It was a pure accident, but Megan just rolled with it. She slipped her tongue in, ready to go toe-to-toe with Lawson.
As a news anchor, Megan's mouth skills and lung capacity were top-tier. Out of all the women Lawson had kissed, she was second only to his gorgeous boss.
She was relentlessly agile, making it damn hard for Lawson to keep up. You had to hand it to her—she literally made her living with her mouth.
A long moment later, Megan pushed Lawson away, her face flushed red. She was practically gasping for air.
She might have pushed a little too hard. Still dizzy from the lack of oxygen, she stumbled backward. Lawson's arm shot out, catching her around the waist before she could hit the floor.
Megan's blush deepened, the crimson spreading all the way down her neck.
"Lawson, don't get the wrong idea. I just wanted to thank you for saving me last time. I didn't expect—"
"I know, I know," Lawson smirked. "Once you help me out with this bank thing, we can consider that life-saving debt paid in full."
That comment visibly deflated her.
"So it's just about paying off a debt?"
"What else would it be? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. That's how favors work, right?"
Megan finally caught on. Lawson knew exactly how she felt; he was just playing with her.
That sparked her naturally aggressive streak. She stomped hard on his foot.
"Screw you!"
She spun on her heel and stormed off. But despite the dramatic exit, anyone looking at her retreating back could see she was completely flustered.
Lawson shook his head, smiling. With Megan on board, a major headache was handled. Plus, it was the perfect opening to bring his other identity onto the board.
Stepping out of the coffee shop, Lawson weighed his options and decided to dial Neal.
With Francis gunned down, Neal's golden ticket had just evaporated. The fed was highly likely to try and back out of their deal, so Lawson needed to apply some pressure.
"Uncle home today?"
"Uncle's in the motherfucking hospital."
You didn't need a psych degree to hear the raw venom in Neal's voice. He was in a terrible mood.
"Agent Neal. Sounding a little stressed today."
"Don't play dumb with me. Spit it out. I've got a meeting in five minutes!"
Sitting in his office, Neal's attitude was absolute trash. The hit on Francis had clearly shattered his world.
There's nothing more agonizing than having a guaranteed win yanked away at the last possible second.
That was Neal's reality right now. He'd been inches away from a massive promotion and a corner office, only to watch Francis catch a bullet.
If Neal knew who pulled the trigger, he'd probably grab an M60 and mow the bastard down himself.
Too bad the shooter at Mercy Hospital was a total pro. They made the hit and ghosted before the dust settled. With too few FBI agents on site and the hospital in total chaos, the killer slipped right through the net.
"Is that so? Shame," Lawson said smoothly. "I actually called to give you some good news, but it sounds like you're not in the mood. I'll just hang up—"
"Wait! Don't hang up! Lawson, Mr. Lawson, Agent Lawson—what good news?"
Neal was nothing if not pragmatic. Francis was dead; crying about it wouldn't change a thing. You had to look forward. The speed at which he completely flipped his tone was honestly impressive. The guy's skin was thicker than Kevlar.
"Don't call me Agent Lawson just yet. I still haven't seen my badge or my file."
Neal caught the implication instantly. Lawson was calling to collect.
"Cough! I'm already working on it, alright? It takes time! Lawson, how about you tell me what you found first?"
"Alright, Neal, I'll give you a taste. Before the Bonannos grabbed Francis, he secretly relocated a set of ledgers. The family's top brass is tearing the city apart looking for them right now. I'm guessing they're extremely valuable."
Neal's breathing hitched. Ledgers. That word alone opened up endless, career-making possibilities.
The ledgers were absolutely real. Not only had the Payday app pinged them as an objective, but Lawson had heard Sofia mention them last night after returning to the estate.
Yesterday afternoon, the second Luca Pastore heard about Francis, he tossed the study and realized several critical ledgers were missing.
Francis had obviously stashed his leverage. And the smart money said they were sitting inside the vault at St. Martin's Bank.
