Triumphant: Chapter 9
DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
Wednesday - October 29, 2014, 8:50 a.m., at an Office Building on 38th in New York City
Veronica Walker sits at her desk – if you could call it that – sipping on a cup of morning coffee. The elaborate piece – part of a new collection of Italian furniture she had shipped in – adorns her massive office. The soft, ivory-colored piece sits – rather, almost floats – in the center of the room. The wave-oriented architecture gives a pure, ethereal vibe to the room. It resembles a cloud laying on the surface, with the matching armoire piece along the back wall behind the desk. The sharp contrast with the dark wood floor drives the perfect atmosphere - a bit foreboding, while soothing at the same time.
She sits in a similarly crafted chair, the soft colors blending into her off-white two-piece suit. Her long legs peek out at the knees as she pushes herself away from the desk, rising to meet the guest who has just walked into her office.
"Hello Herbert," she smiles genuinely. "Pamela informed me that you had arrived. I would have met you in the lobby."
"I know my way around," he offers in the most nonchalant manner. His gaze lifts throughout the room, taking in his surroundings.
"You've done some redecorating," he muses aloud. "Quite nice, Veronica."
"Did this just a few months ago, actually," she replies, smiling at his use of her given name as she walks towards him with her hands behind her back.
They keep their distance. She takes in the large, black man. He is in his early forties, a few years older than his wife, but it's not obvious. What is obvious is that he's kept himself in shape. It's hard not to notice. Veronica Walker more or less left the business of law as a full-time practice years earlier, adopting this alternate persona of Lady Irena. As she has often said, she simply traded winning on one battlefield for another. She still does accept certain cases – at her own discretion – but focuses most of her time down here, in what she loves to refer to as her 'castle of dungeons'.
Herbert Gates was a client of hers on the lawyer front, some five years ago. His case was one of mistaken identity. He was – and is – the chief executive officer at New Quantum, a research facility that focuses on the hypothetical existence of dark matter. An increasingly competitive field – especially for the donations required for continuous funding – dark matter research had been Gates' singular passion, outside of his wife, until that night back in 2009 during the Christmas holidays.
The robbery at the liquor store just a block from his home was an embarrassment to both his firm, the NYPD, and one Victoria Gates. Sure, he strongly resembled the man captured on the video surveillance. And yes, his home's proximity to the robbery location weighed against him. Heavily. It was Veronica Walker who uncovered the ploy by a rival firm – one not even in the same scientific field – who arranged the attempted sabotage of New Quantum through the framing of its chief executive. It turned out that they were both competing for the same multi-million dollar funding from one of the city's wealthy donors who was vacillating between investing in astronomical discoveries and the latest pharmaceutical wonder.
As his attorney representing Herbert Gates, Veronica Walker met a family man dedicated to his wife. However, Veronica's alternate persona is never far from the surface, and she recognized something else in the CEO and his wife in their interactions. In them she saw complete love . . . and a distinct inability of intimacy. The lack of hands being held, the lack of touches on the shoulder, the sheer and sad awkwardness of their hugs goodbye were an open book to Walker, nee Lady Irena. In one of the few times she allowed her two worlds to mix, she opened up her secret to Herbert Gates. She chose approaching him as her . . . experience with the NYPD did not allow her the comfort of approaching his wife, at least not initially.
At first, Herbert was both frightened and intrigued by the woman's proposition. In the end, intrigue won out, and the executive and his Internal Affairs wife showed up at Lady Irena's House of Pain a few weeks after his successful acquittal. There she personally supervised their interactions with Lady Sapphire, and developed a friendship with the man. Their friendship bordered on thin lines, as the attraction between them was almost painful. Yet the research executive remained true to his wife, never straying across the line, earning the deepest respect from the lawyer/dominatrix.
"Well, I know you well enough to know that you didn't ask me down here to show me your new furniture," he smiles softly. "In fact . . ." He pauses for a second, gazing at the woman in front of him.
"In fact, you've never asked me down here by myself, period. Ever," he continues.
