Chapter 66

Caine: "You think wisdom is a flower to be plucked. It is a mountain to be climbed."

Kamen arrives shortly after breakfast on Thursday and Wolf puts them in the interrogation room for privacy. He gets right down to business. "What do you think they've got?"

Gold appreciates the straightforwardness, and as an attorney himself, he understands they can't build a defense until they know what they're defending against. Still, Kamen's question could be taken as an indirect query into Gold's guilt. Gold shakes his head. "I have no idea. I do my own taxes–always have–and review them thoroughly before my wife and I sign off on them. I keep records so detailed that if you asked me how much I spent on a box of pens for my antiques shop in May 2005, I could tell you precisely. So–nothing. There's nothing they could have."

Kamen purses his lips. "Then let's talk about your enemies."

"I had a visit from one of them this week." Gold's eyes darken. "He let me know he's behind this; it's revenge for a business deal I spoiled for him. He didn't say how he'd done it, but it seems certain he somehow falsified my tax returns."

"And other records as well, since the charges include embezzlement. So who is he and how would he have gained access to your records?"

"His name is Albert Spencer and he's the DA in Storybrooke."

Kamen whistles lowly. "So he knows what he's doing. Where do you keep your records?"

"In my study at home. And no, I haven't had a break-in, nor has Spencer or his minions ever been to my house. Along with my personal income and my wife's, I maintain records for an antiques shop I share with a partner and a nonprofit I manage with my son. The nonprofit has a board, of course, and they've all received quarterly financial reports from me as well as copies of our 990s. The president of the board signs off on the 990s. The board's never found an error."

"Give me a list of names and addresses. I'll interview them," Kamen decides. "May want to have the president of the board testify. Do you keep copies of your records anywhere else?"

"Photocopies in a safe deposit box at my bank, First National of Storybrooke. For an emergency backup."

Kamen frowns a little. "So the bank has access to those."

"Not without my key. It takes my key along with theirs to open the box."

"Or so they've told you."

"Twice a month, I give the key to my business partner, Josiah Dove, and he deposits the updated records into the box." Gold deliberates whether to explain about the exile that initially prevented him from depositing the records himself, but that would lead to a revelation Gold dare not make. It's bad enough to be labeled an embezzler and a fraud; he's not ready to add "nutcase" to the labels. "The key is in his possession for no more than two hours at a time–"

"Long enough to make a duplicate and go back later to tamper with the box's contents."

Gold fixes Kamen in his gaze. "I'd trust Mr. Dove with my life. And my wife's. And no, he has no dealings, personal or business, with Albert Spencer. However, Sidney Glass does. He's a former reporter for the Storybrooke Mirror. He writes a gossip blog that's been highly critical of me–and sometimes libelous."

"I know. I Googled you." Kamen checks his watch. "I'm meeting with the AUSA at ten," he says, once the introductions have been made. "Her name is Saeva Anguem. Harvard Law, six years as an assistant district attorney in Cleveland, ten years as an AUSA in Maine. 92% conviction rate. That may seem high, but the average conviction rate for the DoJ is 93%."

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better," Gold remarks.

Kamen offers proudly, "I have a 3% acquittal rate and an 11% dismissal rate."

"I know that's a lot better than it sounds, but please don't mention those numbers in front of my wife." Gold shifts in his chair. "You know anything about the magistrate judge, Joseph Keaton?"

"Socrates said a good judge is courteous, wise, and impartial. That's Keaton. When you come before him in the morning, he'll have two bails in mind, and whichever one he assigns will be based on how well you convince him you're not a flight risk. It would help to have your family present, so he can see how deep your commitment to them goes, and theirs to you."

Gold winces, but Kamen continues, "Keaton already knows you own a business and a house here, but the best sign of stability you can show him is your ties to people here. Let's make a list of people who who'd write a letter of support for you."

"Well," Gold clears his throat, "there's Dr. Mike Miner–OB/GYN, the Reverend Mother Maris Stella, Dr. Archie Hopper–psychiatrist, Sam Browning–he's a tailor, Mayor Arminta Bell and her husband Eb, Clara Donegal–she's the volunteer coordinator for Storybrooke General, Persimmon Plockton–owns a diner–"

Five minutes later, Gold's still naming names, but Kamen's stopped writing. The lawyer is just staring, open-mouthed, until Gold runs out of either steam or names, then Kamen blinks. "Uh, yeah. Your daughter-in-law volunteered to assist me in any way I ask; I'll be asking her to split this list with me. And, Mr. Gold? Typically, the bail in a case like this would be in the $30,000 area, but I'm going to do something I rarely do: I'll be asking Judge Keaton to release you on your own recognizance."

