The Man Behind the Curtain Part 2

[mayalaen]

Part 2

Jensen had only been at the office for about forty-five minutes when he received the package. Alona winced as she handed it to him, pushing her long blond hair back behind her ear in a nervous gesture.

The package was heavy with papers, and the stamp on it was pretentious. Scrolling letters announcing that it was from the law offices of Sheppard & Pellegrino.

"Do you want me to get you some tea?" Alona asked, sympathy in her tone of voice as she smoothed her red blouse down.

"Please," he said, nodding and forcing a smile.

Jensen opened the package and dumped all the papers out on his desk, sighing at the sheer amount of them.

"Here you go, Jay," Alona said, setting the cup of tea down on his desk, using a coaster so it wouldn't damage the wood.

"Thank you," Jensen said.

"If I can get anything for you, just let me know," she said, then ducked out of the room quietly.

Alona was usually anything but quiet, and that's part of what Jensen liked about her. She was tough and stubborn and didn't let go of things. If he needed something done, he could depend on her, and he paid her very well for it.

So the lack of noise was noticeable. She usually spoke to herself and him as she did things around the office, sometimes would sing softly, and it just seemed she was always making some sort of noise.

The silence in the office was oppressive, and every time Jensen moved the papers, it was too loud.

Suddenly the phone rang and Jensen sucked in a breath, flinching. He picked up his cell phone, frowning when he saw Misha's face.

"Hey, Mish," Jensen said.

"Hello, Jensen," Misha said. "Everything okay?"

Jensen's stomach clenched. He didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want Misha to worry about him. He could handle this. He'd be fine.

"Yup," Jensen said, mentally kicking himself when he heard just how shaky his voice was.

"Really? Everything's fine?"

Jensen squirmed on the chair. "Yeah, everything's good. How's your day going?"

"Jensen," Misha said, voice low.

Jensen closed his eyes. "How the fuck do you always know?" He wasn't really surprised or complaining, just frustrated. And maybe a little relieved. Not that he would admit it.

"You would've given it away had I called you out of the blue, but Alona called and told me," Misha said.

Jensen let out a growl, leaning over in his chair and catching her attention, pinning her with a look. "I didn't ask her to call you."

Alona smiled, unrepentant, and turned back to whatever she was working on at the front desk.

"She's capable of making her own decisions," Misha said, "and you know I've asked her to call me any time she feels the want or need."

"Yeah, I know," Jensen said, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Put everything back into the envelope and set it aside," Misha said.

"I can't do that," Jensen said, leaning back and staring at the pile of papers. "I've got to get started on this."

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Misha said, voice going lower. "Put the papers back into the envelope, give the envelope to Alona, and forget about the lawsuit. Focus on the things you have to get done today."

Jensen let out a huff of laughter. "Yeah, I'd love to hand it over to somebody else, but I've got to be a big boy and take care of my own shit."

"Jensen, I'm not joking," Misha said. "And I'm not going to tell you again."

Jensen sat forward, spreading the papers out more. "Look, Mish, I appreciate the support, but I handle the work stuff. That's the way this goes. Always has been. You get me once I walk in the door, but here it's all my responsibility."

"No," Misha said. "We agreed that you would handle real estate, and I'd assist you, but ultimately defer to you."

"Right," Jensen said.

"But everything else was my responsibility," Misha said.

"Right," Jensen said, nodding. "So this isn't your responsibility."

"The lawsuit has very little to do with your business," Misha said. "And I'm already taking care of it."

"Misha," Jensen started, but didn't really know what to say.

"Are you going to fight me on this?" Misha asked.

Jensen felt goosebumps rising on his arms. They'd never had a big disagreement. They'd discussed smaller things, and Jensen had resisted on some of them, but even their worst disagreements had been easily resolved. Jensen didn't know what would happen if he truly fought Misha on something, and he suspected it wouldn't be pretty.

"Uhm, I guess I am," Jensen said, hating the fact that his voice cracked. "This has nothing to do with you."

"And if I ask you to trust that it not only is something that does involve me, but it's also something that I can handle?" Misha asked.

"I do trust you," Jensen said.

"But?"

"But nothing," Jensen said. "I trust you. Period."

"But you're not going to obey me," Misha said.

