The man had arrived at the prison unannounced, lied and said he was one of Danny’s lawyers. It was the same day the Supreme Court had denied review of Danny’s case. Danny suspected the timing wasn’t a coincidence.

His name was Neal Flanagan, a greasy man in an expensive suit.

Flanagan said he worked for the governor, and for a cool mil Danny could be a free man. He didn’t actually say any of it, of course, probably scared that the prison recorded visits. No, he produced a sheet of paper with the offer written up. After Danny read it, Flanagan placed the paper in a folder and locked it in his briefcase.

“So do you think you can afford my rates?” Flanagan asked, pretending to be a potential new lawyer for Danny, a ruse for recording devices that probably didn’t exist.

“Where in the hell would I get that kind of money?”

“You’re famous.”

“I didn’t get any money from the TV show.”

“What about all those celebrities and do-gooders? They’ve got money.”

Danny rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t escape the feeling that something about the man, something about the whole thing, seemed legit. Well, not legit, but authentic. It didn’t seem like a setup.

“Look, when I get out, I’ll get plenty of offers. I can pay then and—”

“No work on credit, Mr. Pine. Talk to your father. Talk to your benefactors. And do it soon. This offer has an expiration date.”

“I make fifty-two cents an hour. And, even if I could borrow the money, how do I know you’re for real? What if I give you the ‘retainer’ and you just disappear?”

“We’d provide assurances.”

“What kind?”

“Get the money and you’ll find out.”

“Why? Why would he pardon me now, after everything…”

“Retirement planning.”

A week later Danny read that the governor was under investigation, and his attorney fixer—Neal Flanagan—had been indicted. And now the governor had resigned.

Retirement planning.

Danny had racked his brain about how to get that money. But he’d never told his father about the man, the offer, any of it.

He reached his cell and went inside. That was odd: his fat cellmate—who got off his ass only for food and to slug the three feet to the toilet—wasn’t on the bottom bunk.

That was when the hair on the back of Danny’s neck rose. And his cell darkened with the shadow of a man charging inside.

CHAPTER 42

MATT PINE

Matt walked into the diner, the familiar ring of the bell on the door bringing him back to when he was a kid and they’d go to Anne’s for breakfast on Sunday mornings. He had a vision of Danny sitting in front of a giant stack of pancakes, his mother stealing a bite with her fork. It was strange, the things you remembered.