Chapter Text
The FBI office was a flurry of activity, the kind of buzz that came when a long and arduous case was finally reaching its conclusion. Peter Burke stood in the conference room, surrounded by corkboards plastered with photographs, aliases, bank statements, and timelines. At the center of it all were Katherine and James Bennett, their faces glaring back at him from decades-old mugshots.
“Years of cons, fraud, and theft,” Peter muttered under his breath, tapping the mugshots with the end of his pen. “And somehow, they stayed just out of reach.”
“Not anymore,” Diana said, sliding a fresh batch of evidence onto the table. “This just came in from Miami. Katherine used the alias ‘Margot Sinclair’ to sell counterfeit checks through a fake charity. That ties directly to the offshore accounts we flagged.”
“And James?” Peter asked, barely glancing up as he thumbed through the new evidence.
Jones entered the room, holding another file. “We’ve got more evidence on him, too. The deed fraud trail leads straight to him. He’s been laundering the profits through dummy corporations under yet another alias - William Drake. We’ve got signed documents, email records, and even testimony from one of his former partners who flipped.”
Peter leaned on the table, scanning the files in front of him. This wasn’t just a case, it was a sprawling web of deceit that had taken years to untangle. And at the center of that web was Neal.
“Good work,” Peter said, his voice steady but tense. “Let’s wrap this up. I want the U.S. Attorney's office to have everything they need by the end of the day.”
Diana hesitated for a moment. “You’ve warned the kid, right?”
Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not yet. He knows his parents aren’t exactly saints, but this... this is different. Knowing your parents are guilty and hearing they’re going to prison for the rest of their lives? That’s a different kind of pain.”
Diana nodded, her expression softening. “He’s tough, Peter. Smarter than most adults I’ve met. But he’s still just a kid.”
Peter didn’t respond. He just stared at the evidence on the table, a pit forming in his stomach.
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Everyone was on edge.
Katherine walked with an air of defiance, her heels clicking against the floor as if she were entering a gala instead of an interrogation room.
James, on the other hand, looked weary, his shoulders slouched under the weight of years spent evading justice.
“Peter Burke, we meet again,” Katherine said with a smirk as she was seated in the interrogation room. “The one who finally caught us. Congratulations. I’m sure this is a career highlight for you.”
Peter didn’t rise to the bait. He sat across from her, his hands folded calmly on the table. “Your son is under my care,” he said simply. “So this is personal.”
Katherines smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. “Neal’s always been a resourceful young man. He’ll be fine without us.”
“He's a resourceful child because you made him that way,” Peter snapped, his calm exterior cracking. “You taught him to lie, to steal, to con his way through life. And now you’re leaving him to clean up the mess you made.”
Katherines eyes narrowed, but she didn’t respond.
Meanwhile, in the adjacent room, Diana and Jones were interrogating James. Unlike his wife, he seemed resigned.
“We have enough to bury you,” Diana said, sliding a thick folder across the table. “Fraud, money laundering, conspiracy. The list goes on. You’ll be lucky to see the outside of a cell again.”
James sighed, leaning back in his chair. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? That I regret it all?”
“How about starting with your son?” Diana pressed. “Neal deserves better than this.”
James' gaze hardened. “Neal’s a survivor. He’ll assess his situation and adapt.”
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When Peter got home that evening, the weight of the day followed him through the door. Neal was on his spot of the couch that he had claimed days ago, sketchbook in hand, his pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes. Satchmo was splayed across the couch, one paw kept on Neal to keep him safe. Elizabeth stood in the kitchen, her expression calm as she prepared tea.
Peter set his briefcase down and sat in the armchair across from Neal. “We need to talk.”
Neal didn’t look up. “It’s done, isn’t it?”
Peter hesitated. “It is. Your parents have been charged. They’re facing fifteen years in prison.”
Elizabeth inhaled sharply. Neals pencil froze. He closed the sketchbook and set it aside, his movements slow and deliberate. “Knew it was coming,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Elizabeth came into the room, sitting beside him. “Neal, it’s okay to feel something about this. You don’t have to bottle it up.”
Neal shook his head, a bitter scoff leaving his lips. “Feel what? Relief? Anger? They’re criminals, always have been. I've known it my whole life. This doesn’t surprise me.”
“But it hurts,” Peter said gently.
Neals jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the floor. His foot kicked at the coffee table. He spoke quietly, a twinge of anger in his small voice, “They’re my parents. I know they're bad people, but... they’re still my parents.”
Elizabeth reached for his hand, but Neal pulled away, standing abruptly. He began pacing the room, his hands bunching in the fabric of his trousers.
“I’m not upset because they’re guilty,” he said, his voice rising, reaching a volume Peter didn't know could come from someone so small. “I’m upset because- because now it’s final. They’re gone. They were never really there, but now there’s no chance. No chance to fix it, no chance to ask why they did it, why they made me like this.”
Peter stood, his heart breaking at the sight of Neals breakdown. “Kid, you’re not like them,” he said firmly. “You’re better than that.”
Neal stopped pacing, turning to face Peter. “Am I? Everything I know was learned from them. Lying, stealing, surviving. That’s who I am, that's who I've been for seven years.”
Elizabeth stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. “That’s who they taught you to be. Our parents shape us with their beliefs and ideas, but you get to decide who you are as you grow. For you, that's now.”
Neal looked at her, his face crumbling. “I don't know how to do that.”
Peter crossed the room, scooping Neal up to sit on his lap. “Then we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone in this, you got me and Elizabeth.”
For a moment, Neal sat there, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Then, slowly, he nodded, his shoulders relaxing under Peters hold.
Elizabeth sat next to them, swiping Neals cheek with a gentle thumb. This time, he didn’t pull away.
In that moment, the Burkes felt a small but significant shift. Neal was still hurting, still wrestling with his past, but he was starting to let them in.
"So- so does that mean I'm staying? I'm not going to a home?" Neal whispered, voice unsteady as if preparing for a hit.
Peter and Elizabeth shared a look, a silent conversation that they'd been hinting at for days coming to a decision.
"Yeah, I'll see what I can do. I don't know if they'll let me for sure, but I promise I'll fight to keep you here, with us." Peter muttered into his hair.
They'd only known each other for just over a week, but they loved like they knew Neal since birth.
The boy sniffled and dug his head into the crook of Peters neck and whispered, "Thank you."