"No, it's not like that," Jensen said, wondering how the Hell everything had gone sideways so quickly.

"I already have things set in motion," Misha said. "I told you what to do with the papers, and I trust it'll be done, otherwise it will conflict with things I have planned. We'll discuss this more when you get home tonight if you wish."

Jensen opened his mouth, ready to let Misha have it, because really this was getting ridiculous, but Misha had hung up on him. Jensen pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, eyes wide. Misha had never hung up on him before.

He set the phone down on the desk and shook himself out of it. "Alona? Would you please get me the number for Fuller & Sons? I'd like to talk to Kurt."

Alona walked into his office, frowning. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Jensen said. "Kurt's number."

"Seriously?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Jensen wasn't going to back down even if the expression on her face made him nervous. "Please."

Alona shrugged. "Your funeral," she said as she turned and strutted out of the office.



Kurt Fuller had been thrilled to hear from Jensen. They had talked for just over an hour, and Mr. Fuller already had plans. Of course he'd also started the billing process. Fuller & Sons was expensive, but one of the most ruthless group of lawyers money could buy, and Jensen had the money.

Jensen was confident he had done the right thing, but that didn't stop him from worrying about what he would find when he went home. He didn't know if he was going home to an empty house, a very pissed off Misha, or one who wasn't going to even mention it again.

He pulled into the driveway and sighed when he saw Misha's car. Something relaxed inside him. If Misha was still around, things would be okay.

Jensen pulled his tie off as he walked through the front door, briefcase in his left hand, package of papers under his left arm. He went straight to his home office and set everything down on the desk.

He was tired and hungry, the last meal he had being breakfast that morning, so he headed for the kitchen to see what Misha was making.

"Misha?" Jensen called when he found no one in the kitchen. Dinner wasn't being made and the room looked just as clean as it had after breakfast.

Jensen felt a little flutter of uncertainty in his stomach. Misha was big on routine, and Jensen was comforted by that fact. Something to depend on, knowing where he stood and what was going on really helped him deal with life in general, and it made things run smoothly.

It also meant Misha wasn't happy with him. He was doing something out of the ordinary, out of the routine. Jensen sighed as he started doing a room-to-room search for him.

"I know, I've already talked to him," Misha said.

Jensen froze at the back door, keeping himself hidden so Misha wouldn't see him. Misha was out on the deck, cell phone between his left ear and shoulder, and writing in a notebook he was balancing on the railing of the deck.

"Well, you need to stop it," Misha said, authoritative tone to his voice. "I can't fix all the damage, but I can try and clean up what he already did."

Jensen's chest started to burn with anger. Misha was on the phone undoing what he'd already done. He was changing things. Jensen didn't know who he was talking to, but who the fuck did Misha think he was? Jensen was an adult, and if he chose to let Misha handle most of the decisions, he could do that, but there were some things he was going to handle himself, and this was one of them. It had to do with real estate, and that wasn't any of Misha's business.

"No, I spoke to Kurt, and I wasn't able to get him to reconsider," Misha said. "No, he already called Mr. Stewart. There's not much I can do about that."

Jensen was about to storm out onto the deck when Misha sighed and hung up the phone, so instead Jensen just moved into the doorway and glared at Misha.

Misha turned around, not even a hint of surprise on his face when he saw Jensen. "Welcome home."

"That's what you're going with?" Jensen asked. "All nice and hello and like you didn't just try to undermine me?"

Misha closed his notebook and put the cell phone into the pocket of his slacks. "I warned you earlier. I gave you your orders, and you disobeyed them."

"Fuck orders," Jensen hissed, taking a step toward Misha. "I don't know why you're doing this, but it's got to stop. It's none of your business, and I said I'd handle it."

"Tell me what our agreement was," Misha said. "The one we talked about nearly six years ago now."

"The agreement was that you make all the decisions for everything except real estate," Jensen said.

"And tell me how this is exclusively real estate," Misha said, keeping calm.

"Because it was me that fucked up," Jensen said, hands out at his sides. "I sold Stewart a house that had a fuck-ton of problems, and I signed a paper saying I had looked it over and hadn't seen anything wrong. I signed a paper saying the addition to the house was done by a contractor and it was done right. The same addition that caved in and nearly killed Stewart's family."

"Have I ever given you a reason to not trust me?" Misha asked.

