"I'm Not Jack McCoy."
Disclaimer: As usual, own nothing in the realm of Wolf. Just some midnight musings about the finale.
Michael Cutter closed the door behind them, giving it a tap for good measure.
Walking back into the room, he sized the other man up - the one who was set on drowning many to save his own career. The ease in which the other man had given over his wife didn't surprise Michael. On the contrary, it was Rita Shalvoy's surprise at her husband's actions that surprised him.
What he was about to do was something he knew neither his current boss nor previous bosses would have approved of. What he was about to do was something he, himself, wouldn't have approved of - in another time or place.
Michael had seen the messiest of backstabbing maneuvers that had almost rivaled the rumble in Central Park - almost, but not quite. There, it was pure rage and testosterone that had led to that kind of blood shed. There, it was fury flamed by flagrant disregard for public safety of others.
No, what Michael had seen and heard here and now, even the weeks leading up to this, was something so corroded and corrupt that he knew he had to act without regrets.
The tension felt in the formal meeting room of the Shalvoy household was equivalent in pressure to the tension at One Hogan Place. Here, three people, who thought they knew one another saw a side of that someone only to see a complete stranger. At One Hogan Place, three people who thought they could withstand anything saw a possible threat to their fight for the good causes.
A quote about 'lost causes' came to Michael's mind as he recalled the Frank Capra movie he'd watched a few nights back. There, the lone fighter stood alone, stood strong until he collapsed.
That was what Jack McCoy was probably prepared to do.
Michael Cutter knew he wasn't going to stand aside and watch a boss, a leader, a 'Don Quixote' collapse under the wastepaper basket full of lies meant to bury the crusader. There was too much work to be done, too many injustices to address, this one included.
Michael slowly took out the piece of paper, pondering just exactly how he was going to say this. Truth be told, half of the script had been provided a year ago, almost to the day, from the man standing in front of him now - that low, conniving strike of their boss's name among the aliases used in meeting with ladies of the 'dubious trade.'
Michael looked the governor in the eye, had his say and watched as the other man dared to call it a bluff.
"I'm not Jack McCoy," Michael said.
Those four words spoken aloud proved what he had been determined to show all along, in his actions, in his words, in his ways of dealing with certain cases. Those four words spoken aloud added credence to the fact that while the current district attorney would stop at the edge of the cliff during an intense tug-of-war of 'good vs. evil' or 'right vs. wrong,' that he, Michael Cutter, wouldn't let 'friendship' get in the way.
Someone was going down, and it wasn't going to be Jack McCoy.
Those four words gave a thin edge to unspoken words of action should the governor choose not to comply.
Yes, Michael thought, there was a chance that Jack would be displeased by what was happening here, now, behind the closed door. Yes, he thought, there was a chance that Connie might lose a bit of respect towards him. None of that mattered.
Michael Cutter knew exactly who he was.