White Collar - as an unofficial novel - part 3

The man with the ring

Neal sat by the phone the rest of the day selling shares in a fake company to people completely unaware that he conned them. Though he had to admit he could earn a fortune, legally, as a salesperson it did not feel good. Especially not now when he knew he was selling a bluff to innocent people. He just hoped that Peter and the rest of the FBI would transfer the money back at them. He had to sell and sell beyond any expectations to stop these guys. It was the raw truth and he had to accept it.

Peter and his team had redirected his first call, but they could not take all of them. Brad and the company he worked for taped their calls too and if the same three people answered his fifty, sixty calls they would know something was wrong.

By the end of the day, he had sold far more than any of the others. Brad came to his desk with his suit jacket in his hand.

"Come on, Crazy Eight. Let's go."

"Crazy Eight?"

"No?" Brad checked with him for approval. Neal took off his headset, not sure if he dared to say it sounded silly.

His boss shrugged.

"You land close to eight whales in one day, you can buy your own nickname." He turned to the others. "Time to hit the bars."

The other men in the room cheered. Neal rose and took his jacket, ready to follow them. Brad stopped him.

"We're not going with them."

"Why not?"

"He wants to meet you."

"Who?"

"The man behind the curtain."

Neal grinned. With a little luck, he might not need to work for this arrogant bag of skit for long.

They left the office and took a cab. Neal knew how the pen worked. They could only hear him in the van if the was within a certain range. But the pen recorded too and it had GPS. They would be able to use whatever he heard, later.

He walked with Brad into a bar. It was one of those stiff bars where you mingled dressed in a suit with a glass of cognac in your hand. Legal literature filled the bookshelves that covered the whole walls. It looked more like a library than a bar.

Brad gestured to two men sitting in a corner, talking, one young and one older. They were too far away to hear what they were saying.

"That's him?"

"That's Avery. Guy on the left," Brad confirmed. "The youngest to have a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. The man with the plan. He finds the stocks, fronts the cash we do the legwork."

"Who's he talking to?" Neal asked. The older of them did not seem too pleased.

"His business partner."

"Partner looks upset."

"Usually, they work together. Our room is all Avery, which is why they're not exactly simpatico right now," he gossiped. "Keep that to yourself," Brad added quickly when Avery saw them and rose, bringing two glasses of brandy with him.

The man stopped close to Neal and studied him with intense, curious eyes.

"You must be my new rainmaker."

"Yeah," Neal agreed as he grabbed the glass offered by the boss the FBI longed to learn about.

"You're having problems with your associate," he added.

Brad glared at him.

"Bro!"

"I don't wanna get pinched because you're having domestic troubles," Neal smiled with what he hoped was a lofty attitude.