Jensen let out a huff. "No, but that's not what this is about. This is about what is and what isn't your business."

Misha's eyes narrowed. "And when I said it was my business and that I was taking care of it, why did you suddenly decide you couldn't trust me anymore?"

Jensen threw his hands up in the air. "I don't understand why you're making an issue of this."

"You don't always understand why I do things," Misha said, "but you've always trusted me."

"Can you please just tell me why you think this is your business?" Jensen asked. "Give me a good reason and I'll hand it all over to you."

Misha's shoulders dropped and he shook his head, pain in his eyes. "I'm not threatening you with leaving, but I need to ask if you want a change in our relationship."

Jensen flinched. "What? Why?!"

"Because if you're taking a stand and you want to make the decisions from now on, I need to know," Misha said.

"No," Jensen said, the fight leaving him as he realized just how serious Misha was. "I don't really want to do that. I don't understand what's going on and I just want you to talk to me. Give me a good reason. Help me understand why you're so insistent that I leave this to you."

"I still love you," Misha said, voice barely a whisper as he reached out and cupped Jensen's chin.

"I love you too," Jensen said.

Misha nodded. "I'm going to have to leave for a few days."

"What?! No, Misha, wait!" Jensen said, grabbing onto Misha's shoulders. "Would you just talk to me?!"

"I'm not leaving you," Misha said, giving Jensen a small smile. "There are some things I need to do."

"Misha, just hold on a minute," Jensen said, fingers digging into the material of Misha's suit jacket.

"I'm going to be taking twenty-five thousand out of our account," Misha said, "and I won't be able to contact you for at least the next two days."

"What the fuck is going on?!" Jensen asked, confused and wondering if he'd lost his mind.

"Get another lawyer," Misha said. "Kurt is more corrupt than you realize and he'll take you down on this one. Call Samantha Ferris and switch everything over to her. She'll help you out."

Misha leaned forward and kissed Jensen on the cheek before he walked around him and headed for the stairs.

Jensen followed him, unable to even speak as he watched Misha pick up his already-packed suitcase and head for the front door.

"Misha," Jensen said, putting a hand on Misha's shoulder. "I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is, I'm sorry. I'll call Kurt and stop him. I'll talk to Ferris. Whatever you want, I'll do it. Whatever this is, we can do it together."

"Tell the truth," Misha said. "When you talk to Ferris and if anybody questions you, tell them the truth."

"Don't leave," Jensen said. "I'm sorry. I take back what I said. I'll do whatever you want."

"It's too late for that because Kurt already got involved," Misha said, pulling away from Jensen and opening the front door. He turned to look at Jensen. "Everything's going to be okay. I've got some things I need to take care of, then I'll be back. Trust me."

Jensen was about to fight it, to demand Misha stay, but he really did trust Misha, and all he could do was nod. "Okay. I trust you."

Misha walked down the sidewalk without looking back, got in his car, and drove away, leaving Jensen confused and a little scared. Whatever it was, it had to be serious. And it was about more than just the massive amount of money Stewart was going to sue him for.

Jensen slammed the front door, upset enough that he was angry. With himself. With Misha. With the whole fucking thing. He promised Misha he'd call Ferris, and even though he wanted to go after Misha, make him pull over to the side of the road and explain everything, he went to his office instead, looked up Samantha Ferris, and called her.



It was too quiet in the house. Misha wasn't very loud, but he had a presence that Jensen could just feel, and without him there the house felt cold and empty. Jensen had a hard time sleeping, and he was irritable when he got to the office the next morning.

"Here are your messages," Alona said, handing him a stack of index-card-sized papers. Her professional handwriting adorned each piece, easy to read and very detailed.

"Thanks," Jensen said, taking the notes and setting his briefcase on his desk. "Misha call you?"

"No," Alona said. "And even if he hadn't, I'd still tell you to eat this."

Jensen frowned at her, trying to work through the words in his head and pulling a face when he realized she was handing him an energy bar.

"Okay, so when he didn't call, did he give any instructions?" Jensen asked, unwrapping the bar.

"No," Alona said as she walked out of the office. "And even if he hadn't, I'd still tell you to read the notes."