"True," she smiles. "Usually it is the other way around, I admit. The truth is, I must also admit that I need your assistance, Herbert. The type of assistance that required discretion."
"What kind of discretion?" he asks, his eyebrows slightly raised.
"The kind that requires you to keep our discussions away from your wife," she tells him. The momentary glimpse of fear that quickly paints his face brings laughter to Veronica's lips.
"Oh Herb, really," she laughs, now pulling the man into a long hug. "Do you think that I sit down here contemplating ways to pull you into my web?"
"Tease," he chuckles, welcoming the embrace for a few seconds before releasing her.
"Come, sit," she tells him as she walks away from him, moving back behind her desk once again, as he attempts – unsuccessfully – to keep his eyes away from the sashaying motions that envelope the woman.
"So how can I help you, Veronica?" he asks. "Or am I talking with Lady Irena this morning?"
"Ever astute, my slave," she smiles demurely.
"So, Lady Irena it is," he smiles in return, but his smile quickly turns to a look of confusion. "Okay, you've got me. I have no idea how I might help in that capacity."
"Kidding, Herb," she chuckles. Herbert always was fun. So was Victoria. She quickly brushes the thoughts away.
"I just wanted to see your reaction," she offers in a moment of honesty. "I have a very large favor to ask of you – information I need, in an official capacity, and I must insist you ask no questions."
"Discretion," he says softly.
"Discretion," she agrees. "And it will be quickly clear to you why I mentioned your wife."
"Please don't ask me for information about the NYPD, Veronica," he asks, and she can see the plea in his eyes. He owes her, yes. But he is also hopeful that whatever favors he owes won't include having to divulge anything that would put him at odds with Victoria.
"Detective Kate Beckett," Veronica/Irena begins, and she watches his face drop. "No, no, trust me, I am not asking for anything damaging to Victoria – believe me," she says, reaching across the massive desk, almost touching his hands that are resting there, just inches out of reach.
"I just want to know one thing, Herb," she continues. "Is the detective coming back?"
"Excuse me?" he asks, both relieved and confused. "I'm not sure I –"
"She's on leave of absence from the precinct, I already know that much, Herb" Veronica tells him, hoping to ease his concerns about giving away confidential information. "I'm simply asking if this is a permanent arrangement, or a temporary one?"
Herbert Gates looks away briefly, taking in the surroundings of Veronica/Lady Irena's lair. He smiles, remembering that's how he often referred to her surroundings in the past. The relief he felt when the charges against him were dropped is still fresh – all these years later – as he feared he was watching his entire life implode. She changed all of that. He makes up his mind. It can't hurt. He owes her. And until now, she's never called in any favors. Not one. And she isn't asking for details. It's a simple yes-no question.
Although the answer isn't quite that simple, he knows.
"She hasn't handed in her resignation, if that's what you're asking," he finally replies, gazing back at the woman who he trusts probably a bit more than he should. "But Vicki is worried about her, that much I know."
"Worried about . . . ?" she asks, still leaning forward.
"Worried about her coming back," he finishes for her. "She's not confident that Detective Beckett will be returning at all. And she spends a lot of time thinking . . . and talking . . . about the detective."
Veronica Walker simply nods her head, making a grunting sound.
"Why do you ask? And don't tell me it's nothing," he warns. "Nothing is 'nothing' with you."
She smiles, relaxing back into her chair. The off-white dominating the room makes her look almost angelic. He knows she can be anything but when pushed.
"Pieces to a puzzle, Herb," she replies honestly. "Part of discretion means plausible deniability on your part. So don't ask questions that have answers you really don't want to know."
He nods in understanding, as she stands. It's her indication that the meeting is over. They always were fairly short where she was concerned.
"Nice lipstick, by the way," he offers with a small smile as he heads to the door. It causes a brief flutter in her stomach. He always did like the darker red, almost maroon lip gloss she would occasionally wear when the always-bright Mistress Red she traditionally wore would bore her. This morning, she unconsciously put on the darker shade. Until this very moment, until he pointed it out, she wasn't even aware of the different choice she had made this morning.