Kamen returns in the evening, just in time to catch supper with the Doves and Belle. "Should we leave?" Josiah wonders. "Do you need to talk business, Mr. Kamen?"

"No, no, stay." Kamen seems puzzled by the informality–or does he consider it laxity?–in this jail and he eyes Wolf curiously but refrains from comment. "I brought by the bail application that I filed this afternoon, for Mr. Gold's perusal. But if you don't mind, I'd like to not talk business for a while. Besides, that chicken Kiev is making my mouth water."

"Well, then!" Belle leaps to her feet. "If you don't mind eating off a platter, sit and eat with us. There's plenty. I've been trying for years to put a few pounds on Rumple, and the best way to get him to eat is if we're all eating too. So sit, and would you prefer coffee or tea?"

"Just water, please. I've had too much coffee today." Kamen accepts the silverware and napkin that Josiah sets him up with as Fran fetches water from the cooler and Belle clears off the butter flake rolls from a platter and proceeds to fill it with a four-course meal for the lawyer. "Thank you. You people are very kind to an out-of-towner. In fact, everyone here seems to be."

"Guess you could say our livelihood depends on the kindness of strangers," Belle suggests, and she proceeds to tell him about Creativity Camp.

As they enjoy Fran's cooking and the conversation, Gold watches Kamen watching the Doves and Belle. Kamen is taking Gold's measure from the way these people speak to and of Gold. Gold understands this. It's hardly an objective means of assessing character–after all, these three people all benefit financially from their association with Gold–but perhaps the lawyer can at least see that their affection and trust are not faked. He's grateful to the Doves and Belle for helping him to put his best foot–their feet–forward.

The next morning, Bae and Emma arrive with their houseguest, Mr. Kamen, in tow, just before Wolf arrives, who precedes the Doves and Belle. As the breakfast is laid out–buffet style this time, since there's not enough room for all these people in the interrogation room–Kamen draws Gold aside. "I got copies of the evidence delivered to me last night and I'm piecing them together. You're being accused of altering the financial records for the nonprofit so that you could claim you donated a total of $750,000 over the past three years."

"And write off that donation on my income taxes."

"Right."

"$750,000 spread out over over three years is still a lot of money. That's a lot of hoodwinking for a seven-member board. I must be very, very good at pulling the wool over people's eyes."

Kamen shrugs. "Your talent for sleight of hand is well known, Anguem says."

"Does she have any theories as to what I needed this much money for, that I couldn't have paid out of available funds? Or by selling a property or two? I presume she is aware that my net worth is in the $1.25 billion range."

"Yeah, that was my question too. Why make such a bonehead move, so easy to get caught at, when you didn't need the money? No bad investments to compensate for, no gambling debts or no drug habits to cover up, no mistresses to pay off, so why bother stealing?"

"Guess I'm just a greedy bastard with an exemplary lifestyle."

"Anguem said if she had to guess, it would be payments for blackmail or bribes, perhaps connected to a kidnapping in which you were a suspect but somehow slipped the noose."

"Again, why did I go to all the work of embezzling when I could have just made a withdrawal the ATM?"

"To cover your trail?" Kamen guesses. "Hide it from your wife? You have joint bank accounts."

"Oh. Then, why didn't I just sell off a few things from the shop?"

"Your partner would find out."

"Oh. And it would be easier for a man to hoodwink seven board members than one wife or friend."

"Anguem admits she hasn't spent much time developing a motive for you. Her focus has been on the how, not the why. She just has to prove you embezzled and cheated on your taxes. She doesn't have to prove you needed to."

"A plausible motive would make her case stronger."

"She seems to think it's pretty strong as it is, with the records she has."

"Fake," Gold spits. "Spencer. Maybe assisted by Glass."

"That's where Ms. Swan comes in. I'm working on proving you didn't commit a crime. She's working on proving who did. Let me repeat: that's where Ms. Swan comes in, not you. If I catch you endangering my case by approaching Spencer or Glass in any way, shape or form, I'm out of here. With my full fee." Kamen eyes the rapidly vanishing buffet. "Come on, let's get some breakfast while there's something left."

For the bail hearing, the Bell's Corners City Council Chambers has been appropriated. The city council doesn't mind; in fact, it's the biggest event to take place in this room, where the air conditioning works wonkily and the wood floor squeaks and a portrait of Adam Edward Bell, town founder, looks down upon it all.