Jensen rolled his eyes. Sometimes it annoyed him how close Misha and Alona were because she was like Misha's ears and eyes while Jensen was at the office. She'd tell Misha if he didn't eat lunch or if he didn't take frequent breaks. Misha would give her instructions to give to Jensen.

Alona was the only one besides the two of them who knew about their relationship.

Jensen leafed through the notes, groaning when he found one that simply read: It wasn't your fault. Tell the truth and don't implicate yourself.

He knew it was from Misha even though Alona hadn't written that on the paper. There were a few other notes from clients and other real estate offices and brokers, but nothing else of interest. He'd take care of the things that needed doing.



"Jensen, your nine o'clock is here," Alona said.

Jensen frowned at her, then sighed when he saw Ms. Ferris through the glass partition between his office and the outer waiting area. "Send her in."

Alona gave him a sympathetic smile before turning around and telling Ms. Ferris he was ready to see her.

"Good morning, Mr. Ackles," Ms. Ferris said as she walked up to his desk.

Jensen stood up and came around the desk, shaking her hand. "Jensen, please."

"Jensen," Ms. Ferris said, "and you can call me Sam."

Jensen smiled. "Okay, Sam."

"We've got quite a bit of information to go over," she said, lifting her briefcase and glancing at it, "so we may as well get right down to it."

Jensen nodded. "The conference room has a large table. Follow me."

Jensen led the way to his conference room. It was bigger than his office, a large oval table in the center of the room with twelve chairs around it. There were two leather couches and an overstuffed chair near the windows to the left of the door, and there was more than enough light coming in through those windows to allow them to work at the table.

Sam sat down on the far side of the table, facing the door. She opened her briefcase and started pulling out manila folders, which she spread out in a semicircle in front of her. Jensen sat down in the seat to her right and set his phone down in front of him.

"This isn't to be opened until you're home tonight," Sam said, handing him a business-sized envelope that had been sealed shut.

There was no writing on the outside to indicate what it was or who it was for. Jensen put it on the table and set hit phone on top of it.

"First of all, we need to go over your testimony," Sam said as she opened the first manila folder and fanned out the papers she found inside.

"Do you want all the details?" Jensen asked.

"No, I know the details," Sam said, shaking her head. "What we need to go over is what you're going to say."

"Well, I was thinking about telling the truth," Jensen said.

"I'm not asking you to lie," Sam said, her voice a little softer than it had been.

"Okay, good, because I'm not going to lie about this," Jensen said. "I've built my entire business on being up front and honest with my clients. They expect it, trust it, and that's the reason my clients recommend me. It's how I've made all of my money."

"That's very commendable," Sam said, nodding, then she slid a paper toward him. "Tell me what you see here."

Jensen sighed as he looked at the paper. It was a printed photo of the house before the damage had been done. "Stewart's house."

"Think back to the day you did a walk-through," Sam said. "I know you hire inspectors as required by law, but you also go through and personally inspect everything yourself because you're conscientious and very involved with the whole process."

"Okay, well, usually I check all the fixtures in the bathrooms and kitchen," Jensen said, "and I make sure the doors and windows all work well and lock. If there's a pool, I make sure the pump works and all the parts are working correctly. I check the attic and basement spaces. I also follow the inspector, taking note of anything they question."

"And what did you take note of on Stewart's home?" Sam asked.

Jensen frowned. "Not much. Everything worked. It was a beautiful house. In fact, that's probably why I missed the structural issues on the addition. Everything was to code and there were no issues throughout the rest of the house. I got lazy."

"No, I don't think you did," Sam said, shaking her head. "Don't just assume you did or didn't miss something. Go back in your head and tell me what you looked at. Tell me what the addition looked like, and be honest. Don't assume anything."

Jensen sighed as he leaned back in the chair. "Look, I know what you're trying to do. You and Misha don't want me to take the fall for this. It's a nice thought, but it's my fault that this happened. I may not have been the one to fuck up everything in the first place, but I ignored problems that almost got people killed."

Sam gathered the papers, put them back in the manila folder, then stacked all the folders and pushed them to the side. "Stand up, please," she said as she got up from the chair and set her briefcase on the table.

Jensen did as he was told, not too sure what was going on. Maybe she was going to walk out. Misha would be mad, but Jensen knew what had happened. It was all his fault and there was no getting around it. He was negligent.

