Title: Stormy Weather Author: Idolatrie Email: idolatrie@gmail.com Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: General Vampire Diaries, though the fic is AU. Summary: The best con is always the one you're about to pull. Notes: Written for Incanto for LJSanta 2008. Thanks to H. for the beta reading. 24th July, 2007. Manhattan, New York City, United States of America. 9:37am. Bonnie twirled a lock of hair around her finger, one knee tucked under her as she sat waiting at the table. She looked up as two men in suits walked in. One leaned against the wall by the door, the other slapped a folder onto the table as he sat opposite her. "So Ms Smith," he paused at her name, "let's start at the beginning. Tell it all to me again." Bonnie shifted in her seat until she was perched primly on the plastic chair, hands folded in front of her. "Well," she said, "it started with these jewels. Actually, it started with a party, but it's the jewels that are important. See, Elena wanted to wear them at the party, and Damon, well, he liked to show off. We're in Monaco..." 17th May, 2006. Fontvieille, Monaco. 2:54pm. The woman was already talking as they entered the store. "But darling," she wheedled, "the Marquise is going to be there, and she'll be wearing those sapphires of hers, and I can't have her outshining me again!" The man gave a long-suffering sigh. "Heaven forbid you feel inferior to dear Auntie." "Aunt only by marriage, Damon, I saw the way you looked at her! Get me something nice and I'll forgive you." "Fine, fine, pick out whatever you want." The woman clapped her hands in glee, before rushing straight to the locked display case at the back of the store. She pointed at a necklace that sprayed a waterfall of diamonds down the wearer's back. "That one, I think," she said, smiling triumphantly. Damon joined her, and choked as he saw just how many diamonds were involved. "Good lord, Elena! Are you sure? Perhaps a small pendant instead?" Elena turned and glowered at him. "Or not. Well then." The staff who had been hanging back now pounced forward. "How may I assist sir today?" the tone was obliging and just a touch unctuous. Damon rolled his eyes. "Sir is at madam's mercy today. And she is without any. We'll take that middle one." The assistant looked a trifle uncomfortable. "Is sir planning to purchase at once?" Damon smiled, and slipped a black card out of his wallet, the Centurion flashing in the light. "Oh, of course, sir! I did not realise!" Gloved hands reached out to greedily grab the credit card. "Please deliver it here," Damon said, scrawling a hotel room number on a slip of paper, "we'll need it by 5pm tonight." 17th May, 2006. Monte Carlo, Monaco. 8:16pm. Every flash of the paparazzi cameras drew all eyes in the room to the necklace. Elena was radiant on Damon's arm, and the only topic of conversation was just who was this mysterious couple. Some swore that she was the daughter of the former Saudi envoy in London, you know, the one who left after that scandal involving the call-girls and the llama. Others recalled him from last season in Aspen, dressed all in black and carving up the slopes. But no one could confirm. The star couple left early, limousine dropping them back off at their hotel, where they stepped into the private lift to the penthouse suite. That was when it happened. Elena and Damon had eyes only for each other as they laughed and tripped into the opening lift. Champagne and fawning attention had combined to slow reflexes and lower inhibitions. Neither looked into the lift as they stepped in. Once the doors closed, the masked man blending into the shadows at the back moved forward, striking out swiftly. Elena screamed as she was thrown against the wall, Damon struggling to hold his own as blood poured from a cut on his head. He and the assailant traded blows, but a metal pipe was no match to his hands. A crack against the back of his neck, and he was down on the floor, the attacker's boot holding him there. "Give me the necklace," he demanded. Elena whimpered, too shocked to move. "Just give it to him," Damon managed to gasp, "you don't touch her, she'll give it to you." With trembling hands, Elena scrabbled at the clasp, eventually getting it open. She thrust the necklace at the man. "Take it, just leave us alone." The lift softly dinged, announcing it had arrived. The man stepped out, prize in his hands. For a moment neither Elena or Damon moved. Then like awaking from a nightmare, Elena screamed, "security, help, help!" The police were on the scene within minutes. Elena huddled in a blanket to give her statement, Damon held ice from the champagne bucket to his bruised face as he added his. The hotel handed over security tapes from the lift that caught the whole incident in vivid detail. The police assured them they would catch the assailant swiftly. "Was the item insured?" a detective asked Damon. He shrugged. "I bought it on my card, I think that means it is automatically insured. It's not like I thought about it before, I didn't think something like this could happen." "Well, if you wish to make a claim, you'll need a copy of the report. We'll fax it over in the morning." 16th June, 2006. Park Slope, Brooklyn, United States of America. 