"I didn't think you noticed," she says softly under her breath, as she watches him walk toward the door.
"I have always noticed," he replies, just as softly, never turning back to face her. Instead, he opens the door, letting himself out.
"It was good to see you again," he continues, his back to her as he walks out, closing the door behind him.
She is silent for a few seconds before responding.
"Always good to see you, Herbert," she muses softly, then sits back in her chair, swiveling to face the large painting on the wall. She closes her eyes for a moment, then pushes those thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand.
"So you are still on the force," she says aloud, thinking about the detective. "That means you are probably close by. You had to be, if you were able to get to the so-called hearing with our illustrious D.A. so quickly."
She smiles, filing this information away, and turns to the computer monitor, and her hands begin typing on the keyboard, while the thoughts are still fresh on her mind.
Wednesday - October 29, 2014, 9:30 a.m., at the island home of Richard and Kate Castle
He is startled awake by the unexpected lack of presence next to him. She typically is awake before him, as her internal clock is still on 'cop time' as it were. Usually, however, she lays in the bed with him, waiting for him to awaken. Sometimes he wakes up and finds her laying on her side, facing him, staring at him with that smile. Other times, she is sitting up in bed next to him, reading. Still other times, she is writing something in her journal on her tablet. Perhaps someday she will share with him what secret thoughts are hidden inside those digital walls.
He brushes those lovely ideas away, as he reaches over to touch the sheets on her side of the bed.
Cold.
She's been gone awhile. For a moment, his heart clenches, as his mind reaches the top of the rollercoaster, and the car begins its downward plummet into darkness. Kate leaving him, sneaking away for some case, some reason to protect him – it's a common thing. It's what she does. And if she has left the island and headed back into the city – without him – well . . .
He pushes those thoughts away as well, now out of the bed, and walking briskly to the bedroom door. He is in the hallway and now almost jogging toward the front of the house, when he smells the cooking bacon, hears the sizzling from the range.
She's dressed in one of his long blue dress shirts – the kind he doesn't wear anymore. Her legs appearing even longer if that is possible, and her hair up in a ponytail. It's a good look for her. One he will never get used to. At least that is his constant thought, and hope.
"Hey babe," he manages, his voice a bit more scratchy than he realized.
"Hey yourself," she replies, smiling, walking toward him, the long forked utensil in hand.
"Got worried when you weren't in bed," he admits, scratching his head and bringing a smile to the detective's face, as he worsens his already disheveled hair.
"Just making breakfast," she muses, offering him a quick peck on the lips, which he extends to both of her cheeks.
"I never realized that you were such a prolific cook, Mrs. Castle," he offers with a smile and wiggle of the eyebrows. "Bedrooms, sofas, kitchens . . . is there no end to your –"
"Do you want there to be an end, Castle?" she asks, smiling with just a hint of a warning.
"No, no, no, not at all . . . that's not what I –"
"Didn't think so," she replies, as she turns and walks back to the range, and flips the bacon that is cooking there.
"Why'd you leave the bed?" he asks, reaching over to pick out a piece of pineapple that is on a plate. She has cut up pineapples and melons, tossing grapes along the top and edges. "A man gets used to having a beautiful woman next to him when he wakes up, it sort of throws him off when she isn't there."
"Worried I'd left?" she asks, not turning to look.
"No, not at all," he lies, then smiles sheepishly as she turns her head, giving him a look that tells him she's on to him.
"Okay, maybe a little," he confesses quickly. "It's just –"
"Its okay, Castle," she interrupts. "Anything concerns you have – or I have – are based on . . .
"History," he finishes.
"Yes, history," she agrees, then continues. "But that's all it is, babe. History. It's in the past. Do I need to go all Rafiki on you with this?" she chuckles, waving the long forked object at him.
"No, no, we're good, we're good," he laughs, then moves quickly behind her, wrapping his arms around her, nestling his chin on her shoulder as she looks over the bacon and cracks an egg.
"Good," she smiles, leaning back into him for a second, then releasing forward and turning to face him. "Because I've been doing some thinking. We have a lot to talk about this morning."