Sam closed the briefcase, then held up a long, clear piece of glass or plastic. Jensen frowned, trying to figure out what it was.

"This is a Lexan paddle," she said, letting him get a good look at it.

"Oh," Jensen said, trying for nonchalant. Misha had never used one on him, but he knew of them. He knew they were very good paddles. Strong, and from what he'd read, painful.

"Misha has given me permission to handle you how I see fit," Sam said, "and he has also told me you think a little more clearly once you get out of your own head, so I'd like you to drop your slacks and boxers, then bend over the desk for me."

They'd never played with anyone else before. Hell, Jensen had only played with a few other people besides Misha in his entire life. But what she was saying sounded as if she'd gotten it from Misha. He really did need to get out of his own head, and a good spanking would do it. And Misha had used Alona for years to help him with Jensen, even in the small things like how much Jensen had eaten during the day or if little things were bothering him at the office.

"Misha also said if you hesitate longer than the count of three," Sam said as she ran her fingers over the paddle, "then you were to get fifteen minutes of corner time after your spanking."

That was definitely Misha. There was no doubt in Jensen's mind. It wasn't as if this woman had just decided to use her small bit of knowledge about the two of them so she could get her hands on him. Misha had told her to do this.

"Yes, ma'am," Jensen said as he unbuckled his belt. He unbuttoned his slacks and pushed them down along with his boxers, letting them pool around his ankles before bending over the desk and resting his weight on his palms, flat on the wood.

"Chest on the table," Sam said, giving his ass a light tap.

Jensen did as he was told, leaving enough room so his cock and balls wouldn't get squished by the edge of the table, chest down on the wood, but his head lifted. It was then he remembered they had left the door open. His cheeks flushed as he thought of Alona sitting at her desk, able to hear everything.

He flinched as the paddle connected with his ass. It didn't hurt, and for a moment he was relieved that it wouldn't be as bad as he had imagined. "Ah, fuck," he hissed as the pain started to register. It had taken a moment, but when it finally did, he knew everyone had been telling the truth. Lexan paddles fucking hurt.

By the time she had brought the paddle down for the fourth time, Jensen was squirming and panting. He twisted his hips with the fifth strike and gasped when he felt a hand on his lower back.

"Hold still," Sam said. "You can stay in position for me."

"Yes, ma'am," Jensen said. "I'm sorry."

She brought down the paddle again. "As soon as you're done automatically blaming yourself for this and you think you're willing to consider the possibility you're not at fault, I want you to say 'I've had enough, ma'am.'"

"Yes, ma'am," Jensen said, squeezing his eyes shut as the paddle snapped down on his ass again. "Fuck. Oh, fuck."

"Walk through the house again," she said as she paused to rub the paddle over his ass. "Don't just assume. Look at everything again. Remember how you felt and what you were thinking."

"Yes, ma'am," Jensen said, then cried out when the paddle came down again.

He hadn't seen anything wrong with the property when he was there, but there had to be. What had he missed? What had been so wrong that it would cause a collapse? He remembered looking at the blueprints, and everything matched up. The foundation looked fine. The collapse should not have happened.

"I didn't find anything wrong," Jensen said, whimpering through the pain. "It shouldn't have happened, but it did."

Sam ran the edge of the paddle over his heated skin. "So would you be telling the truth if you said it was your fault?"

"I should've made sure it was safe," Jensen said.

She brought the paddle down again, harder than she had before, and Jensen's whole body tensed. He closed his eyes and put his forehead down on the table, breathing through the pain.

"To the best of your knowledge, with all your years of experience in this business, did the building appear structurally sound?" Sam asked.

Jensen didn't answer. It had to be his fault. If only he'd asked for a second opinion from an inspector or maybe he needed to check into the inspector's history more.

"Fuck!" Jensen cried out as the paddle connected again.

"Bad things sometimes happen," Sam said. "It doesn't mean everyone who ever had contact with someone or something is at fault. Tell me whether, beyond a reasonable doubt, you're at fault or not."

The paddle landed again and Jensen stood up, covering his ass with his left hand. "I've had enough, ma'am," Jensen said, wiping at his eyes with his free hand.

"Now can we start to work on your case?" Sam asked as she put the paddle back in her briefcase.

