It was nearly four o'clock that afternoon as Aizen and Esparo walked through Daniel Scott's office door on the twenty-third floor of the downtown high rise. He looked up from his desk as they stepped in, appraising the navy dusters, the air of superiority about the taller man. He flicked off his computer screen, a cautious unease sweeping through him.

He forced a smile at them. "I didn't realize I had another appointment this afternoon," he said, rising and extending his hand. He looked from Aizen to Esparo, who stood near the door, closing it quietly. "Are you a referral?"

Aizen flipped the lapel of his jacket to expose the D5 badge, appreciating the broker's sinking expression at the movement. "I'm Agent Aizen, this is Agent Esparo. We're with Division Five of Assets Seizure."

Scott blanched and withdrew his hand, blinking quickly as Aizen stood across from the desk. "I haven't done anything wrong," he said, his voice catching dry. "I'm up to date on my books, my taxes, all --"

"We know about the invalid alexandrite and padparadscha you sold and emerald and beryl you just purchased." Aizen smiled. This was always his favorite part, the look of sheer terror on any of the money-men they cornered. The young ones were never slick enough to think on their feet like the older jewelers and attorneys, or even the common alley crooks.

Scott shook his head, thinking furiously as Esparo looked on. "I haven't done anything wrong."

Leeds nodded. "We'll start with the $53,000 you got hidden under the desk at home."

Scott's thoughts narrowed, turning to Ichigo. "That rat. He set me up."

"If you're talking about your supplier, he's not the one getting himself arrested right now." Aizen watched the man closely. "He's the rat we want."

Scott looked from Aizen to Esparo and back again. "How much trouble am I in?"

Aizen shrugged. "Oh, I'd say about fifteen to twenty. Minimum. Depending on your cooperation now. You want to walk out of here in handcuffs in front of your colleagues, or do you want to work with us and make it easier on yourself?"

Scott nodded, watching Aizen finger the cuffs at his belt. "I'll cooperate."

The Division Five debriefing room was already set with Shoren's laptop, a tape recorder, assorted pads of paper and pens, and several phones. Shoren plugged a third line into the main phone and clicked the other end into the recorder.

Esparo stood leaning against the beige wall behind Scott, who was seated at the narrow end of the rectangular table, Aizen kitty-corner from him, writing on a pad of paper. Scott's jacket was on the chair back behind him as he nervously drummed his fingers on the table, attention switching from Aizen to Shoren, who sat in a chair farther down the table.

Esparo impatiently watched Aizen, uncertain of the protocol, but with enough restraint to attempt beginning the questioning.

Finally Aizen looked up to Scott.

"I only met him those few times," Scott offered, trying to read what Aizen had written on the pad.

Aizen ripped the top paper off the pad and slid it and a pen to Scott. "Who'd you sell to? Names and addresses."

Scott nodded, pulling the paper closer. "There was only one man."

Aizen watched Scott write for a moment before glancing to Shoren who was holding one side of a headset to her ear. "You ready?" She nodded. He looked to Esparo. "You know what we want?"

"All set," Esparo said.

Aizen pulled the phone closer as Shoren started the tape recorder. He handed the earpiece to Scott. "Okay, Scott, we're going live. I want you to call him and place your order now." He looked to Esparo, who leaned over the man's shoulder, startling him.

"One bixbite," Esparo said slowly as Scott punched in the numbers to Ichigo's cell phone on the keypad, and one neon tourmaline. Okay?"

Scott nodded, taking a shaky breath and repeating the names of the gemstones lowly.

After five rings Ichigo picked up the other end of the line and his voice was heard over the speaker phone. "Yes?"

Scott cleared his throat. "It's Scott. I thought we could do some more business. You ever hear of bixbite?"

"The American red emerald," Ichigo said without hesitation. "Exclusively from Utah."

Scott looked at Aizen who was staring back at him. "And neon tourmaline."

"That's a very specific order," Ichigo said. "Sounds like you've been educating yourself, Scott."

