White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 15

We raise our hands in class

Peter walked alongside Woods in the lofty schoolyard of theirs.

"You've checked in to me. You know what I do, what I earn," Peter told Woods. "And if I decide to enroll my son, you're gonna hit me up for a donation."

"Might have been a little more nuanced, but, uh, yeah," Woods admitted. "Tuition doesn't cover all of this. We ask parents and alumni to contribute."

"Where does the money go?"

"It gets spread around, but the majority goes into our endowment fund."

"I need specifics," Peter pushed.

"Donors trust us to put the money where it'll be most useful. I also invest a percentage. We want our money to make money."

"You had to have taken a hit lately."

"Everybody has, but we've done better than most."

"Get me the numbers. I'll think about it."

Woods seemed unhappy about it, but that was not Peter's problem.

"I don't think you've seen our shop classroom, have you, Peter?"

"No, I haven't..." Peter thought the tour was over and it was time to pick up Neal and go home. Woods guided him inside.

"Ah. Long time since I've been in shop class," Peter said when he was shown into an elegant room with all kinds of tools and half-finished work.

"I love shop. Something satisfying about doing things with your hands."

The man Woods spoke to earlier returned.

"Pulled the car around," he said and stayed by the door. Peter glanced at the man. It was something odd about the whole thing.

"Where are you staying while you're in town?" Woods asked.

"The Four Seasons. I have a suite."

"I know. I asked the hotel to put a bottle of champagne in your suite. They told me you checked in... but they never saw you. And there were no bags in the room."

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"You lie, maybe your son lies. And that's not the kind of student we want here. I'd like an explanation."

Peter sighed. Luckily the FBI had given him cover enough to even have the suite. Was it the man at the door who had done that part of the checking and that with the car was a code? Whatever. Well, Woods was not the only one doing research.

"I came here without my wife, okay?" he started. "Decided to spend the first night

in town with a friend. She lives in the West Village. If Linda found out, she'd make me pay."

Woods studied him. Took a step too close to comfort.

"Happened with the first Mrs. Woods," he mumbled. "Expensive mistake." He pattered Peter on the shoulder and chuckled with a wide grin.

They left the classroom, and Peter was guided out.

"Thank you for the tour," he said, shaking Wood's hand. "You can send those endowment documents to my hotel."

"And if you're not there... I'll know why," Wood's chuckled again. "You need anything else, you let me know."

"All right."

Finally, Woods left, leaving Peter on his own. He took a heavy breath and let the air out slowly. That guy was sure an unpleasant character.

He turned to return inside to pick up Neal when he saw through one of the windows into a classroom. The teacher stood with his back to him, but turned slightly to address a student. That profile he would recognize anytime anywhere. Neal! What was Neal doing in a classroom at Manhattan Prep?

There were probably boring parts of being a teacher but right now this day, Neal would say he had found his calling.

"Very good," he told one of the girls, Jen, who read a piece of poetry by heart. He had made a good effort to learn their names so it would not appear strange that he knew two of them. "Chloe?"

"'What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet,'" she quoted.

"Ah, the Bard. No one did it better than Shakespeare."

"I went to Italy with my dad," she said. "Made him take me to Verona. 'Romeo and Juliet' is my favorite."

"Tragic romance. I know it well." And Chloe had eyes only for him, and Evan had only eyes for Chloe. "Lord Byron was described as mad, bad, and dangerous to know."

"But he sure had a way with words." Neal turned to Peter's voice, and there he was in the flesh by the door, glaring at him. "Don't mind me. I'm just here to observe, try to learn something."

"Of course. Have a seat." Neal returned his focus to the class. "Lord Byron wasn't the only poet to rebel against convention—"

"But some poets had to answer to someone, didn't they?" Peter said, not having a seat. "Like a patron who made their careers possible?"

Neal sent him a look. He wanted to keep his cover and Peter would be a darn fool to blow it for him.

"We raise our hands in class," he reprimanded the intruding adult. Peter's mouth twitched. Not losing eye-contact for a second, Peter raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"What if said poet worked for a patron and his poetry was perceived as insubordinate?" Very funny, Peter, Neal thought.

"Well, most patrons respected the poet's process," Neal answered and turned to the class. "Straying from the course was considered artistic license—"

"But was a wayward poet ever punished, say, by being locked in a garrote somewhere?" Peter continued to interrupt.

"I'd have to do some research," Neal told him. A bell rang and the class was over. "All right. I humbly give you leave to depart."

"Mr...Cooper?" Peter said, reading from the blackboard. "I'll need to talk to you after class."

Yeah, he figured that much out himself.

Peter could not comprehend how a man who wanted to get back on his good side so deliberately could do just the opposite of getting there. But to keep his own cover, and possibly Neal's, they left the school area before talking.

"I said 'Sit on a bench'," Peter hissed when it felt safe. "Not re-enact 'Dead Poets Society.'"

"You said focus on work," Neal returned.

"I did. I did say that." Peter had to agree on that.

"I found out Woods' daughter was in the class," Neal explained. "It seemed relevant to the case."

Peter was confused, annoyed, and proud at the same time. How would being a teacher to the suspect's daughter's class be useful? It was not like Neal would get access to any school finances.

"Do you know how many parents would be up in arms if they knew their teenager was being taught by a felon?"

"Oh, trust me. It is better than being taught by the real Mr. Cooper."

Alright, Neal had a cover that maybe could be of use.

"While you were spouting Byron, I was being intimidated by Woods."

"Oh, he's more paranoid than I thought."

"Yeah, but my cover's safe. Look, I'm gonna go back to the office to break down those endowment numbers. You, you're done for the day. Go home."

He figured Neal would feel a sting of regret, feeling left out, but no.

"Oh, good. That'll give me a chance to look over the syllabus. Tomorrow, we start on Dickens."

Peter watched him leave down the sidewalk. Either Neal took his role a little too seriously, or he had actually enjoyed the day.

"Someone has great expectations."