Present Day

John rested his chin on one hand, supporting it on the arm of his chair as he stared out the large windows in his office that took up the fifteen-foot space from ceiling to floor to give him an unaltered view of London.

"It's beautiful." John turned to see Jack enter, pointing at the city. "The city. It's possibly the most beautiful place I've ever lived."

"By your accent I'd say you didn't grow up here."

"No," Jack shook his head, smiling to himself as if his mind immediately replayed a reel of his best memories behind his eyes. "Mum insisted I grow up outside the city. Wanted me running over the moors and hills of Yorkshire instead of trying to dig a football out form behind rubbish bins in alleyways or cramped back gardens."

"Did she grow up there?"

"She did. Her parents owned a sheep farm in Whitby so I grew up there. I went to school in Scarborough until Dad insisted I come to London."

"He thought Yorkshire wasn't good enough for you?"

"He said, as a Green, I needed to go to Eton like all the other Greens." Jack shrugged, "I would've been happy staying with my friends, playing football, and worrying about girls instead of spending hours slaving away for my high marks."

"It's a difficult life but that kind of determination got you into Oxford though," John stood, "And that's something to be commended."

"What about you sir?" Jack stopped himself, "Sorry, that's none of my business."

"It's alright." John took the folder Jack handed to him, scanning the forms before signing them. "I grew up in Dublin until my mother moved here for work after my father died. Then I served my Queen in the army before I attended University of London. Graduated and then toured the world for a bit."

"What was that like?"

"A storm." John laughed, "But life is a storm and always will be. One moment you're basking in the sun and in the blink of an eye you're shattered on the rocks."

Jack tapped on the edge of the desk, his fingers working more out of absent-minded thought than serious intent, "Have you been shattered on those rocks, sir?"

"More times than I care to admit or count."

"How'd you get over it?"

"Because it all comes from the response we give the storm."

"What answer did you give?"

"At first?" John laughed, "I cried like a baby."

"And after?"

"I shouted back at the storm. Said it should do its worst because I intended to do mine."

"That's what you do now?" John waited for Jack to finish, watching his face betray the thoughts running riot in his mind. "Your worst?"

"In a way."

"What about your best sir?"

"It's all ups and downs." John finished and handed the folder back, "I am curious how your parents are doing."

"Sir?"

"I know you've been busy with your school work and your work here so I understand if there hasn't been much time for us to chat but you haven't spoken about them since the dinner. I assume their conference went well since it was in the papers I read for a week afterward."

"It went… well enough" Jack tapped the folder in his grip, "I don't know how much you know about the society life, Mr. Christian, but you're aware there's a life for the cameras and one you keep in a closet yes?"

"I know a little something about keeping yourself hidden so I appreciate the metaphor."

"Just… Just don't believe everything you read about my parents in the papers." Jack nodded, "It's not always true."

"I wouldn't do either of your parents the disservice of thinking it was." John went to turn back to his desk but noted how Jack stayed there. "Is there something else?"

"It might be nothing but it could be something." Jack walked to the edge of the desk, almost on his toes. "When you had dinner with us, and my mum spoke about the man she was going to marry, the one who died in prison… I'd never seen her like that before."

John frowned, "Do I need to apologize?"

"No," Jack waved his hand, "Not at all. I just… she hasn't talked about him in a long time. Barely speaks of him really because it usually just upsets my father."

"Why?"

"They were friends. Close friends, and then…" Jack struggled for words. "What Mum failed to mention about the man, and his death in prison, is that he killed someone. He went to prison for murder."

"And your father disapproved?"

"My father was gutted. His friend turned out to be a killer."

"But your mother never believed it?"

"I think love can blind us to the reality of situations."

John bit the inside of this cheek, "Which were what, in this case?"

"They were poor, he saw someone with a nice coat, he had a gun that he pulled as a threat and made a mistake that cost him his life?" Jack shrugged, "The way they talk about him, I don't think he was a bad man. I think he made a bad decision in a moment and he paid for it with his life."

"That's what you believe?"

"I have to. The little information I can find on him and the case paint two very different men. One, the army Captain and schoolteacher, was the man my mother loved. The other, the back alley murderer, was the man my father believes he came to be. The man desperation made."

