, your eyes darkening when you finally look up at him from the card in your hand.
“This is about Nick, isn’t it?”
You’re smarter than your husband gives you credit for. Your question hangs in the air for a moment, your chest rising and fall rapidly.
Nodding slowly, your eyes seemingly glaze over when he confirms.
“He’s with a contingent of agents, FBI and MI6, among a few others,” Pine says quietly. “I must ask… how much do you know about your husband?
“Know what?” you ask tearfully. “I have no idea what’s going on. A few minutes ago, you were his art dealer and he was a just a lawyer.”
“I need you to listen to me,” he says quietly but firmly. “Time is of the essence and I assure you that whatever questions you have will be answered. But they will not be answered now. I need you to trust me.”
“Why should I?”
“I’ve been tracking your husband for months now. We had to be sure we had the right person. There are numerous charges that he is up against. Embezzlement, racketeering, fraud, witness intimidation, tampering with evidence,” Pine pauses, watching the card slip through your fingers. “The list goes on.”
“Are you here to arrest me?”
“No. We’ve also been tracking you for months,” he says, hearing you suck in a sharp breath. “He’s admitted to us that you would have no idea of what had transpired and looking into it, it appears that way but we have further questions.”
“So, I am being arrested,” you reply, looking into his eyes. “I want my lawyer.”
Pine hesitates.
“I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen. She’ll be under indictment in a few hours. I don’t think you understand the severity of what is going to happen. Within hours, we will be seizing every bit of property that he has, that you have, if it’s joint. There will be cameras, media swarming at your door.”
He can tell you’ve stopped listening by the way your body shifts, nodding along when he’s stopped talking.
-
“I need you to come with me.”
The voice registers in your mind but it takes a moment to sink in. Your body feels like lead, slow moving when you turn your head.
“I can’t,” you answer, mind buzzing with the list of things you need to do. “I have to -”
“You have to leave,” Pine tells you pointedly, leaning forward in his chair. “In two hours, your home will be under my jurisdiction. Do you have somewhere you can go? Somewhere that’s safe?”
It feels like you’re underwater, your heartbeat hammering out of control when he comes back into focus.
Pine looks around the living room, shaking his head slowly.
“It’s a shame,” he says after a moment. “I had excellent taste.”
-
“Mrs. Fowler?”
It sounds like someone is asking for you, but everything is still a blur. The lights above you when you were being interrogated – interviewed, as Pine called it – made you squint, your mouth going dry from answering all of the questions that were lobbied your way without a break.
The woman who touches your shoulder is wearing a black pants suit, her holster visible when she turns at the door that is being opened.
“That’s all the questions we have for now. If there is anything that you can remember, call me,” she says, tapping an acrylic nail on the business card on the table. “Thank you for your compliance with our investigation so far.”
For a split second, you wish you could feel something other than numb. A flashback of Nick walking into the empty penthouse, arms spread wide as he touted the various features mar your thoughts, your legs shaky when you finally stand.
“It’s all ours, baby,” Nick says, cupping your face before giving you a long kiss. “We earned it. Every fuckin’ bit of it. Take it all in.”
“Mrs. Fowler?” a voice asks, breaking your trance. “You’re free to go. I believe Agent Pine has secured a car for you.”
Everything you could grab is in a suitcase by the wall. At the recommendation of various people who grilled your every whereabout, your phone is shut off for the meantime, but not quickly enough for his associates to ask where you are before you cut off their access to you.
“We’re monitoring your phone,” Agent Burr reminds you, opening the door. “You’ll be escorted somewhere safe. I don’t think I need to remind you that it location needs to say confidential. No visitors, no sharing your whereabouts.”
All you can do give a nod, walking through the door as Agent Pine looks on before he finally flashes a quick smile, reaching for your suitcase.
“Let’s get you to the car.”
-
“I don’t ask for many favors,” Pine instructs, looking at your sleeping form in the backseat of the SUV.
“That’s why I’m listening,” the voice on the other end answers.
“Good. The repercussions of this could reach farther than I would have previously anticipated.”
“How bad are we talking?”
“Husband has powerful friends.”