"Talk? As in?" he questions.
"As in making a plan. Strategizing," she tells him. "I'm tired of sitting on the sidelines doing nothing. It's time to take the fight to them."
"Them?" he asks.
"Bracken. Elena Markov. Whomever," she replies, turning back to the cooking breakfast, as if this were the most natural conversation in the world.
"Well, since you've already given this so much thought –" he begins.
"And you haven't?" she asks.
"Well, I have this hot detective who keeps me distracted during the evenings, so . . ." He lets the sentence hang out there. She doesn't bite. He's seen her in this mode. Focused. Scarily focused.
"She's still around, I promise you babe," she tells him. But there is a sternness in her eyes. Yeah, he recognizes that, also.
"And I want to keep it that way," she continues. "Putting an end to this . . . this mess we are in has just become my top priority. And much as I love this island, this home we have . . . . I'm tired of hiding."
"And what brought this sudden change of heart on?" he asks. "Not that I am against it or anything."
"Because I think I figured out what we can do, besides sit here and wait for the next shoe to drop. Or the next body to drop, given the way things have been going."
"Do tell," he replies, popping another grape into his mouth, now leaning back against the island in their kitchen. "Where do we start?"
"With a video," she smiles, flipping the bacon one last time before turning the gas burner on the range off, and grabbing two plates. She sees his look of confusion, and continues.
"Back at 1PP, your father saw an assassin. Elena Markov."
"Right, you met in already. Saved your life," Castle muses aloud, munching on grapes.
"You know, there won't be any fruit left for breakfast at this rate," she smiles and slaps his hand away from the rapidly diminishing plate of fruit.
"Uh, breakfast already started in case you didn't know," he chuckles.
"Anyway," she continues, "she was at 1PP. Waiting for us."
"I know. What are you thinking, Beckett," he asks, now morphing into serious mode with her.
"They have surveillance there. I think that Jackson said he had disabled some of the cameras, but I am thinking that the cameras he took out were only the ones that might have picked him up. Not her."
"I see where you're going," Castle agrees, nodding his head as he moves to the tall bar stools at the island, plopping his large frame onto the one at the end.
"So I placed a call to Captain Gates this morning," she tells him.
"You have been a busy, busy bee this morning," he replies with a look of surprise.
"I told you, I've been thinking," she responds, walking toward him with two plates now covered in bacon, eggs and toast. "I asked her about the likelihood that surveillance may have picked up what was happening in the lobby at 1PP, where all of the press was congregated."
"And?" he asks.
"She told me she'd look into it, and then asked me why I wanted to know. Who I was looking for."
"Did you tell her?" Castle asks.
"No," Kate replies honestly. "I told her right now, I wanted to flesh a few things out, but that I'd pull her in as quickly as possible once I had my thoughts in order."
"How are you going to review video though?" he asks. "That's asking a lot to get her to get the video to you . . . to us."
"That's where I was headed also," Kate admits. "But then it turned out Gates had something to share with me as well. A reporter came to her, with some interesting news."
"A reporter?" he asks.
"The one who has been doing most of the field coverage on you . . . well, on all of this surrounding you," Kate continues. "Ramona Vasquez."
"Vasquez reached out to Gates?" Castles asks with surprise. "What on earth for?"
"Turns out Ramona smelled something fishy about all of this, and she believes – rightly so – that who she shared this knowledge with could end up being the difference between life and death for her."
"Smart woman," Castle says softly, under his breath. "She did seem somewhat . . . "
"Fair-minded," Beckett completes his sentence. "I thought so, too. Turns out, she is something more than a pretty face behind a camera. Pretty good with editing media streams. Voice. Video. Particularly phone calls."
"She knows that 'my' 911 phone call," he asks, making quotation signs, "wasn't really mine?"
"Yep," Kate confirms. "She told Gates it was an edit job. A damn good one, but one she recognizes as fake."
"Yeah, I would be careful who I told that to if I were her," Castle agrees. "So why Gates?"