"Lawson, you have to find those ledgers before the Bonanno capos do!"
"We'll see. Honestly, my motivation has been pretty low lately. You catch my drift?"
Neal's face twisted into a knot. Those ledgers were the holy grail. They could be the silver bullet to dismantle the entire Bonanno syndicate.
But he knew Lawson wouldn't hand them over unless that FBI badge materialized.
"Lawson, just secure the ledgers first! I swear I'll get your credentials sorted out. You have to trust me!"
"Mmhmm. I trust you completely, Neal. Otherwise, I wouldn't have called."
They were both just blowing smoke, painting pretty pictures for each other. Glancing at his watch, Neal realized time was up.
"I've got a meeting. I'm hanging up."
The second the call ended, a fresh wave of adrenaline hit Neal.
"If I can just get my hands on those ledgers..."
The dream of a promotion was back from the dead. He was practically vibrating with excitement.
He yanked his office door open—and nearly bumped into Sean Arthur standing right outside.
"Arthur? What are you doing here?"
"Ahem. Just coming to remind you that the meeting is starting."
Neal narrowed his eyes, studying Sean's awkward expression. He immediately connected the dots.
"Were you eavesdropping?"
"Are you joking? Why would I eavesdrop? I was just walking by, noticed you hadn't left yet, and figured I'd give you a heads-up."
Neal didn't buy a single word of it. He operated on the assumption that everyone was out to get him.
"Arthur, you wanna play dirty? Let me make something clear: you are never going to beat me!"
With a scoff, Neal grabbed his files and marched past him toward the conference room.
Sean watched him go, his expression grim.
This guy looked like a whipped dog all morning. Why is he suddenly acting like he's high on cocaine?
Neal's instinct was dead on—Sean had absolutely been listening at the door. But the FBI field office had serious soundproofing. He'd only managed to catch a few muffled words.
Files... ledgers... What the hell is he talking about?
Unable to piece it together, Sean decided to keep a close tail on Neal. The guy had clearly just hooked a massive new lead.
Better get to the meeting. Hopefully, there's actually some good news today.
---
FBI Headquarters, Conference Room One.
The room was packed with roughly thirty agents.
The lowest rank in the room was Senior Special Agent. Rookies and trainees like Jane Banner didn't even have the clearance to sweep the floors in here.
And since everyone in the seats was a heavy hitter, the guy running the show was at the top of the food chain.
The meeting was being chaired by the Director of the FBI's Los Angeles Field Office.
"Courtney. We got everyone?"
A gray-haired man in his late fifties glanced at the entirely white-haired man sitting next to him.
Deputy Director Courtney stood up, ran his eyes over the sea of dark suits, and nodded.
"Director Cole, everyone on the roster is present."
"Excellent. Let's get started."
Gordon Cole stood up and flicked on the projector.
The screen lit up with mugshots of the Bonanno family capos, the Irish Mob bosses, and finally, a grisly crime scene photo of Francis Ricci's corpse.
"Today's briefing is entirely focused on the escalating war between the Mafia and the Irish Mob."
Cole swept his gaze across the room, his expression dead serious.
"Starting with the murder of Little Martin Bonanno and leading right up to the brazen assassination of Francis Ricci—these syndicates are crossing lines. The Bureau can no longer sit back and watch."
He clicked the remote, cycling through a slideshow of recent news clippings. Almost every headline blasted the FBI and LAPD for their sheer incompetence.
The room went dead silent. Every agent present was frowning hard.
"You see how they're dragging our name through the mud? I don't care how you do it, but I want this narrative flipped within thirty days. I do not want to see another mob shootout on the front page of the LA Times! Am I clear?"
As Cole glared around the room, most of the agents stared at their shoes. The only guy who kept his chin up was Neal.
That caught Cole's attention.
"Neal. You got something to share?"
Neal shot out of his chair.
"Director, one of my informants just stumbled onto something massive. He wants to make a trade, but his demands..."