“You think they’ll retaliate if they think she talked?”
“Not the way you think. Fowler being in handcuffs doesn’t mean a thing when he’s got friends outside. She’s his prized possession. He’ll want her back.”
“I’m not a babysitter, Pine. She doesn’t have any other family?”
“She’ll be resilient,” Pine answers, his eyes trained on the winding road as the incline gets steeper. “I haven’t seen it yet, but I have a feeling. Watch from a distance. I’m not asking you to get involved.”
“Until I have to.”
“I pride myself on always having a backup plan.”
“Lucky me.”
“Try not to make it obvious. It’s not mercenary work. I need you make sure she doesn’t know that you’re there to keep an eye on her.”
“Relax, Pine, I know to keep a distance.”
“Good,” he replies, continuing up the road. “Let her settle in. You know this area well. I want to be informed if anything seems out of the ordinary.”
“And I want to be informed if I have to be on high alert. This favor seems easy enough but we both know that you don’t get handed the cases that are cut and dry. If this starts to get messy, I need to know.”
“Fair enough,” Pine replies. “You have my word, Rake.”
Chapter Text
Nick sits forward, rubbing his wrists from the sting of the handcuffs. Shooting a look at his attorney, she clears her throat, hands folded on the table.
“I’ve been here long enough, Rae,” he tells her, her expression somber.
“Do you understand the severity of what you’re being charged with? This is a RICO case, Nick. This ain’t child’s play,” she fumes, learning forward, sticking a finger in his face. “I warned you from the get-go that this was going to go south.”
“You’re my lawyer. Get me out of here.”
“They are talking about lock up,” she hisses. “Everything is seized, Nick. You can’t take a shit without them knowing about it.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
Nick tenses his jaw at her response.
“Well. That’s disappointing,” he says after a pause, his fight fading while she looks at him suspiciously. “I thought they would at least give a me a head start. I don’t have anything, as you know. Mostly everything is tied up elsewhere.”
“They’re going to search the penthouse. They brought her in for questioning.”
Immediately, his eyes narrow at her comment.
“She doesn’t know anything, Rae.”
“They can’t take your word for it.”
“Where is she?”
“Gone,” your lawyer mutters, sifting through her notes. “Got a thorough rundown though. My guess is that you’ll have some explaining to do once this is over.”
“What does that mean? I want to talk to her.”
“She’s with your art dealer,” his lawyer quips, ignoring his murderous glance.
“What do you mean?”
With a sordid laugh, she stands, her palms flat on the table.
“For someone so smart, Nick, you really are a dumbass. Too lazy to do your research, too greedy to take a step back and look at your choices. Your art dealer is an MI6 agent by the name of Jonathan Pine. He’s the one who brought your wife in for questioning.”
The chair slides back violently, clattering to the floor, Nick getting close to her face when she puts up her hand.
“I’d be real careful if I were you. I’m your only lifeline out of here. She’s gone, Nick. Sequestered her off to God knows where.”
“I need to know where,” he demands, his teeth bared at her.
“This is your mess. I’ll be back when I can find out where she went but you aren’t getting anytime soon so keep your mouth shut and don’t go behind my back in the meantime, trying to fix your mistakes. I’m serious, Nick. You fuck this up and it’s all over for you.”
Turning on her heels, she knocks on the door twice, an agent coming to open it before she disappears from view, his expletive laden tirade echoing off the walls.
-
The sun shines on your face, hand shielding your face from the brightness while the SUV slows to a stop. Your eyes burn with exhaustion from the tears you’d shed in the backseat once the city was fading from the rearview, the severity of the situation sinking in the farther you were distanced from Nick.
“We’re here,” Agent Pine announces gently. “I hope you got some rest.”
Before sleep had taken over, Pine rattled off a list of charges once more, adding on that your husband’s associates would want to make sure you would be taken care of properly – something that couldn’t be allowed, even if their intentions were good.
The problem was that no one believed their overt earnest notions were anything but, not with millions missing from various accounts that had been transferred back and forth under various monikers, none of which turned out to be anyone in the flesh.