John nodded, "That does sound like a conundrum."

"In the end I worry that my mother keeps this idealized version of him in her head for the nights when-" Jack stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind. It's family drama and that's not really important."

"If you want to say something Jack then-"

"No," Jack shook his head more emphatically, "I've said more than I should've and wasted time. I'll get back to work now."

"Jack," John came around the desk, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Don't ever think you're wasting my time. I promise you, even the little things are important and I'm honored you chose to share this with me."

"Really?"

"Really." John paused, "In fact, I might be able to put your fears to rest in this."

"How so?"

"I'm a man of no small fortune and many means. I'm sure I can find a more complete version of that story so you can better understand that man. If you want."

"I'd like to put my fears to rest about him, yeah."

"Because you're afraid you're afraid your mother loved a murderer?"

"Because I'm afraid she still loves him." Jack looked over his shoulder at the door, "But I wouldn't want anyone to know."

John smiled and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "It'll be our secret. No one else but us will know."

Jack smiled, "Alright then, Mr. Christian. Our secret."

"Now get on before Mr. Talbot accuses me of giving you preferential treatment and distracting you from your work." John watched Jack exit the office before groaning. "Don't start."

"Start what?" Talbot emerged from behind the bookcase, replacing it in its groove. "Start on the fact that you're attached to your little monster?"

"He's not mine and he's not little."

"But you're hoping to make him your creature. I remember that conversation. It was a little disturbing."

"What do you want, Henry?"

"Have you also noticed he kind of looks like you?"

"The point, Henry."

"We've got Barrow and O'Brien working on that deal with Green Incorporated, though I don't think they've realized yet, and we've located Mr. Bricker."

"We?"

Talbot reddened, "Mrs. Crawley and I found him."

John grinned, "Did you? Enjoy a night of staking him out?"

"There may've been… time spent… in a car." Talbot cleared his throat, "Anyway-"

"I'm proud of you Henry."

"I wish you could be a little less proud." Talbot shuffled, "It's embarrassing."

"You sat up with me, night after night, working through my problems once." John dug in his top drawer for something before removing it. "I think being proud of you is something I'm bound to be for the rest of my life."

Twelve Years Ago

John crumpled up the paper and threw it across the cell, slamming his hands on the table to echo his frustration. Talbot, stretched with his long legs dangling his feet a bit off the end of the top bunk, lowered his book to look over at him. "Something on your mind?"

"You can laugh. You're leaving in a week."

"Well they only got me for a white collar crime, not murder." Talbot set the book aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. "But I can lend you the use of my unparalleled brain so you don't have to grovel to anyone else for extra paper once you've torn or crumpled all of yours."

John sighed, rotating in his chair to face Talbot, and opened his hands to him. "Alright, genius, tell me why would I get railroaded for murder?"

"No, no, no," Talbot shook his head. "You can't start there. You've got to start further back than that."

"Why?"

"Because your life changed in that alley. We've got to start at the tipping point." Talbot landed on the floor, pacing from the cell door to the far wall. "What were you doing that evening?"

"I was out buying things." John answered, shifting uncomfortably when Talbot waited. "Roses, chocolates, a card, and other things for a romantic evening with my girlfriend."

"Was that normal?"

"It wasn't unusual but it was our anniversary." John shook his head, "I intended to woo her properly to celebrate and then propose the next day. I had it all planned out with my friend. He had the ring so she wouldn't find it in our flat, we were going to make our way to the pub where we met for the first time, and then my friend'd stop by to drop off the ring and help me surprise her."

"So your friend knew what you had planned?"

"Yeah. Alex and I'd been friends since school."

"Which school?"

"Primary school. We went to the same one in London and then the same secondary school. We lost touch for awhile when I was in the army but once I got back we hung out again. He's the first one I told about Anna."

"But he was the only one who knew where you'd be?"

"Yeah. I worked for his father while I was at University and his father helped me get my teaching job. I walked to the shop after I finished classes for the day."

"What were the conditions?"

"Conditions?"

"Weather, it might play a part in this."

John shrugged, "Deluge of rain. It was so bad that walking the streets had me practically swimming."