Jensen nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, Jensen," Sam said, giving him a smile as she patted his arm.

"Can I pull my pants up now?" Jensen asked, keeping his tone respectful.

"Yes, you may," Sam said, then sat down. "We've got a lot to cover, and if you get too uncomfortable, tell me so we can move over to the couches."

Jensen chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."



Three days later Jensen still hadn't heard from Misha. Okay, that wasn't exactly right. Alona had given him a few messages, but Misha hadn't called him.

The waiting room was quiet and comfortable, but Jensen was nervous. There were going to be detectives and lawyers surrounding him for the deposition, and even though he had a lot of confidence in Sam, he knew everyone else was out to get him. It wasn't the detectives' faults. They had to go by evidence, and the evidence pointed at Jensen knowing full well that the structure wasn't sound.

"Mr. Ackles," the secretary said, "you can go in now."

Jensen smiled at her, taking one last look at the door, hoping Sam would walk in, and then heading into the office. Samantha was late, and Jensen would have to do it alone. Misha was a very punctual person, and he didn't tolerate any of the people he worked with being late, so Jensen was surprised she wasn't there yet.

"Have a seat," one of the men said.

Everyone was already sitting at the table, and Jensen wondered if he should be worried they'd already been discussing things. He sat down in the chair closest to the door. The room was well-lit, but the dark brown paint on the walls made the room seem smaller and more ominous than it really was. The table was a dark mahogany, making the room even darker.

"I'm Detective Morgan," said the man sitting to Jensen's right. "This is my partner, Detective Singer."

"Jensen Ackles," Jensen said, nodding at them.

"My name is Jared Padalecki," said a man sitting directly across from Jensen. He gestured to James, who was sitting to his right. "I'll be representing the Stewart family."

"Hello, Jensen," James said, then nodded toward the woman to his right. "This is a private investigator I've hired. She's one of the best. Her name is Kim."

"Ms. Rhodes," Kim said, nodding to Jensen and giving him a tight smile.

"Ms. Rhodes, nice to meet you," Jensen said, smiling. It was clear she wasn't amused by him.

Just then the door behind him opened and Sam came in. She didn't seem to be in a rush and settled in the chair to Jensen's left, just as calm and collected as she had been the other times he'd spoken with her. "I apologize for the tardiness," she said.

"We were just finishing up introductions," Detective Morgan said, then took a sip of what smelled like coffee from his mug.

Mr. Padalecki opened a manila envelope and pulled a stack of photographs and paper out before spreading them over the table. "Mr. Ackles, I'd like you to take a look at the photos we have here."

Jensen leaned forward and took the small stack from Mr. Padalecki. He leafed through them, the damages to Stewart's house even worse than last time he'd seen pictures of it. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him. He was worried he'd missed something, so of course the damages would continue to look worse and worse because it was weighing on his conscience.

"Tell us what you see in the pictures, Mr. Ackles," Mr. Padalecki said.

"I can tell this is Mr. Stewart's house," Jensen said, then held up one of the photos. "I remember the crown molding in the rec room, and this picture shows the same pattern. I also recognize the house number and the landscaping."

"Good," Mr. Padalecki said, then nodded toward the rest of the photos. "Describe what you see."

"A lot of damage," Jensen said. "I can't speak as to the cause of it all, but there looks to be well over two million dollars in damages to this part of the house, more if the foundation and structure is involved."

Mr. Padalecki nodded, no expression on his face to tell Jensen how the man was feeling. "Now I'd like you to take a look at this police report."

Jensen took the paper from the lawyer. "Standard report. It doesn't look like it includes information from any of the contractors, but that's not necessary yet. It describes the damage and suggests the possible cause was structural integrity issues."

"Good," Mr. Padalecki said, then took the paper from Jensen before handing him three more photos. "Tell me what you see in those photos."

Jensen frowned. "I haven't seen any of this before," he said as he spread them out on the table. He pointed at the splintered wood beams. "This...," he said, then slowly closed his mouth.

It wasn't his fault. It hit him hard, and he forced himself to remain calm as he looked over the photos again, just to make sure. The beams were inferior quality, and nothing like the high grade Douglas Fir Jensen knew had been used in the house when it was built and when it was renovated.