Scott looked from Aizen to Esparo, discomfort growing. "I'm trying to. Can you get them?"

"Hang on a minute."

Aizen's attention turned to Shoren, who was watching her laptop monitor. She shook her head, feeling his weighty stare. "Nothing," she said in a low tone.

"Nothing at all?" Aizen leaned closer to her. "You're sure you've got the right trace?"

"He's running a reverse surge." She raised an eyebrow at him. "It's our own technology, Aizen. Military."

"Get around it," he grunted, looking back to Scott. "Meet him for the stones today."

Scott began to speak, but Ichigo's voice came over the speaker again.

"Yeah, I've got both on me. You're talking about big money now, Scott."

Scott nodded as Esparo leaned on the back of his chair. "How much?"

There was a muffled sound on Ichigo's end of the line. "One neon and one bixbite, two carats each, would be almost sixty total."

Aizen nodded.

"The buyer you told me about," Scott said, glancing at the name he'd written on the paper, "he'd like to get them today."

"Can't today," came Ichigo's voice over the speaker phone. "Tomorrow? Corner of Fifth and Main, four o'clock."

"Uh, sure. Cash?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Ichigo said.

Scott nodded. "I'll be there."

Aizen took the phone's earpiece from Scott as the line clicked off, looking to Shoren. "What have you got?"

"Just the same signal bounces," she said, typing at her keypad. "He's isolated."

Aizen studied her for a few long moments as she ignored him, eyes on her monitor. He looked to Esparo who was still hovering over a very pale Scott. "Ryan, pick up two tag kits. We'll do it at Scott's purchase tomorrow." His attention went to Scott. "You pull this off right tomorrow and you just may buy yourself a good deal of leniency."

Scott swallowed noticeably, nodding.

The door suddenly opened and Ichimaru looked in at them, focusing on Aizen.

"Out here a minute."

Aizen slid his paperwork to Shoren and met his superior in the hall, closing the door behind him. "I thought you were gone already."

Ichimaru nodded to the door. "Frying fish?"

"Just the little one. He may lead us to the bigger fish."

"Well, no frying the big one until I get back," Ichimaru reminded, giving Aizen a knowing look. "You tag and you follow. That's it. You don't bring him in, you don't beat the snot out of him in an alley. You follow."

Aizen nodded slowly. "We can make him talk and have all his records."

"In good time. You follow until you're sure it's him, and then you don't bring him in until I say so." There was no smile on Ichimaru's line of a mouth. "You got that, Agent?"

Aizen nodded. "Yes. Sir."

The evening air was muggy and unmoving as Ichigo turned the Chevy 350 pick-up truck into the modest restaurant at the edge of town later. Better than the heat of New York City, he decided, but still damp enough to make his tan cotton shirt cling to him when he moved. He tossed the cigarette butt out the open window and parked away from most of the cars in the lot, looking over the moderately busy establishment.

He was shaking out another cigarette from the pack when a taxi pulled into the lot, circling slowly until stopping between the rows of parked cars. The back door opened and he saw Rukia's small form step out, her usual skirt dropping just below her knees, this time a jute green topped by a sleeveless tan blouse, as she looked around the lot.

He tossed the box of cigarettes to the bench seat and got out of the truck as Rukia looked his way. She shut the taxi door and spoke to the driver before meeting him midway from the truck.

She shook her head, dark hair bouncing, eyes wary on him. "I don't want to have dinner. I changed my mind."

He sighed. "We do need to talk about your inheritance, Rukia. You have fifteen days to declare valuables from an estate under Wisconsin law."

She glanced at the taxi waiting and then back to Ichigo. "I don't see what there is to discuss," she said with a timid shrug. "I can't sell the stones."

"You shouldn't sell them to a jeweler; you can sell them to me."

She looked to his truck, and laughed. "I suppose your other car is a BMW."

He grinned. "One of them is. I thought everyone drove trucks out here. I'm trying to fit in."

She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "You don't have $2 million."

"You don't think so?"

