CHAPTER ONE
"Dean, slow down!"
Even with his long strides, Sam Winchester was struggling to keep up. Good. Dean was really not in the mood to listen to even more people trying to placate him and tell him that he could always appeal. He was just gutted and strung up like Bambi's mother in front of a whole butt load of people, he really did not need to hear someone tell him everything was going to be 'okay'.
"Not in the mood, Sam." Dean Winchester growled out, stomping towards the nearest exit only to stop when he caught sight of the crowd outside and curse. Reporters. Goddamn it. He probably knew most of them too. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.
Sam caught up to him, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder as if to hold him down. "Dean, don't worry, we'll find a way to – "
"No, Sam. It's done, okay? Just leave it." Dean was damn tired. He had little hope of winning going into this and now it was just confirmed in a god damned thirty page long sentence from a jury and judge who were all too eager to believe Dick-fucking-Roman to be nothing but a victim. He brushed off his brother's hand, setting his mouth in a grim line, but Sam's Sasquatch hand caught his shoulder again.
"It'll be fine, we can appeal and find some other way to sink that jerk Dick Roman. Come to my office – "
Dean resisted the urge to slap Sam's hand away. "No, Sam. Let it go, all right!" Sam looked immediately hurt and dropped his hand. Sighing, Dean pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, feeling a headache coming along already.
"Look, Sam, it's been a long, horrible day." He took his hands away, placing one on Sam's humongous shoulder, "I don't want to talk about this, I just want to go home, go to bed and not leave my bed for the next ten to fifteen years, all right?"
That's all it took for that look of hurt to slide away into one of worry (which wasn't much better in Dean's opinion) and Sam nodded. "Yeah, Dean, of course. We'll talk later. Call me when you get home."
"I'm a grown up, Sam, I think I can make it home." Dean fought to roll his eyes. You'd think that after practically raising the kid, he'd be the one acting like a mother hen. Apparently not.
"Call." Dean knew that Sam would refuse to let him leave, so he nodded jerkily and clapped his hand hard on Sam's shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, you giant wuss. I'll call." He didn't wait for Sam to say anything else, just turned away and tried to prepare himself for the coming onslaught.
"Don't forget!" He heard Sam shout behind him and he didn't even bother turning, just lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Now all Dean had to worry about was not punching one of the reporters and he'd be fine.
By the time Dean made it somewhere quiet, he felt like his head was going to split right open. He'd gotten through without hitting any of the reporters, but when he'd managed to brush off their questions and get through to the street where his baby was waiting, Gordon was there too.
He and Gordon had gone from friends to acquaintances to enemies in a matter of months. They'd gone to the same college, had the same courses, and even studied together once. But after school they fell apart - well, it was mostly Dean who stopped trying to be friends once Gordon published some articles practically deifying a company-who-shall-not-be-named for firing over one million of its employees for reasons they refused to disclose (and let's not even talk about their mysterious off-shore accounts).
Not long after that, Dean published a book on big business' not-so pristine histories that was not only vastly more popular than any of Gordon's books and articles, but also used a few choice quotes from some of Gordon's work. And it might have painted Gordon to be a bit of an idiotic, pompous ass. Luckily for Dean, Gordon found a new job in Public Relations working for one of the companies that Dean worked to tear apart in his book and he didn't have to see the man so much. Unluckily, once Dean broke through the line of reporters, Gordon was waiting on the other side of it. Even worse, he was leaning against Dean's baby, the love of his life, the Impala. What a dick.
"Dean." Gordon's voice had that same slow drawl still, his lips had curled into a smile that said, I'm judging you and find you to be beneath me.
"Hey there, Gordon. How you been? How's the writing going?" Dean had said with a smile as he circled around the front end of the Impala, digging for his keys and trying to avoid looking at Gordon. He'd known that if he looked at Gordon, he'd definitely end up hitting someone and he really did not need another lawsuit.
Gordon's face had twisted into something sinister. Evidently the writing wasn't going so well. "Better than yours will be after this." He didn't follow after Dean, but instead shouted across the car to him. The flash of cameras was blinding. "I always knew I'd see you here. It was worth the bus fare to see you holding that paper in your hand."
Sometimes Dean had these lucid moments where he was wise and didn't say anything. This was not one of those moments.
"Eat my dick, douche bag." He said with an utterly fake, cheery smile before climbing into his baby and peeling out as fast as he could and headed to the Roadhouse.
It was hard to find small, family owned bars in New York City, but Dean had managed it. The Roadhouse had all the feel of a Midwestern pub, but stuck in lower Brooklyn. Not very many people knew about it, though it had a few regulars like Dean. Sometimes he wondered how they were still standing since the place always seemed quiet to him. But then again, after living in this city, anything seemed quiet to him.