The damage to the beams was done in such a way that not many people would realize it was sabotage, but Jensen knew without a doubt the beams were not the same ones he'd seen when he'd done his final walk-through. It was even a selling feature he'd listed to Mr. Stewart. Top quality beams to keep your loved ones safe.

"I need a moment with my lawyer," Jensen said.

The detectives both rolled their eyes, but Mr. Padalecki, every bit the professional, nodded.

"We'll take a ten-minute recess," Mr. Padalecki said.

Jensen followed Sam out of the room and down a hallway. "Those are not the original beams."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, frowning.

"The damaged beams in the pictures wouldn't be able to withstand the heavy rains we get here sometimes," Jensen said. "Those beams were inferior and shouldn't even be used as support beams. Whether you're cutting corners or not. You don't skimp on support beams."

Sam smiled. "Misha knew you'd figure out what was going on as soon as you stopped blaming yourself."

"He knew?" Jensen asked.

Sam shook her head. "No. He knew something wasn't right, but he didn't know exactly what went wrong."

"So do I tell them?" Jensen asked.

"Do you have a way to prove that those beams were switched out?" Sam asked.

"Both the original builder and the renovating companies should have records," Jensen said. "It would be better to get the information from the company that renovated because the builder will only have information from when the house was first built."

"And if we can't use the renovating company?" Sam asked.

"Why can't we use-?"

Sam shook her head. "We can't."

Jensen leaned against the wall. "Can we hire an investigator on our end?"

"The renovating company can't get any attention in this," Sam said.

Jensen opened his mouth to ask why, but he didn't need to bother. Misha didn't tell him and Sam wouldn't either. He didn't know why, but he should've known to trust Misha from the beginning.

"Okay, can we use the home inspectors?" Jensen asked.

"Inspectors plural?" she asked, puzzled expression on her face.

"I always use two inspectors," Jensen said. "I'm selling high-dollar homes to people who have more money than I can dream of and better lawyers than I can afford. No offense," he said, smiling.

"None taken," Sam said with a grin. "Okay, so give me the names of the two inspectors and we'll get moving on this."

"What do we do in the meantime?" Jensen asked, gesturing toward the room they'd come out of.

"Tell them the truth," Sam said, shrugging. "Tell them the reason you called me out here was because the beams in the photos weren't the beams you and the inspectors saw in the house. This isn't going to court yet. It's a deposition, and if enough evidence is gathered here and there's no reason to take it to trial, this could be the end of it, but we'll be required to hand over all evidence within a certain time period. You have to be certain Stewart's people haven't gotten a hold of both of your home inspectors, and it would be even better if one or both of them took photos."

"I usually don't list the second home inspector," Jensen said. "It's not really something people do, and if the buyers found out about it, they'd think I was trying to do something sneaky, so her name's not on anything and she's paid as a consultant. She takes pictures, and so does the inspector who is on paper."

"Let's do this," Sam said, smiling.

Jensen felt like a weight was lifted off him. Sam had even more confidence in her stride than before, and it was infectious. They walked back into the meeting room with a lot more to bring to the table than they'd had before.



Jensen was miserable. Alona had noticed it and tried to cheer him up, but nothing was working. She left a Snickers bar on his desk after lunch and gave him a kiss on the head before she went back to work.

He didn't know what to do with himself. He was in between clients, and things with Stewart had been going smoothly without his help. Stewart was facing extortion charges along with several other charges. Sam said they weren't going to sue Stewart, and Jensen went along with it, but that left him with nothing to do but wait.

Jensen drifted off for a while, and when Alona walked in, he nearly fell off his seat he was so startled. She smiled an apology at him, then set a piece of paper down on the desk before walking out to her desk again.

Tonight you're to go home, cook yourself a well-balanced meal, eat it while watching some TV, then clean up. Take a shower, then kneel on the floor at the end of he bed in nothing but your lime green lacy panties.

Jensen stood up and hurried to Alona's desk. "Did you talk to him?"

Alona didn't look up at him. She was working on something, making notes in a small notepad, and Jensen fought the urge to shake her.

"Alona!" Jensen said, probably louder than was appropriate.

She stood up and turned to him, giving him her full attention, and Jensen took an unconscious step back. She did not look happy.