She studied him for a moment, looking to each of his eyes. "I suppose it's only you," she said finally. "There's no one else."

He shrugged slowly, eyes flicking from her to the taxi where the driver was getting impatient, and back again. "There are about half a dozen dealers in North America who'd trade you for clean stones, but I'm the only one who knows about York's stock. You're looking at a lot of money, Rukia."

She debated this, fingers pressing into her bare arms as she watched his face. "Okay."

"Good." Ichigo paid the taxi driver and they went inside the restaurant.

The eatery's interior was decorated a few notches above Rosa's Bar and Grill, with folksy pop music floating among the patrons, mostly families and older couples at the booths and tables, with a few aged men at the short bar in one corner. The hostess showed Ichigo and Rukia to a booth set away from the bulk of the family section, smiling and giving each a menu.

"Anything from the bar?" she asked.

"Two vodka martinis," Ichigo said.

She nodded and left the table, signaling their waitress.

Ichigo leaned closer over the table as Rukia looked around the busy dining room. "I can't advise you well unless I see the stones York left you."

"I didn't bring them with me."

He chuckled. "I hope not." He pulled a piece of folded paper from his pants back pocket. "I've got a list of what he purchased from us."

She nodded, eyes on the paper he unfolded. "Let's just go with that for now."

His eyes traveled down the paper. "One four carat blue sapphire was set in a gold ring."

"It was my Grandmother's wedding ring."

"You could keep that as an heirloom, but you'll have to report it. They won't give you much hassle over something like that." He looked further down the paper. "Uh, you've got quite a bit. One exceptional grade diamond. The rest are mixed, selective stones. Very unique taste."

Her fingers fidgeted with the napkin before her on the table, smoothing the small pleats in the edge. She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it's not just cut glass you buy back with counterfeit money?"

His face took on a serious expression. "Or we could trade them to Cuba. Help finance their ICBM program."

Alarm fell over Rukia's face. Ichigo laughed at her surprise. Their waitress arrived and set two drinks on the table, promising to return shortly for their orders.

"I'm kidding, Rukia," Ichigo said as she frowned at his jest. "Cut glass? Not with the kind of money I'm paying. You've got this counterfeiting, money-laundering stuff stuck in your head, Mrs. Parker, and it's the wrong idea."

She stared back at him, slightly miffed. "I just sell it all to you?"

"If you want to. Keep the ring and other jewelry if you like." He took a drink of the martini, watching her over the rim of the glass as her violet eyes lost some of their smolder.

"How do I know you've got the money?"

He set the glass down. "I don't have it on me. It'll take about three weeks and twenty banks. I don't keep that much in one bank. They have these sticky laws about fund transactions and waiting periods. Stacks of Federal forms."

Rukia reached for her drink. "I can't stay three weeks."

He nodded as she sipped the clear fluid, expression recoiling some at the sharp taste. "I have a French client who'd take your stones in a heartbeat. You'd have your money in two, three days. The fancier ones you could sell to Hamburg."

Rukia had ceased listening somewhere, gulping air with her sip and coughing. "France?" She caught her breath, taking a inhaling deeply, eyes widening on him.

He grinned, passing her another napkin as she put a hand to her mouth and cleared her throat. "That's where they keep the French."

"This gets worse every day." She took a long drink of the martini as her nerves jolted.

"You have the chance to become a very rich woman, Rukia." Ichigo sat back and hooked an arm over the booth edge, enjoying the combination of curiosity and agitation playing in her eyes. "Just take a few days. When do you report assets to York's attorney?"

"Monday. Next week's Monday," she clarified, returning his amused attention. "Eleven, twelve days."

"Plenty of time," he said, nodding. "We'd be back by then."

Her eyes narrowed on him. "We?"

"You wouldn't trust me with your stones without you." he said, grin widening. "Would you?"

The waitress returned, order pad in hand, oblivious to the reason the petite woman in the booth was staring with stunned suspicion at the man across the table. "Ready to order?"