"There you are, going to just any old shop-"

"It wasn't any old shop." John shook his head, "It was the only shop I'd ever been to because it was the only place that had her favorite flowers and the chocolates she loved for a good price."

"So your friend knew your plans, in detail, and knew about the shop?"

"Alex knew everything there was to know about me."

"That could be a problem." Talbot paused in his pacing, "Did you know the man, the one who died in the alley?"

"I'd never seen him before."

"Did he say anything, when he was dying?"

"Just that he wanted me to tell his wife and his son that he loved them. That was all that was on his mind."

"Then what, you exit the shop and see that man running in the rain?"

"Yeah. I almost hit him with my bag but we both brushed it off." John massaged the bridge of his nose between his eyes. "Then I turned the other way but went after him when I heard the sound of a gunshot."

"You knew it was a gunshot?"

"I served in the army, Henry, I know what a gun sounds like."

Talbot held up a hand, "Not meaning any offense but it is what it is."

"It is what it is? What does that mean?"

"It means that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and the answer is simple." Talbot clapped his hands together, "You were set up."

"I get that or else I wouldn't be here would I?"

Talbot shook his head, "No, you're not getting it. It's not just that you were trapped by a DI wanting to get a quick fix to explain the knee he shattered or the QB team who wanted you out of sight fast enough for promotion, no, that's small potatoes."

"Then what?"

"Someone wanted you out of the way." Talbot clicked his tongue against his teeth, "The dead man, did you ever find out what the man's name was?"

"They said his name was Matthew Crawley." John shrugged, "I remember his wife crying about how she wanted to kill me herself and his mother weeping how I could be so cruel."

"What did he do?" John frowned, "For a living, they had to've said something about it when they painted you as a horrible person. Make an angel of the victim and all that."

"He was working on a merger of some sort. They tracked him as being on his way home from a work meeting. He worked for the Fraud Squad and they had him checking on a merger between Green Incorporated and another man's business."

"Whose?"

"A…" John traced his finger over something he had taped to the wall. "Simon Bricker. He ran an art house but his primary work was with international trade."

"How was the merger going? What did Green tell you?"

"Alex said he thought it was going well but he always had that edge to his voice he got when he was nervous."

"So there you have it." Talbot sat on the edge of John's bed, opening his hands as if explaining something that anyone could've understood.

"There I have what?"

"Matthew Crawley, overall upstanding citizen and wonderful man, works his humble job for the Fraud Squad as one of their investigation lawyers. While in the course of his duty he discovers that the merger between Green Incorporated and then now defunct Bricker International Imports, isn't quite holding up to standard."

"How do you know that?"

"Because they're one of the companies I embezzled from when I was out in the world." Talbot grinned, "Took what I could from them but Bricker was practically bankrupt so that did me little good."

"And Alex's company?"

"Not much better. But it's like taking two broken things to scavenge enough functioning parts for an operational whole." Talbot sighed, "Poor Matthew just got in the way of a bad plan by being too noble a soul."

"Then what do I have to do with it?"

"You're the convenient means to an end." Talbot stood, leaning over to tap the blank space at the middle of the information scattered over the cell wall. "Your friend, Alex Green, goes here."

"Why?"

"He's the one who stands to gain if you stay here."

"Gain what?"

"He gains you as a patsy for a convenient murder, he gains his company with Bricker's in the unhindered murder, and he knows when you're going to be out of your flat so he can take your gun and use it to kill poor Mr. Crawley with it."

"Then Alex, working with a man I've never met before, used my anniversary plans to kill someone and blame me for it?" John shook his head, "Alex wouldn't do that to me. We've been friends since childhood."

"What better person to put in the guilty box?" Talbot climbed back onto his bed, "Give me more information and I could tell you exactly how it all went down but, for now, that's what you've got."

"Alex wouldn't do that. Not for something as stupid as money."

"People've done a lot stupider things for a lot less provocation."

"No." John banged his fists on the table before tearing all of his papers off the wall. They fell in a flurry as John scattered the books all over the cell. "He wouldn't betray me like that!"

Talbot did not respond as John tore the books to shreds and collapsed on the floor amidst the mess, muttering to himself.

"He wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't do that to me."