Cole read between the lines immediately. If Neal was bringing it up here, the demands were above his pay grade.
"Is the intel worth it?"
"It's enough to let the FBI parade in front of the press as heroes."
That piqued Cole's interest.
"See me in my office after this. Does anyone else have anything?"
Not wanting to be outshined by Neal, the rest of the senior agents started throwing out ideas.
Some pitched aggressive street sweeps in Italian and Irish territories. Others suggested planting fresh undercovers in both organizations.
But most of the pitches were either band-aids on a bullet wound or long-term plays that wouldn't deliver results fast enough.
Hours later, the meeting adjourned. The exhausted agents filed out, leaving only Neal and Cole in the room.
Sean was dying to know what Neal was holding, but he wasn't suicidal enough to eavesdrop on the Director. He headed back to his desk to grab Jane Banner and strategize a way to uncover Neal's source.
"Alright, Agent Neal. What exactly does this guy want?"
"Director... he wants to be an FBI agent."
"He wants a badge? Not a clean record?"
Most informants were criminals. The primary reason they flipped for the cops or the FBI was to wipe their slates clean.
Sure, some just needed the cash and worked for informant fees.
But law enforcement budgets weren't bottomless. You couldn't buy everyone.
That's why plenty of rats played both sides—committing crimes while feeding the feds intel, often using the FBI as a weapon to take out their street rivals.
Cole pulled out a cigar, clipped the end, and stuck it between his teeth. Neal practically leaped over to light it for him. Cole took a deep drag, blowing a thick cloud of smoke through his nose.
"What exactly did he find?"
"Ledgers. The core financial ledgers for the Bonanno family."
Cole raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised.
"Agent Neal, is this asset a made man in the Bonanno family?"
"Yes, sir. He just got his button recently."
"Then how the hell is he getting near top-tier secrets?"
"He says that while Francis Ricci was running the show, he secretly relocated the master ledgers. The rest of the Bonanno capos are currently tearing the city apart looking for them."
Cole nodded, the picture becoming clear.
"Is this informant reliable?"
Neal hesitated for a split second before answering. "Highly reliable. He's the one who gave us Francis Ricci's location."
That impressed Cole. "Is that right? The kid's got some serious skills, then. Give him what he wants. The FBI could use a guy like that."
"Director... just a few months ago, this guy was an illegal immigrant. And he's Asian."
For a lot of unspoken, institutional reasons, the FBI rarely hired Asians. The Bureau was overwhelmingly white, with a small percentage of Black agents. Asian agents were practically unicorns—even rarer than Indian-Americans.
Cole tapped his fingers against the table, thinking it over, before laying down the law.
"An illegal immigrant isn't likely to be a foreign spy. Worst case, we run him through an extreme vetting process later. Make the deal. I'll personally sign off on his credentials and bury the paperwork—but only if those ledgers are as explosive as you say they are."
With the Director's blessing, Neal was ecstatic.
"Yes, sir! I'll contact him immediately."
Cole patted Neal on the arm. "You've been doing great work lately, Neal. Keep it up. Bring this home."
"Yes, sir!"
---
Meanwhile, Sean was back at his desk when Trainee Agent Jane Banner walked in.
"Boss, latest intel reports." Jane dropped a massive stack of folders onto his desk. She was about to turn and leave when Sean stopped her.
"Jane, hold on. I need you to handle something off the books."
"What is it?"
"I need you to shadow Nathan Neal. Track his every move."
"What? Are you serious?" Jane stared at him in total disbelief.
"Listen to me, Jane. I highly suspect Neal is running an illegal operation with the Bonanno capos. How else is he pulling this kind of god-tier intel?" It was a logical leap, and even Jane had to admit Neal's recent streak was highly suspicious.
"But... I'm just a trainee. If I try to tail a Senior Agent, he's going to make me in a heartbeat!"
"Jane, I'm going to personally train you for this. Believe in yourself. You can do this."
---