Once on the interstate, Pine had casually mentioned the distance that was needed from Nick.
“It’s a risky move, I know,” Pine says from the front seat. “A gamble we’re willing to take. As we’ve found out, it appears you were going to make your own exit strategy. We were more than happy to speed it up for you.”
Reaching for the handle, the door is opened, Pine assisting you out. The cold air bites through your thin sweater and pants, the visible involuntary shiver causing Pine to shrug off his jacket and place it around your shoulders.
“We’ll make sure you have proper clothes,” he assures you. “It does get rather cold up here.”
The house – so small that you aren’t sure if you could even call it such – sits overlooking the rolling green hills, shutters painted a pristine white against the aged brick.
Your shoes slip on the grass, still wet from the morning dew, your neck craning to see the thick trees behind the house. Fluffy clouds dot the bright blue sky, the cool breeze swirling through the windchimes that catch your attention.
This isn’t home, not by a longshot.
The steps creak with every step, a slight fear taking hold that you could fall through with enough pressure until your feet are solidly on the porch. Pine reaches into his pocket to retrieve a key, crunching it through the lock and opening the door.
The freshly painted interior still smells acrid, your nose wrinkling for a moment as Pine allows a small cough, opening the window to air out the smell. The furniture is minimal but new, offsetting the outside with the modern sofa and mounted television.
“There isn’t a lot of service up here but there’s a DVD player and some movies,” Pine informs you, closing the door. “Kitchen is to the right, the bedroom and bathroom are to the left.”
Sinking down onto the couch, you want the numbness to shake from your body, even as you try to will it away with the shake of your leg.
Pine stalks around like a realtor, naming every function and appliance, now just background noise when you think about what you’ve left behind.
“Divorce,” Pine says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Risky move.”
Looking up at him, he lowers himself to your level, giving you a solemn gaze.
“Your attorney told us that you had been thinking of filing. I figured you would have to be running away from a literal fortune until I realized that maybe it wasn’t about money. Maybe he scares you.”
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“Until we know it’s safe,” Pine answers, standing at his full height. “Until we know how far of a reach he had. As for your safety, we will have eyes on you to ensure your wellbeing.”
Oddly enough, it gives you a sense of relief, the tension in your shoulders easing even if you know it doesn’t make the dread completely go away.
“I need to lie down,” you lie, standing up as Pine nods.
“I’ll get you some things from the store. Be back in a bit. Rest up.”
You can hear his footsteps fading once you open the door to the bedroom. The queen-sized bed looks anything but inviting when you finally let out a pent-up sigh, tossing the suitcase onto the bed with as much strength as you can muster.
It doesn’t take long to unzip the suitcase, moving items out of the way until you get to what you are looking for.
As sunshine filters through the window, the glint of the gun hits the sunlight just right before checking the safety, placing it under your bed before sitting back down, eyes trained on the closed door.
-
Pine is slid a whiskey from the other end of the bar, the liquid sloshing around before he picks it up and takes a sip.
“Didn’t think you’d make it up here,” Rake quips, sitting next to him. “You here alone?”
“For the moment,” Pine acknowledges. “There’s about five other agents within earshot of her.”
“You’re taking this more seriously than I thought. What brings you up here, anyway?”
“The quiet is nice.”
“Mm,” Rake agrees. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You wouldn’t hide away a white-collar criminal’s wife unless it was something big.”
“Depends on your scope of how big.”
Pine whispers a few names, Rake nodding in agreement.
Judges, politicians, congressmen – all of them who could stand to have their names brought up, splashed across the news for the public.
“Fowler surprised me,” Pine continues. “I figured we’d bust him on some racketeering, some tax evasion but this… this is huge.”
“No fucking kidding. What does any of that have to do with her?”
“Fowler’s wife is, by all accounts, an enigma. She’s clean, Rake. Husband swears up and down that she didn’t know, her story checks out and yet, we still have orders to have her under surveillance.”
“They don’t trust her. They must have a good reason.”
Pine shrugs, downing his drink.
“She’s scared of something. Or someone.”
Rake raises an eyebrow at the statement.
“Who?”
