I do as instructed, curling back into his side immediately once he’s settled.
“Before we do this,” the woman in front of me says, pausing just outside the conference room, “I need to ask you something plainly.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, holding a slim folder against her chest, the seal ofthe New York Attorney General stamped neatly against the front. “Do you actually want to be in here?”
Mark rests his hand against the small of my back. He has the bond shut tight enough that I can’t read him clearly, but I know he isn’t thrilled—hadn’t been since I’d agreed to the request from Harvey’s attorney in the first place.
“I do,” I say.
She studies me for a moment and then nods.
Joseph Simmons’ statement had been a bombshell. He claimed someone identifying himself as being from the mayor’s office contacted him and told him Mark and I had been sleeping together during his brother’s trial. It hadn’t taken much nudging for Joseph to draw the rest of the conclusions on his own. That I’d thrown his brother’s case. That the solution was to remove both meandMark at once. Along with assurances that he could do so cleanly with no police involvement.
It wasn’t enough to incriminate the mayor directly. The word of a convicted felon against the mayor of New York City. However, it was enough to get Tony and Shelby on his tail, and once those two grab a thread, it tends to unravel pretty quickly. I don’t think the CIA could keep secrets from them if they were determined enough.
After Simmons’ arrest, Harold had immediately gone on the defensive. Before the story about me and Mark officially broke with our statement about our relationship, someone was fanning the flames that we’d been involved for months.
What saved us was that we’d already met with the NYSBA, and there was no evidence anyone could find of us having anything to do with each other outside of court or public events. Our circle had been tight by necessity. And any stragglers… well. I’m not entirely sure how Tony handled them, and I don’t want to know. He told me I didn’t need to worry, and I trusted that.
Once we started digging into Harvey, the information came fast. Phone records. Burner phones. Payments routed through shell nonprofits that funneled money into consulting fees and “community outreach” accounts. Far shadier things than just this attempt on my life.
A lot of it wasn’t clean enough to use outright. Some of it had been obtained through methods that would never survive a courtroom challenge. But it was enough to convince the attorney general that there was something real there. Enough to get a warrant.
What ultimately led to his arrest was the delay.
ESU hadn’t been called immediately when I was attacked, despite protocol for an active hostage situation inside a courthouse. That alone raised red flags. Then came the proof that Harvey had paid off one of the courthouse officers earlier that morning.
The only reason Lieutenant Mulligan’s team had shown up at all was because Truck 1 had been monitoring radio traffic and caught enough irregular chatter to get uneasy. Otherwise, things could have gone very differently.
Harvey had been quietly arrested last night, which was a surprise. I’d have thought the attorney general would have eaten up the chance for the press, since Mark’s office was forced to recuse themselves from the entire investigation.
I’m not sure what Harvey hopes to gain from this proffer session. Damage control, maybe? I’m too curious to not show up and find out for myself.
We step through the conference room door. Inside, a long table dominates the space. Harvey is seated next to several attorneys—his, no doubt. A pitcher of water sits untouched in front of him. His jacket is draped over the back of his chair, and his tie is loose around the neck. Overall, though, he doesn’t look frantic or angry. Still as cool as a cucumber, and it makes me want to rage at the unfairness of the entire system.
His eyes land on me briefly, then wander over to Mark. There’s a flicker of something there, but it’s gone before I can catch it. Hate? Envy?
Mark pulls out my chair and waits for me to sit before he takes the seat beside me. He folds his hands on the table and regards Harvey coolly. I wonder if the mayor is aware he’s in mortal danger. I’ve seen my mate in almost every stage of angry he is capable of, usually at me, but I’ve never seen him this calm. It’s like the eye of a hurricane.
“Ms. Kendrick. Mr. Taylor,” Harvey says, “thank you for coming. I was hoping we could all sit down and discuss this and come to a mutually beneficial agreement between us and the attorney general.”
The prosecutor, Maria Gonzales, clears her throat and presses a button on the recorder in front of her. “For the record, this is a proffer session with Harold Harvey, current mayor of New York City. Mr. Harvey understands the limits and protections of this agreement.”
He nods.
“And you understand,” she continues, “that statements made here may guide further investigation, even if they are not directly admissible.”
“Yes.”
She clicks her pen. “Then let’s begin. Mr. Harvey, can you explain why Joseph Simmons believed he was acting with political protection from your office when he entered a New York City courthouse with a weapon?”
Harvey exhales slowly and shakes his head. “I don’t know Mr. Simmons beyond what I read in the paper about his attack on Ms. Kendrick. I certainly wouldn’t put much stock in the word of a violent criminal trying to leverage Mr. Taylor’s political aspirations to reduce his own potential charges.”
He folds his hands together on the table, posture composed. “People say a lot of things when they’re desperate. That doesn’t make them true.”
Gonzales doesn’t answer right away, just makes a note on the pad in front of her. “I understand that,” she says evenly. “For the record, we’re not asking you to validate Mr. Simmon’s credibility, merely to explain his belief.”
Harvey’s mouth tightens. I like this woman; she’s good.
“I cannot begin to explain what a criminal believes,” he replies, “nor should I be expected to.”