"John," Talbot leaned over the top of his bed again, "The offer of my help in your case still stands."

John turned his head up, chest heaving while his fists clenched. "I'll take it. Whatever information you can find, whatever solutions you offer, whatever you can do for me I'll take it."

He turned to the wall and beat his fists bloody on it.

Present Day

John read over the menu, only looking up briefly as the chair across from him filled. He lowered the menu, passing it to the waiter and giving a drink order, before addressing the man. "I'm so honored you could spare me time from your busy schedule, Mr. Bricker."

"It's truly not trouble at all to find time to meet John Christian." Bricker practically shivered and hummed with excitement. "They say your collection of Greco-Roman art is unparalleled in all of London and I don't shame myself in saying that I'd give quite a bit to see it."

"Then some time I should invite you to my home for a viewing. Perhaps a party since I have a lovely set of Impressionists paintings as well."

"They say you have a few rare Monet's."

John nodded, "I collected more than my share of art when I lived in Rome for awhile but that's neither here nor there now."

"Did you not like Rome?"

"I didn't care for why I was there."

"Part of a larger trip?"

"I did also go to Venice but it wasn't quite the romantic trip I intended when I originally planned it." John shrugged, "But that's not really what I asked you here to discuss, Mr. Bricker."

"I'd imagine not." Bricker massaged over his hands, "Given your rate of acquiring companies I'd say you're here about my share in Green Incorporated."

"No," John leaned back as the waiter left his glass on the table and pointed for the same one to be given to Bricker. "I took the liberty of ordering a drink for you, I do hope you don't mind the imposition."

"I don't." Bricker took a sip before hissing, "You've impeccable taste, Mr. Christian. How ever do you manage it?"

"I've developed it through great teachers." John brought Bricker's attention back to him, "But I'm not here about your company because I already bought your shares."

"What?"

"Your accountant was very grateful," John sipped his glass, "Almost fainted with joy when I had my man inform them at dinner before that conference in Edinburgh."

"What?"

"You were invited to the dinner but I think you were too busy trying to seduce Robert Crawley's wife." John set his glass down, "She says you can bite the big one, by the way."

"How do you know anything about that?"

"Because I watched how you hit on her at your gallery opening. It was a rather shameful display to be honest."

"What I do-"

"Is none of my business and if it weren't for the fact that Robert Crawley is a dear friend I wouldn't have thought twice about your shameless attempts to seduce her in front of that Della de Francesca painting but," John winced, "It was pretty disgusting."

"I think we're done here." Bricker went to stand but John put out a hand.

"Since I own your gallery, and your company, and whatever pittance of shares you settled for in that deal between yourself and Alex Green fifteen years ago, I'd say we're far from done." Bricker slowly lowered back to his seat, quivering as his large eyes darted for the exits. "I want to know what kind of deal you made with Alex Green that cost Matthew Crawley his life."

"Who?"

"Come now, Mr. Bricker," John put his napkin on the table. "It's rather embarrassing that you don't recognize the name considering you planned to steal a kiss from his mother-in-law without her invitation."

"I don't know any Matthew Crawley."

"The lawyer for the Fraud Squad who was about to reveal that your merger with Green Incorporated was a farce to cover your smuggling ring." John whistled, "I'd find it hard to forget that kind of man, personally, but then again I didn't get into the witness box and accuse an innocent man of murder."

"It wasn't my plan. I didn't have a choice."

"Didn't you?"

"I couldn't find myself on the wrong end of some bad people and I was told the plan was foolproof."

"Whose plan was it?"

"It was Alex Green's plan, the whole thing was."

"I'm sure." John pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit the blinking red button. "I can't wait to tell everyone."

"What?"

"Noted art historian turned conspirator to murder?" John stood, "I think it'll make all the papers."

"What about Green? It was all his plan from the beginning." Bricker clawed at the tabletop. "You can't get me for this."

"I think I can." John paused, "However, if you wanted, you could agree to something and I'll see what I can do for you."

"If I refuse?"

"Then I let this little confession." John waved the phone, "Out for all to hear."

"What do you want?"

"I like that attitude." John clapped him on the shoulder, "You're going to arrange a gallery exhibit and you're going to make sure Mr. Green is invited."