Kathryn trembled with fatigue as she reached out to shake Brooke Lee’s hand. She’d anticipated that they’d put on a show of strength, that she would find a busy war room full of FBI agents, with boxes of evidence piled to the ceiling. But the room was sterile as a lab, and it was just the three of them. The quiet was unsettling—because it was smart. They weren’t giving anything away.
Kathryn had dressed up in honor of the solemn occasion. A suit, pumps, pearls—the uniform of the female lawyer of her generation. But the two prosecutors were business casual, underlining the difference in their ages. Martin in khakis and a fleece vest like a tech entrepreneur who’d just sold his start-up. Brooke could have been an Instagram influencer: in trendy jeans and white sneakers, a cute blazer and red lip her nods to formality. The youngbloods of DOJ had her outclassed and outsmarted. They were ready to eat her alive. She wanted to give up now and save them the trouble. But she couldn’t. There were people who depended on her.
Kathryn sat down on one side of the table, the two prosecutors on the other.
“It’s good to finally meet in person, Your Honor,” Brooke said.
Finally? Her stomach lurched. They’d been working on this investigation for some time, then. Or they wanted her to believe that.
“Yes, well, thank you for coming in on a weekend. That made it easier.”
“We know you have a busy schedule. And this way, it’s more discreet,” Martin said.
“And thank you for coming in voluntarily, so we didn’t have to issue a subpoena,” Brooke said.
Another lurch. Subpoenaing a sitting federal judge was a huge deal, requiring approval up the entire chain of command at DOJ. It almost never happened. If they’d actually been prepared to subpoena her, it meant they had the goods on her already. Enough evidence to pass muster with a committee. Unless Brooke was bluffing.
God, let her be bluffing.
“Of course,” she said, putting on a serene smile. “I have nothing to hide.”
She had plenty to hide and had been hiding it for a very long time. But the clock was ticking on the Kathryn Conroy charade. The honorable judge, a pillar of the bar, was a figment, nothing more. These two did their homework. They knew that. The laptops sitting in front of them on the table would be full of documents and spreadsheets and phone records pointing to her complicity in crimes going back decades. She might be here for reasons of her own. But she couldn’t forget that speaking to them was an extremely dangerous play.
“Before we begin, could I have a cup of coffee, please?” she said.
The request was just a delaying tactic to let her catch her breath. She didn’t need more caffeine. Having guzzled three cups at breakfast, she had the shakes already.
Martin left to get the coffee. Brooke folded her hands in her lap and gazed at Kathryn with an unreadable expression. It was unnerving enough that she buckled under the pressure and broke off eye contact. There was a strange buzzing in her ears, a pressure behind her eyes. The silence built until he returned a few minutes later, bearing a cheap Styrofoam cup. She took a gulp of the bitter brew and gagged.
“Too hot?” he said.
“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”
“My hope, Your Honor,” Lee began, “is that this will be a collegial discussion where we ask some foundational questions and lay the basis for a productive working relationship going forward as we continue our investigation.”
“I hope that, too. In terms of collegiality, it would help if you explained why I’m here.”
“Yes, of course. You see, we’re looking into some disturbing allegations of corruption among our own.”
“Oh? In Boston?”
“Yes. An influence-peddling scheme going back decades. Wide-ranging. Involving numerous highly placed individuals in law enforcement and the judicial system.”
“Numerous? How many targets are we talking about, exactly?”
The answer to that question mattered a lot, and not only because she was trying to figure out what they knew. For her entire career, Kathryn had been controlled by a very few people. They were the only ones she saw. From her perspective, they were the conspiracy. When terrible things happened—and they had—it was those people she blamed. What if that wasn’t true? What if there were others, invisible and cruel, who were calling the shots? For all these years, her hatred would have been misdirected.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Brooke said.
Kathryn scoffed. “This guessing game again? We’re getting nowhere.”
“If you want us to get more specific, we’d need to sign an agreement first.”
“A nondisclosure?”
“No. A plea agreement. Have you considered retaining counsel?”
The room went dark. Brooke’s words seemed to echo. A plea deal meant charges. For Brooke to come out and say that, things had gone further than Kathryn had imagined. Her timetable would need to shift. She would have to run sooner—if that was even possible.
“Judge Conroy, are you all right?” Martin said.
She had to pull herself together, or this was going to be a fucking rout. She had to find her anger. Turn on them like a cornered dog and go on the attack.
“Of course I’m not all right,” she said, squaring her shoulders, lifting her jaw. “I am shocked that you raise the question of counsel only now, when you had plenty of opportunity to speak sooner. You lured me here under false pretenses, leading me to believe this would be a friendly discussion, and that I was merely a witness.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Well, your colleague certainly did. Mr. Martin said I’d be speaking with you as a potential witness, not as a target of your investigation. Lawyers are for targets. So, are you telling me I’m a target?”
Martin’s jaw was set. A bright red flush spread up Brooke Lee’s neck. She’d succeeded in rattling them. Brooke was opening her mouth to answer, but Kathryn wouldn’t cede the ground.
“If I am a target, you’d damn well better say so right now, or you’ll be perpetrating a fraud, and I’d be within my rights to seek disciplinary action against you, both within DOJ and with the bar association.”
That was an aggressive play, but a necessary one. Brooke would now be forced to tell her whether she was officially a target. In order for a federal judge to be designated the target of an investigation, committees had to be convened, evidence reviewed, votes taken. Knowing whether that had happened yet would reveal how much time she had. She’d know if it was a matter of months or weeks until they moved against her. Or days.
Or, God forbid, they’d arrest her before she left this room.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not in a position to disclose that at the present time,” Brooke said.
“What exactly does that mean? Are you saying that my status is still under review?”
“I’m not at liberty to answer.”
“Ms. Lee, if you decline to advise me that I’m a target, and it’s later revealed that I was—that I am, as we sit here—not only would this interview be thrown out as improper, but any investigative leads derived from it would be suppressible as fruit of the poisonous tree.”
“I’m not sure that’s right.”
“I am.”
They stared each other down, and this time Brooke was the first to flinch.
“I’m not prepared to advise you of your status today. If that’s a problem, we can adjourn this interview and reconvene at a later date. If you’re a target at that time, I would notify you in advance of the need to obtain an attorney.”