White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 8

In another universe

In the afternoon Peter checked in on the hotel. It felt silly to stay in a hotel in the city you lived, but they did not want to take the risk that Peter was exposed and an FBI agent. It was after all a suspected murderer.

It actually took some time to sweep the place for bugs. He had expected a fancy room, probably with a view. What he had was more of a flat lacking a kitchen. He even had a staircase! And views in both directions.

He arranged his personal laptop - the one he had picked up on his way out - and called Elizabeth over Skype.

"Oh. Yeah... That's good," he said when his beloved wife's face filled the square on the screen. "Can you see me?"

"I can," she confirmed.

"Look at us, being a modern couple."

"I know. Okay, so, how's the room?"

"Uh, not a room, honey. It's a suite," Peter said, "See for yourself." He lifted the laptop and showed her. There was a grand vestibule, a staircase up to the bedroom, and a living room bigger than his own first floor.

"Looks pretty fantastic," she said.

"Oh, wait a minute. Look at this view. Look at it." He showed her the view over Central Park. It was better than Neal's. "There's a button that opens the curtains automatically."

"Wow."

"And I've got a baby grand," he said and showed her the piano. He wondered what the guest on the floor below would say if it was actually used.

Who did really have the use for a suite like this, unless you were the President always surrounded by at least fifty people?

"Well, it looks like you have everything you need."

"Well, not everything." He sat down with the laptop. "Let me show you the best part of the room... you." He held up the photo of her that he had placed on the sofa table.

"Oh, thanks for bringing me along." There was a knock on the door. El must have heard it. "All right, now, get back to work."

"I miss you."

"Miss you back."

He closed the lid and walked to the vestibule where he opened the double doors and let the kid in.

"Anybody see you?"

"No, I double-backed through the service entrance. You sweep the place?"

"Yeah, the minute I walked in. It's clean."

Neal whistled when he looked around.

"Nice digs, Peter. Maybe you picked the wrong universe to live in."

"Nope."

Neal opened the door to the mini-fridge which as in any hotel contained highly overpriced products.

"No, no, no. Stay out of there." He closed the door. "Six bucks for a candy bar."

"Yeah, it's on the tab," Neal nodded as if that meant it was for free. He frowned when he realized Peter did not agree. "Embrace your hypothetical self."

"I don't do hypothetical." And he would never pay for the things in that fridge even if he had the salary for it, or a firm that was not funded by taxpayers' money. It was healthier in any aspect to take a walk and stop by a normal store.

"Oh, we speculate all the time." The kid examined the snack bags placed on top of the fridge. Peter took it from his hand and returned it.

"On our cases. Not on my life choices. No touching." He waved for Neal to leave the food and sit down. "Come on. What do you have?"

"Didn't get anything on Kent, but Jones found something pretty interesting on Hayes' computer."

On Hayes' computer? The kid handed him a paper from his inner pocket as he sat down beside Peter. Peter unfolded it.

"Failed password attempts."

"The day Hayes died, someone tried to access his office desktop.

They tried variations on his birthday, a bunch of song titles, and the name of the dog he had as a kid."

"Somebody had a close relationship with him."

"Looks like Novice has a mole."

Peter felt his brow get deep valleys. This was not what he had expected.

"All right, Kent and his upper management can access any e-mail account that they want. They wouldn't have to go fishing for a password."

"We can rule them out," his pet convict agreed.

"Well, we need to dig into the junior execs," Peter realized. "Since I'm the auditor, I can't be hanging around the water cooler. But maybe you could."

The excitement lit in Neal's eyes. He leaned forward.

"You're sending me in? How?"

Yes, that was the question.

"Kent's kissing my butt," he pointed out with distaste. "He wants a clean audit so badly that maybe he'd hire a friend of mine who's looking for work in marketing. If I pull the strings, think you can land the job?"

"Marketing?" the con-man leaned back on the couch again. "I can do marketing."

Peter smiled. Of course, he could. He had even managed to get a park named after someone who never existed because of a new arena that was never existed either.