He buried the wrong man

Chapter 6: An alliance neither of us trusts

Thane was wary even before he sat down, having been invited personally by Corwin Ellery himself. They met at a restaurant two blocks away from the studio, a place where they rarely went together to be recognized.

"You wonder why I invited you here," Corwin said, filling up glasses of water for them even before a waiter arrived.

"The thought did cross my mind"

"In that case, I will spare us both the pleasantries." Corwin folded his hands on the table. "I think Desmond's mismanaged the vendors for years, I think there's inefficiency in this studio's budget that neither of us can really get a hold of, and I think you've started investigating that exact issue, given how much time you've spent locked in your office this week rather than in the hallway at the studio."

Thane's face was unreadable, but with every statement he was estimating Corwin's capacity to become more and more impressed. "This is a specific theory."

"It is the only thing I can brag about and say I pay attention to." Corwin's smile wasn't a warm one. "You have Desmond's trust, I have everybody else's eyes fixed on those numbers that he would rather not see so much of. I think we can help each other."

"But in what way?"

"What I've found out about spending irregularities with vendors in the marketing department, I can share with you, you share with Barrett Voss." Corwin's gaze was unwavering. "Two investigations going on at the same time are faster than two investigations going on separately parallel to each other, but they waste each other's time."

Thane sat back and considered the offer in light of all he recalled of the man across the table. Corwin had never dealt with him in his old life in a cooperative way, he had just waited, patient and opportunistic, for Thane's fall to open the door for him to step in and take advantage without causing the fall. This kind of alliance, whatever it came in, was new. Untested. Possibly useful. Possibly a trap of its own.

“Why do you need to share credit with me for something that you could get all on your own?”

“I'm not that foolish to bring down Desmond Kane by myself, and neither are you.” Corwin bent slightly forward. “You have access that I don't have – I have information that you clearly haven't found yet – pretending otherwise wastes our time.”

"What information?"

"Not yet." Corwin's smile sharpened. “I show you mine when you show me yours, Ashworth, that's how it works.”

Thane studied him for a long time, running the calculation. It was a risky proposition to share anything with Corwin; the man was only loyal to his own advancement, and anything Thane said could be used against him at a later date. However, to refuse outright would be to lose the intelligence that Corwin had, if he had any, and that intelligence could fill in the gaps in Thane's memory.

“I'll think about it," said Thane at length. “But I'm not giving you anything until I know what you're giving me.”

"Fair enough." Corwin sat back, seemingly content with the non-answer. “Desmond isn't stupid, though he's plenty of other things, so take your time; just don't take too long.”

They did not shake hands, and Thane sat alone at the table for several minutes afterwards, mulling over all Corwin's words, trying to find the angle he was sure was there somewhere beneath the surface.

His phone buzzed. Barrett.

“Here you have what you requested. It's more than three years of files and some of it doesn't add up the way I thought. Are you able to speak tonight?”

Thane quickly replied. “Where and when.”

“Your place. Eight o'clock. Take some good whiskey; I believe I've discovered something that's going to spoil our evening.”

He looked at the message for a long time, a chill descending on his stomach. Barrett was no showman — Thane had learned that in six years of working with him. When Barrett was calling something a ruin, it was probably worse than he remembered.

He left some money on the table, and walked back to the studio, turning over Corwin's proposal again before putting it aside. Mutual suspicion is a poor basis for an alliance, and Thane had already experienced that once, in a courtroom that felt closer to home than it should have.

But he was not completely open to the offer. Whatever it was, Corwin's information may come in handy someday — a weapon worth obtaining, even from an untrustworthy source, if he was careful about how much of himself he gave up for it.

It was nearing the end of the afternoon, and the studio lot was starting to quiet down as it did every afternoon. He sat at his desk, still staring at the Ellery folder, still in its drawer, and he let himself feel, for the first time since he awoke in this life again, a little bit of hope.

He had allies now — or the beginnings of them. A careful but devoted Wren. An uncertain but faithful Barrett. Perhaps Corwin, helpful in spite of his selfishness. And Rosalind Fairweather, watching from the sidelines with open curiosity.

This was not enough, however. It was more than he had when he walked into that holding cell four years ago, though, and for now, that would have to do.

---

He used the rest of the hours before 8 o'clock to try to get his mind off of Barrett's message, half of his mind on the Ridgeline production budget, the other half always drifting back to Barrett's message. More than three years of files. Barrett was not one to mince words; if he'd found something substantial, his message already had — it broke his usual understatement.

On his way home, Thane went into a liquor store and picked up a bottle that he recalled Barrett talking about once, years ago, at a holiday party, which neither he nor Barrett would remember quite the same way today. Small things like this seemed bizarre in his current state of mind, not because he was cruel, but because the evidence had been compelling enough to make silence seem the only reasonable thing.

He entered his apartment just before seven, so Barrett wouldn't be able to catch him off guard. The space was not the same as it had been four years ago — it was smaller, somehow, it was the same square footage he remembered living in in the early days of his career, before the promotion that never came, before the trial that had cost him everything, one accusation at a time.

He drank a glass of water, not a drink of anything stronger, because he needed his mind to be clear for whatever Barrett had to say in the hour ahead, and he sat at the kitchen table, rehearsing all the different ways he could have the discussion.

At exactly eight o'clock, Barrett came in, with a thick folder under one arm, his expression devoid of all its customary good humor.

“You look like you found a body,” Thane said as he opened the door.

Barrett stepped inside without being asked, saying "close enough. Where is that whiskey that I ordered?”

"I have water."

“That isn't what I wanted, but, given what I found, that doesn't matter.” Barrett placed the folder down on the kitchen table with a bit more force than was needed, papers sliding against each other inside. “It's probably best to sit down for this.”

Thane sat, his chest cold with anticipation, already knowing that whatever Barrett had discovered was more than either of them had expected.