"Evidently Ramona figured that Gates would be the one person – coming from IA – who might just be above anything underhanded that might be happening," Kate replies. "And, since Gates has in-depth knowledge of both you and I . . . well, she figured Gates might want to actually help us."
Castle is quiet for a moment before responding.
"And so the worm turns," he muses aloud.
"I know," Kate chuckles. "And so early in the morning, too."
That earns her a kiss on the cheek as they begin to dig into breakfast. They take a couple of bites, not saying anything but simply relishing the moment together, before Kate continues.
"Anyway, Gates is getting Ramona in to look over the video," Kate tells him. "Gates wants her to point out all of the media figures she knows."
"Makes sense," Castle nods. "First eliminate all of the people who are supposed to be there."
"Right," she agrees. "And Gates will probably know any police officers or detectives that are hanging around in the lobby."
"That leaves only the unknowns," Castle speculates between bites.
"Right. And whoever is left, that's who we start to look at," Kate continues. "Kind of 'where's Waldo' in reverse. I want to know what Elena Markov looks like now. I only got a glimpse back outside 1PP but it didn't register, because I wasn't expecting to see her, wasn't thinking about her. But once Jackson told us that the person he saw there was an assassin, and a female, things fell into place for me. But I don't want to have to count on memory. I need to know how she looks now, what disguise she favors."
"Here's another thought," Castle adds. "If she really is working for the Brackens, as you believe she is, then we should also check out the surveillance at their home. Or at least at the hotel where they have stayed back in the city. Or maybe at his political rallies, any of the speeches he has made. She is there in the city, and they've been there. So it follows that –"
"She'd be in some surveillance around them as well," Kate agrees, nodding quickly, a look of satisfaction growing on her face. As usual, they are in sync.
"It's important to figure out what she looks like, how she dresses herself, so we can recognize her," Kate continues. "She's not a person who you want sneaking up on you . . . although we probably couldn't stop her if that were her intent, anyway."
"Are you expecting her to come hunting for us?" the author asks, just a hint of nervousness breaking through in his voice.
"Not at all, babe," she smiles – and it's a smile he hasn't seen on her before. "Like I said, I'm tired of waiting, tired of hiding. We're going to draw her out."
Wednesday - October 29, 2014, 10:18 a.m., at the office of Black Pawn Publishing in New York City
Gina Cowell sits in her office, staring out the window from forty floors above the street level, lost in thought. Her efforts at finding the 'next big catch' for Black Pawn have been mostly unsuccessful, but truth be told, her heart just isn't into this new search. She knows that they never should have let Richard Castle go like they did, and she finds it somewhat frightening that someone out there has the strings – and the strength – to pull the executives of Black Pawn along as puppets. The marionette show that she witnessed with the expulsion of Richard Castle was truly fascinating to watch.
"Ms. Cowell?"
The sudden interruption from the intercom of her phone startles her back to the present.
"Yes, Denise," Gina says after touching the intercom button on her desk phone.
"There is a Veronica Walker on line 2 for you," Denise tells her from the desk just outside Cowell's office. "Do you want me to take a message?"
"No, no," Gina replies quickly. "Put her though, please."
It is rare – very rare – that she hears directly from her attorney. She is, of course, well aware of Veronica Walker's alternate persona. Because she knows of her in both capacities, she idly wonders which one she is going to be speaking with.
On the House of Pain ledger, Gina is a distant client. She hasn't been to Veronica in that capacity for quite some time now. She first came to see Lady Irena after her divorce from Richard Castle. Their marriage failed for a number of reasons, primarily around the fences he set up around Alexis. But there were other little things she noticed as well. One of them pertained to their sexual relationship.
She learned quickly that Castle's first marriage came with wild, unrelenting and passionate sex. Oh, he never talked about it, and he never complained about the physical side of his marriage with Gina. But she quickly learned that he was far from a sexual novice, and – in fact – was more than experienced in things she had never even dreamed about. His appetite was almost insatiable, and any location was fair game. She eventually learned that this adventurous side came from experiences with Meredith, his first ex-wife. Gina's marriage with the author, however, was much more subdued, and she knew that the tame man she slept with had become cautious, ever-holding back, afraid to scare her away.