Seated on the south side of the table are two women, both dressed in Chanel; the elder wears high heels and an unflappable expression, while the younger wears pumps and takes notes on her laptop. Gold, seated directly across from the assistant, casts an annoyed glance at her: she's in his chair, the one he usually sits in when the Development Committee meets in this room.

In the corner near the head of the table, the court reporter is set up at a little table. Eyes wide, she forgets she should appear calm and collected: she stares excitedly at the big-city strangers. With so little going on in Bell's Corners, she's lucky if the court gives her a day's work a month, so she spends most of her week cashiering at the A & P. She'll have plenty to talk about with her customers tomorrow. A bailiff stands beside her. Belle, Bae and Emma sit unobtrusively at the other end of the room.

Judge Joseph Keaton, a small, narrow-faced fellow with a flat accent and sharp gray eyes, enters with a folder full of papers and the bailiff calls the Court to order. Seating himself, Keaton scans the faces before him, settling on Gold's. "Rumple Gold?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Is that your full legal name?"

"Yes, sir."

"Represented by Mr. Kamen. The people are represented by Ms. Anguem."

""Yes, Your Honor." Her voice is smooth as uncut ice and just as cool. With a 92% success rate, what has she to worry about?

"This matter comes for consideration of the bail application that Mr. Kamen has filed for Mr. Gold. I reviewed it last night. Mr. Kamen, at this time is there any additional information you want me to consider, or is the application complete?"

Gold knows what's in that file folder: it's stuffed with a copy of the deeds to his house and shop, his criminal record (empty) and support letters from nine prominent citizens.

"Your Honor, I realize it's unusual, but could I get you to take a look out this window?" Kamen indicates the window directly behind the judge's chair.

"Very well, Mr. Kamen. I take it some additional pertinent information will make itself known." Keaton rises. "Join me, Ms. Anguem, Mr. Gold." Everyone except the bailiff and the court reporter move to the window. Keaton raises the blind, peers out, jerks his head back in surprise and murmurs, "Yeah. You're not going anywhere."

Returning to her seat, Anguem narrows her mascared eyes. When her turn to speak comes, she makes a go of it, arguing for the $30,000, but she's already lost this round; it's apparent as Keaton glances over his shoulder periodically at the window.

Out on the lawn are some two dozen citizens, ranging in age from six (Angelo) to (if the truth were told) five hundred (the Blue Fairy, a. k. a. the Reverend Mother Maris Stella). They're as quiet and orderly as one would expect hospital patients, business owners, fishermen, city council members, nuns, medics, a psychiatrist, cooks, waitresses and a mayor to be. Their signs do their talking for them: "Free Gold," "Mr. Gold is innocent," "You arrested the wrong man," "The truth will set Gold free."

Keaton takes a long, hard look at Gold before announcing, "Mr. Kamen, you asked that your client be released on his own recognizance. All things–and people–considered, I find nothing to suggest a flight risk or danger to the public. I hereby grant your request, Mr. Kamen. Mr. Gold, you are not to leave this county. Bear in mind that any infraction of the law–and that goes for traffic tickets–will bring us all right back here to start all over. That concludes these proceedings." With a cocked eyebrow toward Gold, Keaton rises and the bailiff calls for all to rise.

Gold dives into Belle's arms; coming up behind, Emma and Bae form a second circle embracing the couple. All three, Gold notices, are smirking. He needn't ask who organized the silent rally on the lawn. He wants nothing more than to go home, lock the doors and sink into his BarcaLounger with a remote in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other, but he has a duty to those people out there. His exile taught him there are times to be selfish and times to give of himself in gratitude, and today is the latter. With Belle under his arm and his son and his daughter-in-law behind him, he pushes back his anti-social impulse and, inviting Kamen along, walks down the stairs to the lawn to offer his thanks.

Persie insists on a celebratory toast in her diner: Gold is tempted to point out that it's much too soon for a celebration, but his friends seem so happy, he can't take the tiny victory away from them. The first round of sodas and iced teas is on the house.

As glasses are drained, Gold opens his mouth, about to buy the second round, but Belle prevents him with a squeeze of his wrist. "Let them," she whispers. "It means so much to them." So he closes his mouth again and the Bells buy round two. Raising his glass as Arminta salutes Mr. Kamen's thorough preparedness, Gold studies Belle from the corner of his eye. She keeps checking the clock. . . .

At a quarter to ten, she suddenly perches on tiptoe, gives him a hasty kiss on the cheek and says softly, "I have to go. I'll see you at home tonight, around eight-thirty."

"What?" He seizes her arm. "Go? Go where? Belle!"

She smiles faintly. "Welcome home, darling." And she slips through the crowd and away from him as Blue buys the third round.