"That's enough," she said, voice calm. "It's been a long three weeks, but that's no excuse to take your frustration out on me. Go back to the office, work on the file I just sent you, and leave at your normal time. You won't get any other information out of me. Understood?"

Jensen sighed. "Fine."

She gave him a tight smile, then sat back down and started writing her notes again.

Jensen didn't really get much work done after that, but he knew if he left early he'd be in a lot of trouble, both with Alona and with Misha, so he behaved.



Jensen was shivering with anticipation by the time he settled onto the carpet. He hadn't seen Misha in three weeks. Hadn't talked to him on the phone or even received a direct letter, just notes written from Alona.

He didn't care what Misha did to him or with him. He just wanted Misha back.

Jensen didn't hear him until Misha was directly behind him, and Jensen didn't care if he got in trouble. He almost fell on his face because he stood up so fast, and he turned around, grabbing onto Misha and holding him so tightly that Misha chuckled.

"Everything's okay," Misha said, wrapping his arms around Jensen and holding him.

"I'm sorry," Jensen said, squeezing his eyes shut. "I trust you. I swear I trust you."

"There was no way for you to know what happened without endangering anyone else," Misha said.

Jensen pulled back, eyes wide. "You?! Did I endanger you?!"

"No," Misha said. "A friend of mine."

"I'm so sorry," Jensen said, shaking his head.

"Do you want to know what the best part of this whole thing is?" Misha asked, smiling.

Jensen winced. "I don't see anything good about this, but sure, I'll bite. What's the best part?"

"If you were good at lying or had less integrity, none of this would've been an issue," Misha said.

Jensen didn't know how to respond to that, and he wondered if he should apologize for being a good guy.

"I needed you to tell the truth," Misha said, cupping Jensen's face. "And if you would've known the whole truth, you wouldn't have been able to lie about the things you knew that would've gotten my friend killed."

Just as Jensen was about to open his mouth and spew as many questions as possible at Misha, he felt Misha pushing him toward the bed.

"I want to hold you, and I'll tell you everything," Misha said.

Jensen nodded and curled himself around Misha in bed, breathing in the scent of him, soaking up the warmth.

"My friend is in witness protection," Misha said. "He worked on the renovations, and he knew that place was sound back when the job was finished, but if he would've come forward or had this gone to court and he testified, he would've drawn too much attention to himself and run the risk of being found by the person he testified against ten years ago."

"And if I would've just listened to you and let you take care of things before involving Kurt," Jensen said softly, "then everything would've been okay. You would've taken care of things while keeping your friend safe."

"It all turned out okay," Misha said. "My friend is safe and starting over again somewhere else."

"Did Witness Protection move him?" Jensen asked.

Misha ran his fingers over Jensen's back. "No. That's why I needed the money. He's safer away from them."

"Did you give him enough? I can give you more," Jensen said.

"He has more than enough," Misha said. "He'll be fine."

"I'm sorry," Jensen said.

Misha kissed the side of Jensen's head. "While I'm not happy you disobeyed me, it's hard for me to complain about your actions. You were trying to do the right thing, and with the information you had at the time, it was the right thing, but you didn't know the whole story."

"But I fucked things up," Jensen said. "I'm sorry."

Misha grabbed a handful of Jensen's hair and pulled him up so he could look Jensen in the eye. "Stop apologizing. I'm trying to tell you that what you did was good. You're a good person, and I love that about you. If you would've had a little less integrity, you wouldn't have fought so hard to take care of it yourself, and even though you should've listened to me, in your eyes it had to do with work, and I'm not the one that makes the real estate decisions."

"But-"

"But nothing," Misha said, letting go of Jensen's hair and running his fingers over Jensen's head, down his neck. "I love you so much, and this only made me love you more. The fact that I had to clean up a mess doesn't bother me when the reason the mess was made was because the love of my life is incorruptible. Do you know how rare that is? How proud of you I am?"

Jensen chuckled. "You're a dork. I disobeyed you, nearly got your friend killed, and-"

Misha pulled him in for a kiss, and Jensen let him. He closed his eyes, relaxing against Misha in a way he hadn't relaxed since Misha left. When Misha finally pulled away, Jensen had forgotten for a moment just why he'd been sorry.

"You're a good man," Misha said. "I'd never want that to change even if it means I have to work a little harder."

Jensen smiled. "I love you too."

End.

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