So Gina had come to the House of Pain – years ago – to learn to become more expressive . . . more demanding. She wanted to learn to be more open. In so many ways, her time with Irena's clan was successful, as Gina used what she had learned in her sessions a couple of years later, to lure her ex-husband away from his infatuation with a certain detective during a summer getaway to the Hamptons.
"Veronica?" Gina says into the phone, quickly sitting down. This is certainly not a call that goes on speakerphone. In fact, this is a call that she is surprised has come in on her office phone. Lady Irena, always discrete, would always call her cell phone if she needed anything, which quickly tells Gina that this is going to be a more business-oriented discussion.
"It's been awhile, Gina," Veronica replies. "How have you been?"
"I've been well, thanks for asking," Gina responds in kind. "But I know you, Veronica, and as you like to say, time –"
"Is money," Veronica finishes for her, as both women chuckle. "I won't take up much of yours."
"My time or my money?" Gina chuckles, giving both women another small laugh.
"I actually tried your cell phone first," Veronica tells her.
"You did?" Gina asks, surprised, and reaches inside her purse and retrieves her cell phone which she immediately recognizes is dead.
"Damn, I must not have plugged it in last night," Gina muses aloud.
"Distracted last night?" Veronica laughs.
"I wish," the publisher replies. "Not in the way you are thinking."
"Well, this isn't a conversation I'd like to have over the phone," Veronica tells her. "Can I buy you lunch?"
"Today?" Gina asks. Her surprise is two-fold. First, Veronica doesn't buy anyone lunch. Or dinner for that matter. She never has to. Second, there is an urgency to the woman's voice – one that she hasn't heard there before. Ever.
"Is everything all right?" Gina asks.
"Yes, yes, no worries," Veronica tells her. "But there is something you can help me with regarding one of our old cases. But since we haven't seen each other in a while, I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone."
"Well, I've got Friday afternoon open for lunch, if that will –"
"Actually, I'm looking for something sooner," the attorney/dominatrix interrupts. "Sooner as in today."
"Today?" Gina replies. "No, I don't think I can –"
"It's very important, Gina, that's all I can tell you," Veronica tells her. "I wouldn't call if it weren't."
Gina Cowell pulls the phone away from her ear for a brief second, staring at the object as if it were some alien artifact. She places it back on her ear, now highly curious, as she reaches over to the mouse on her desk with her free hand, and opens her calendar on her desktop computer.
"Just a second, Veronica," she tells her old acquaintance and attorney as she glances at her battery of meetings for today. A few seconds later, she speaks again.
"Hold on Veronica, I'm putting you on hold," she tells the woman, and subsequently hits the intercom button again, summoning Denise.
"Yes, ma'am," Denise answers.
"Denise, pull up my calendar, please, and clear my afternoon."
"The entire afternoon?" Denise asks.
"Yes, please. Reschedule them into open slots next week," Gina tells her administrative assistant.
"Next week? Do I need to make travel plans for you?" Denise asks.
"No, no thank you," Gina smiles. Denise is always thinking ahead. "I will be sticking around in town. I just need my day freed up today, that's all."
Gina hangs up, then punches the main line on her phone to get Veronica back online.
"Veronica, thanks for waiting," Gina begins. "I'm free for lunch. Where, and what time?"
"Just come to my office," Veronica replies. "Noon works, we can leave from here."
"Uh . . . which office are we talking about?" Gina asks with a nervous chuckle.
"I know it's been awhile, Gina, but I'm sure you can remember where your attorney's office is," Walker smiles, and hangs up. The information she obtained earlier this morning from Herbert Gates was informative and interesting. A few answers from Gina Cowell and . . . well, who knows where this could lead.
A/N: My apologies for the delays in chapters. A few things going on with one of my sons has taken a lot of my focus. Things are improving, so I hope to be able to post more often once again. That said, I will be traveling the rest of this week, so I don't anticipate posting Chapter 10 until sometime next week. As always, thanks to all of you for reading, and hopefully you will enjoy where I take this from here.