Jo greeted him, all bouncy blonde hair and wide, knowing eyes gave him a one armed hug and offered the first glass on the house, "Because beer makes everything better, or at least blurrier." Dean could never say no to free booze, not now. Cassie hated when he drank, but he'd deal with that later. So he took up his usual spot at the bar, glancing up to see that his story had already hit the news. Jo saw his face and made a rushed apology, moving to turn it off.
"No, no, don't bother." Dean waved a hand, sipping at his beer for strength.
"Dean Winchester was facing up to 6 months in jail and a fine of one hundred thousand dollars when he went to trial for aggravated libel of multi-million dollar tycoon Richard Roman of Roman Enterprises. The article, published in the magazine Genesis, co-owned by Mr. Winchester, made many extreme claims, but the most heinous of these was the accusation that Mr. Roman was using state funds that were intended for industrial investments in smaller, failing American companies for massive arms deals with gangs and mafias around the world." The reporter said frankly, staring at the camera with what she probably thought was an objective tone.
Sam appeared on the TV with a few microphones shoved in his face. "We managed to get Mr. Winchester acquitted of seven of the charges and as for the others, we will pursue an appeal-" Dean snorted at that, "—until justice is served." Dean snorted again. Oh, Sammy. Always so righteous.
The camera changed again, this time showing Dick-fucking-Roman. "Yes, yes, I'm very satisfied with the jury's judgment. The claims that Mr. Winchester made were extremely outrageous and unfounded and I'm glad to see that he will be paying for his crime. Thank you."
Dean raised his glass to the TV in salute. Ellen, Jo's mom, came out from the kitchen with a plate full of burgers and fries. Jo must have told her mom he was here and put in his usual order. Setting his plate down in front of him, Ellen leaned on the other side of the bar, waves of brown and silver hair, eyes dark and knowing.
"You gonna be all right, boy?" It was sweet of her, the way she treated him like a son. There had been times in his life when that was exactly what he needed. This was probably one of those times.
"Yeah, Ellen." Dean was good at this, telling everyone that he was okay, that he was fine, when he certainly was not. "I mean, not sure if I'll be able to afford this burger next time I'm here, but…" He spread his hands, shrugging. "I'll live."
Ellen just nodded. "You will."
The burger seemed to swell up in his mouth, making it impossible to chew and swallow. It was a sad, sad waste of a damn good burger. He already knew that he was done for: his career was going to be ruined, his finances, and don't even start on what this was going to do to his pride. How the hell did he mess this up so bad?
Dean knew exactly how things had gotten so fucked up. It had all started with a friend. A lawyer named Crowley who used to work for Roman Enterprises stepped forward with information. He was an old friend of Dean's from college and he had climbed high up the social ladder since then. In their college days he had been struggling, but when they chanced to meet at a coffee shop Crowley had been dressed to the nines in an expensive suit, his beard was fuller, but his hairline was receding and he wouldn't shut up about the condo he'd bought in Manhattan. Dean realized later in the conversation that Crowley had turned into one of those guys Dean always loved to hate, but he put up with the conversation for the sake of being polite. Which was, of course, when things started to get interesting.
There was quite a bit that confused and fascinated Dean, but what he was able to gather was that the Industrial Assistance Program was designed by the government to get larger companies to invest in failing American ones, small companies that were in danger of collapsing. All in all, it seemed to be working. But what this lawyer friend was able to reveal was that the funds that Roman Enterprises received weren't even going to those investments, but instead the money just disappeared. Now, of course, what made this so scandalous was that this was taxpayer money that was just disappearing. There was a commission done by the American government and Roman was only too happy to comply, but there seemed to be some kind of administrative gaps in the companies he claimed to have invested in and it was brushed aside as an honest mistake.
Of course, Crowley only gave him the basics, scolded him for not looking into it earlier and warned him with a heavy ringed finger to, "Leave me the bloody hell out of it." He gave them some more contacts to check out, but nothing concrete, nothing that they could really turn into a real story. But it was enough to start with. After that, Cassie turned the story over to Dean and he delved into it. It took him months to get all the right information, to gather just what he needed. He was trying to use legitimate sources, other lawyers who were bitter over being fired, secretaries, security personnel, whoever was willing to come forward.
This is where he'd gone wrong. An anonymous source offered him practically the whole platter, documentation, meeting notes, the whole thing. All of his hard work would be given hard proof and he would go down in history as being the man that brought down Roman Enterprises. It wasn't until Dean was sitting in the court that he started to consider that he had been set up.