Page 72 of Velvet Betrayal
“No questions. We never really worked, which is a shame. We’ll figure out custody later. We’ll always be a family.”
“I know,” I said. “But I’m, uh, going to tell the press about our divorce when I address them next.”
“That’s exciting,” he said, dry as dust. “What about the other stuff?”
“I’m going to tell them I’m being investigated by the Justice Department,” I said, voice flat. “Just the truth. And I’m going to tell them about Mickey Russell.”
That got him. He stared at me, not in disbelief, but as if squinting through fog at something he couldn’t quite see. “The whole story?”
“Most of it. Not about Kieran, not unless I have to. But I’m going to say Russell broke into the house and threatened me and I defended myself. I’m not going to hide that. That’s what happened.”
He tapped a finger on his glass. For a second, I thought he might laugh. Instead, he said, “That’ll probably work, you know.”
“Good. Because then in a year, maybe two, people will have bigger scandals to worry about, and nobody will care what the DA did to save her kid.”
He finished his Coke in a long pull. “If you’re going to be a martyr, at least you’ll be a famous one.” He grinned, the old gallows humor peeking through. “Rosie will love that.”
I grinned back, less sure of it than he was. “Thanks for backing me up. I thought you’d be furious.”
He sighed. “I don’t like that Kieran Callahan is Rosie’s biological father. But you’ve always done right by her. You know I’ll always do right by her. In an ideal world, you aren’t fucking Kieran Callahan. But I’m not telling you what to do. You are sleeping with him, aren’t you?”
“He’s the best bet I have,” I said. “The easiest way to keep our daughter safe, Julian.”
He stared at his glass, then at me. “Just promise me you’ll keep her out of the crossfire.”
“That’s why she has to come live with you. At least for a bit. For, like, the rest of winter break. She’ll love it. I just…promise me I’ll get to see her whenever I want.”
“If Rosie doesn’t want to see you every other day, I’ll eat my hat,” Julian said.
“I’d pay to see that.”
“If you want, I’ll even let her pick the hat.” He smiled, and for a second the room relaxed. But then he looked at me again. “How did the DOJ inquiry go?”
I sighed. “It was…weird.”
“Oh?”
“Extremely professional,” I said. “Darnell told me Mickey Russell was a CI for the DOJ. He was infiltrating the Callahan operation.”
Julian closed his eyes, slow. “Of course he was.”
We let the silence have its turn. The windows steamed with our breath; outside, the wind chased trash wrappers down the street. Somewhere, families were tucked inside, soup simmering, a kid spinning on a kitchen chair.
“Russell didn’t even get a hit off the organization before he broke into my house,” I said. “Either he was very bad at his job or—”
“He was never meant to last,” Julian said. “Someone needed him to take the public fall. A martyr for the rule of law, or whatever. It’s so baroque.”
“If you want, I could give you the case notes.”
“I think I get it,” he said. “Darnell wants to rattle the DA’s office, squeeze you for the optics. Maybe even get you to flip your own office if they catch you in bed with a Callahan.”
“But why would the DOJ want that?” I asked, shaking my head.
He shrugged. “Because they don’t trust anyone. New administration, new oversight priorities. If someone up the chain sees your name tangled with the Callahans—even by rumor—it’s safer for them to treat you like a liability. Run a quiet investigation. Leak a little. Wait to see if you break.”
For a second, I saw the old Julian, the one who could explain the psychological chess match of American prosecutors over a Reuben and two beers.
I missed that. Even now, a little.
