Chapter 10: THE ANKLET
Neal Caffrey walked into FBI White Collar like he owned the building.
I watched from my borrowed desk as he moved through the bullpen, shaking hands, learning names, deploying that legendary charm on agents who should have known better. His suit probably cost more than my first month's rent—tailored, European cut, the kind of thing that announced wealth without screaming about it.
Where does a convicted felon fresh out of prison get a suit like that?
The answer was obvious: June. Of course June would outfit her new tenant. She had a soft spot for strays with potential, and Neal Caffrey was nothing if not potential wrapped in a pretty package.
[MARK ANALYSIS: NEAL CAFFREY]
[CURRENT STATE: PERFORMING | CALCULATING]
[SOCIAL STRATEGY: CHARM OFFENSIVE]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: PROFESSIONAL RIVAL]
He spotted me across the room. The performance paused for half a second—recalibration, adjustment—then resumed at full power as he approached.
"We haven't been properly introduced."
He stopped at my desk, hand extended, smile bright enough to blind.
"Neal Caffrey."
I stood. Took his hand. Matched his grip exactly.
"Aron Dark. The consultant who doesn't need a tracking device."
His smile flickered. Just for a moment. Then it returned, sharper than before.
"Touché."
Jones appeared at Neal's elbow before either of us could escalate.
"Peter wants both of you in conference room two. Now."
Peter stood at the head of the conference table with the look of a man regretting every decision that had led to this moment.
"Sit down. Both of you."
We sat. Opposite sides of the table. Neither spoke.
"Here's how this works." Peter's voice carried the weight of authority earned over decades. "You are not partners. You are resources. I use you when I need you. You stay in your lanes. You do not compete, conspire, or compare notes without my explicit authorization."
Neal nodded cheerfully. I recognized the expression—he'd ignore these rules within twenty-four hours.
I nodded seriously. I'd work around them more quietly.
Peter recognized both responses for what they were.
"I'm not naive. I know you're going to test boundaries. But here's the thing neither of you seems to understand: I don't need you. Either of you. You're conveniences, not necessities. The moment you become more trouble than you're worth, you're gone."
He looked at Neal.
"Back to prison."
Then at me.
"Back to whatever you were before I decided to take a chance on you."
The silence stretched. Outside the conference room, the bullpen hummed with activity.
"Now." Peter dropped a folder on the table. "Stolen Picasso sketch. Private collector, Upper East Side. Insurance claim filed three days ago, but something doesn't smell right."
Neal reached for the folder. I let him take it.
"The collector says it was a break-in. Security system shows nothing. Maid has an alibi. Collector's nephew was at a gallery opening with thirty witnesses." Peter crossed his arms. "Either we have the world's greatest art thief, or someone's lying."
"Inside job," Neal said without looking up from the file.
"Obviously," I agreed. "The question is which inside."
Neal's eyes met mine across the table. The challenge hung between us, unspoken but unmistakable.
"First one to give me a solid lead gets point position on the case." Peter's voice cut through the tension. "The other one provides support. Questions?"
Neither of us spoke.
"Good. Get to work."
The break room coffee was terrible, but it was free and it was caffeinated. I stood at the machine, waiting for the ancient percolator to finish its grudging work.
"So this is where the magic happens."
Neal appeared in the doorway, perfectly positioned like he'd practiced the entrance.
"The break room?"
"The coffee." He moved closer, examining the setup with theatrical dismay. "I heard there were good beans somewhere in this building. Hidden stash. Bureau legend."
"Third floor. Accounting. Left cabinet, behind the printer paper."
His eyes lit up.
"Really?"
"No."
I took my cup and walked past him. The expression on his face was worth the petty lie.
[SILVER TONGUE: MISDIRECTION SUCCESSFUL]
[RELATIONSHIP: NEAL CAFFREY — MINOR FRICTION]
Small victories. I'd take them where I could.
My desk faced a window overlooking Federal Plaza. I spread the Picasso case files across the surface and started building a picture.
The insurance claim had been filed by Harold Simms, independent adjuster for Ashworth Insurance. Standard claim on a standard policy—except the processing time was unusually fast. Forty-eight hours from report to preliminary approval. Most claims took a week minimum.
[APPRAISAL ACTIVE]
[DOCUMENT ANALYSIS: INSURANCE CLAIM #AR-77291]
[ANOMALY DETECTED: ACCELERATED PROCESSING]
[PROBABILITY OF IRREGULARITY: 78%]
Simms. The insurance agent knew something.
I pulled his background—public records, social media footprints, the digital breadcrumbs everyone left without thinking. Nothing obvious. But his Instagram showed expensive restaurants, designer clothes, a lifestyle that didn't match his salary.
Gambling. The classic tell.
A man living beyond his means is a man with debts. A man with debts is a man who can be bought. And a man who can be bought might just process a fraudulent insurance claim for a cut of the payout.
I started building a timeline. Simms's spending patterns, the collector's insurance history, cross-referencing both against art auction records.
Two hours later, I had the shape of a conspiracy.
Neal was already in Peter's office when I arrived with my findings.
Of course he was.
"—European buyer, prefers to remain anonymous, but my contact says he's been asking about Picasso works for months. Specifically this period, specifically this style." Neal gestured at photographs spread across Peter's desk. "The theft wasn't random. Someone ordered this piece."
Peter looked up as I entered.
"Dark. What do you have?"
I set my own file on the desk.
"The insurance agent, Harold Simms. He's dirty. Gambling debts, lifestyle inflation, and he processed this claim forty-eight hours after the report—unheard of for a piece this valuable. He either knew the theft was coming or he was paid to expedite the payout."
Peter studied both files. Neal studied me.
"So we have a buyer and an inside man," Peter said. "Different angles on the same crime."
"Different pieces of the same puzzle," Neal corrected.
"Then put them together." Peter closed both folders. "Work this case together. Pool your leads, coordinate your approaches, and bring me something actionable."
"Peter—"
"Together," Peter repeated. "That's not a suggestion."
The elevator ride down was uncomfortable.
Neal stood on one side. I stood on the other. Neither spoke until the doors opened on the ground floor.
"May the best man win," Neal said.
"He will."
The doors tried to close. I blocked them with my foot.
"Your buyer—what's his name?"
Neal smiled.
"Roland Beck. Art collector, old money, questionable ethics. Yours?"
"Harold Simms. Insurance adjuster, new debts, no ethics at all."
We stepped out of the elevator together. The lobby echoed with federal efficiency.
"I'll take Beck," Neal said. "Charm works better than pressure with collectors."
"And I'll take Simms. Pressure works better than charm with gamblers."
We stood in the lobby, two men who didn't trust each other, planning a collaboration neither wanted.
"Tomorrow," I said. "We report what we find."
"Tomorrow." Neal's smile turned genuine for half a second. "This might actually be interesting."
He walked toward the exit. I watched him go, cataloguing his stride, his posture, the way he moved through the world like it was a stage built for his performance.
He's good, I admitted to myself. Maybe even better than me at the things that matter.
But I had advantages he couldn't imagine. A system that saw what others missed. Knowledge of events that hadn't happened yet. And the patience of a man who'd already lived one life and lost it.
Neal Caffrey was a sprinter. Fast, brilliant, dazzling.
I was running a marathon.
MORE POWER STONES And REVIEWS== MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ In The Witcher With Avatar Powers,In The Vikings With Deja Vu System,Stranger Things Demogorgon Tamer ...].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!