She could use the open internship position as bait.
The last student in line was always vying for Kathryn’s attention. She was bright, wildly ambitious, and about Kathryn’s height. Put a plaid coat and a red wig on her, and it just might work. If that seemed a bit cloak-and-dagger, even silly, well—she was desperate. Anyway, this girl would jump at the prospect of an internship, and not ask too many questions. She knew that in her gut.
She put on her brightest smile.
“Miss Rivera. Wait a minute.”
16
Department of Justice Washington, DC
At 8:00 A.M. on Saturday, when Andrew Martin ushered Kathryn into the conference room at Main Justice and shut the door, she was already screwed. She’d only just closed her eyes in her hotel bed last night when the alarm was triggered back home, feeding to the app on her phone. She watched Charlie pounding on the front door of the town house from hundreds of miles away, the bottom falling out of her stomach. The little ploy with the intern wouldn’t be enough to save her. Turned out he had a guy at the airport who’d told him about her flight the second she booked the ticket. How could she think he’d be fooled by an impostor brought in to make the house look occupied? The charade with holding the phone up was laughable. He’d be waiting for her when she got back to Boston. And as terrifying as that was, it was the least of her problems.
Kathryn trembled with fatigue as she reached out to shake Brooke Lee’s hand. She’d anticipated that they’d put on a show of strength, that she would find a busy war room full of FBI agents, with boxes of evidence piled to the ceiling. But the room was sterile as a lab, and it was just the three of them. The quiet was unsettling—because it was smart. They weren’t giving anything away.
Kathryn had dressed up in honor of the solemn occasion. A suit, pumps, pearls—the uniform of the female lawyer of her generation. But the two prosecutors were business casual, underlining the difference in their ages. Martin in khakis and a fleece vest like a tech entrepreneur who’d just sold his start-up. Brooke could have been an Instagram influencer: in trendy jeans and white sneakers, a cute blazer and red lip her nods to formality. The youngbloods of DOJ had her outclassed and outsmarted. They were ready to eat her alive. She wanted to give up now and save them the trouble. But she couldn’t. There were people who depended on her.
Kathryn sat down on one side of the table, the two prosecutors on the other.
“It’s good to finally meet in person, Your Honor,” Brooke said.
Finally? Her stomach lurched. They’d been working on this investigation for some time, then. Or they wanted her to believe that.
“Yes, well, thank you for coming in on a weekend. That made it easier.”
“We know you have a busy schedule. And this way, it’s more discreet,” Martin said.
“And thank you for coming in voluntarily, so we didn’t have to issue a subpoena,” Brooke said.
Another lurch. Subpoenaing a sitting federal judge was a huge deal, requiring approval up the entire chain of command at DOJ. It almost never happened. If they’d actually been prepared to subpoena her, it meant they had the goods on her already. Enough evidence to pass muster with a committee. Unless Brooke was bluffing.
God, let her be bluffing.
“Of course,” she said, putting on a serene smile. “I have nothing to hide.”
She had plenty to hide and had been hiding it for a very long time. But the clock was ticking on the Kathryn Conroy charade. The honorable judge, a pillar of the bar, was a figment, nothing more. These two did their homework. They knew that. The laptops sitting in front of them on the table would be full of documents and spreadsheets and phone records pointing to her complicity in crimes going back decades. She might be here for reasons of her own. But she couldn’t forget that speaking to them was an extremely dangerous play.
“Before we begin, could I have a cup of coffee, please?” she said.
The request was just a delaying tactic to let her catch her breath. She didn’t need more caffeine. Having guzzled three cups at breakfast, she had the shakes already.
Martin left to get the coffee. Brooke folded her hands in her lap and gazed at Kathryn with an unreadable expression. It was unnerving enough that she buckled under the pressure and broke off eye contact. There was a strange buzzing in her ears, a pressure behind her eyes. The silence built until he returned a few minutes later, bearing a cheap Styrofoam cup. She took a gulp of the bitter brew and gagged.
“Too hot?” he said.
“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”