Pine shakes his head. It’s plausible but he doesn’t know for sure, the thought hanging in his head longer than he wants it to.
“You don’t want to know. Trust me.”
“I’ve faced death more times than you can count. I think I can handle it.”
“You’ve survived, Rake. I’m never worried about that.”
“But you’re worried about this. Whatever it is.”
“I’m worried that there are more variables than I was led to believe. I don’t trust it yet.”
“You shouldn’t,” Rake says with a wink, downing his beer. “Never let your guard down.”
“I never do, old friend.”
Slapping his friend on the shoulder, Rake gets up, leaving Pine alone.
-
“No bail,” Agent Burr tells Rae with a slight smirk at the surprised expression on her face. “Sorry.”
“Why not?” Rae demands.
“Significant flight risk. You can’t think that he wouldn’t flee. You’re a smart woman.”
“So, throw a tracker on him. Flight risk or not, my client is innocent until proven guilty.”
Agent Burr tosses a folder onto the desk, pictures spilling out onto the table. Nick is in the majority of the shots, including some of his associates.
“Throwing a tracker on him does what? Keeps him in good company with August Walker?” Agent Burr questions, pointing to Nick and August on a yacht. “Or would you prefer his dealings with hiring Lloyd Hansen to eradicate his business rivals? How about all three of them together before the arrest?”
Burr points to another photo, the three of them leaving a restaurant.
“Oh, judging by your shocked face, I suppose your client didn’t tell you anything about these back-alley deals. How much money does he have left to pay you to represent him, I wonder?”
Rae’s expression changes, carefully stacking the photos together and placing them back into the folder.
“Are they all under arrest? As far as I know, only my client is so I’m unsure of what the pictures were supposed to imply, Agent Burr. Fine, he won’t be out on bail, but he’s allowed council and I’ll be here all night.”
Burr purses her lips at her words.
“He’s allowed a phone call, Angela. Make sure he gets it before I raise hell,” Rae says with a bright smile, moving past her on her way back to his holding cell.
-
Lloyd doesn’t believe it first.
The whisper in his ear, the glass shattering to the ground that gets the attention of the people in his vicinity before they go back to their bodies swaying to the house music. Not really his scene but he’s here on business.
“Fowler isn’t sloppy,” he says to the informant, patting his cheek. “What’s the real story?”
“Undercover job,” the informant says, spying the gun in his hand. “Tracking him for months, maybe a year, if what I heard was true.”
“I would have heard.”
“It happened last night. Mi6, FBI and Interpol all involved.”
“Interesting,” Lloyd purrs, stroking his mustache. “I love a little cat and mouse.”
The man leaves after Lloyd motions for him to go, settling back in his seat. Amid the loud music, his cell rings, Lloyd picking up after the second ring.
“Nick, my good man, what the hell can I do for you? Can I post your bail? Send you a fruit basket for your loss of freedom?”
“Cut the shit, Lloyd. I need your help.”
“Ain’t gonna come cheap, pal, you know that.”
“I need you to find my wife.”
“Oh?” Lloyd perks up, moving away from where he is seated and down the hallway, the music muted. “I’m listening.”
“My lawyer informed me she was interviewed and then taken somewhere else. I don’t know where, but I need her back.”
“Normally I’d charge extra for a recovery,” Lloyd teases. “But you get a discount, seeing as you’re incapacitated and all. What’s the story?”
“I love my wife and I’ll do anything to have her back. Even if it means you bring her back if she doesn’t want to come back.”
“Lover’s quarrel?”
“You could say that. Bring her back to me and I’ll make sure that you get rewarded for your efforts.”
“Consider it done, my good man. Who am I to get in the way of holy matrimony?”
-
Pine calls out to you but there is no answer. Knocking on the bedroom door, he finds you fast asleep on your side, your clothes strewn around you. Putting them away, he puts the suitcase upright, looking at the firearm case that has fallen out.
Opening it, he notices that it’s empty, looking back at you as you sleep.
Looking for any sign of the gun, Pine sighs, gazing at your sleeping form once more.
“Whatever you’re protecting yourself from,” he whispers. “You’re in good hands, I promise.”