2:18pm. One month later, no progress had been made on the case. Damon lodged a claim with the insurance company for the value of the necklace. The insurer paid out in full. One tabloid newspaper reported that this sum was well into seven figures. This caught the attention of a particular reader. He tore the report out, and got in his car. Standing at an imposing front door, he leant against the doorbell, making it ring continuously. The door opened, Stefan blocking the entrance. "Mr Smallwood," he acknowledged. Tyler sneered at him. "Where's that bastard brother of yours," he growled. Stefan shrugged. "Who is it, dear?" a voice floated out from within the house. Light steps announced Elena's entrance behind Stefan. "Oh, it's you Tyler. Already drunk all the money we gave you?" "That's what I'm here about. Let me in, I want to see Damon." He started up the stairs again. "No," Stefan said, not moving. "Listen to me, you little fag, I saw how much that prick got from the insurers. He paid me nothing compared to that." Stefan continued to look uninterested and Elena laughed. "You agreed, Tyler. Ten grand to hold us up and make it look real. Ten grand when you returned the necklace. Now, now, you earned twenty k's for just one night of work, you really shouldn't complain!" "Don't laugh at me, bitch," Tyler was turning red, his hands balling up at his sides. "Or what, Tyler?" Elena sing-songed. "You'll go to the cops?" "Maybe I will, bitch. Unless you pay more." "Go away, Tyler, you're cluttering up my front step." With that Elena turned away, leaving Stefan to shut the door in Tyler's face. 18th June, 2006. Manhattan, New York City, United States of America. 11:49am. Tyler went to the cops. He explained the whole ruse in exchange for a favourable recommendation at sentencing. Within the day Elena and Damon were picked up and charged. The judge remanded them to custody, deeming them to be too much of a flight risk given their available funds, against the fervent pleas of the highly-paid defence attorneys. 24th July, 2007. Manhattan, New York City, United States of America. 12:17pm. The man interviewing Bonnie sat back, impressed despite himself. "That is highly original, Ms Smith." Bonnie smiled nervously. "I've been working on this plot for a while, it's a really special story to me." "We'd like to do business with you, Ms Smith. How much of it is written?" "All of it, pretty much. I just don't know what to do with my manuscript next." "Well, with material already written what we usually do is purchase the full rights of the text from you. We then take on the risk of publishing it, and you don't have to worry about it again." Bonnie looked uncertain. "But can I keep the rights to the story?" "Of course, you can keep the rights, but then if it doesn't sell well, you lose. And you have to pay for the publishing costs. So really, the best option for you is the full sale." "Well, I mean, I guess you know best. So how much are we talking?" The publishing representative wrote a figure on a piece of paper and slid it across the table. "Oh. Oh, wow. I mean, um, is that the best offer?" He looked at her sternly. "We're taking a risk on an unknown author here. I'm sure you'll find the offer most generous." "Oh, ok, oh yes then. Um, thank you." "So we will sign the contract now, you deliver the work within the week, and you'll be paid upon publication." "Um, right then. So I just sign here?" The man smiled. Bonnie had walked five blocks away from the publishing house before she took her mobile out. Target acquired and bait accepted, she texted to five contacts. All she had to do now was email the manuscript, and her part was done. But what she – and Meredith – had written was far from the whole story. 18th June, 2006. Manhattan, New York City, United States of America. 4:43pm. Elena and Damon swiftly found themselves in jumpsuits and on prisoner transports. The facility housed male and female inmates at opposite ends of the same complex. On the way there, a fight broke out amongst the females being transported. Elena may have said some inappropriate things, and sustained a number of blows which required medical attention upon arrival. Damon arrived without incident. Elena lay on the bed, one hand cuffed to the rail. She looked over at the next bed, and saw an elderly lady there. She let out a sigh of relief, at least their intelligence was correct. Not that she doubted Matt, who had been tracking this woman's whereabouts for over a year, but she didn't want to spend a moment longer in here than required. She waited until the nurses were sitting and talking in their alcove, paying no attention to the inmates. She turned to the lady beside her. "Hello, Mrs Flowers." "About time, young lady," the elderly woman rasped, not bothering to open her eyes, "I was expecting you at least a week ago. Don't think this leaves you in good standing." Elena grimaced. "My apologies, but our fall guy took his time going to the cops. It was the only element we could not control." "Excuses, excuses. Now, what is the plan?" "The plan is you tell me the con first, then we get out of here." Mrs Flowers laughed. "Not so trusting, are you, dear? Just as well. Fine, I'm only explaining this once. 'Stormy Weather', better than any 'Lost in Translation' or 'Smugglers Paradise' or 'Swinging Priest' or all those combined!" "Yes, the greatest con ever, we know. Now will you tell me what it entails?" "Patience, child. Well, it has two main stages, and can only be done in a capitalist country. Don't try this in a communist regime, won't work." Mrs Flowers turned to Elena, eyes sparkling as she dropped her voice even softer. "This is how it goes: it is all about planning ahead. You set a trap, something completely solid, a good commercial contract will do the trick. Then you re-sell the exact same contents of that contract to another buyer. And bang, you herd them straight into stormy weather. Sue based on the copyright, and get a payout of perfectly legitimate money." On the other side of the complex, Damon progressed to dinnertime without incident. He stood in the queue, watching the large clock in the dining hall carefully. At thirty-five past the hour, the guards changed shift. At forty past, Damon picked up his full tray and surveyed the tables for the meanest, ugliest, son of a bitch he could see. He smiled as he found his target. Walking over, he stood in front of the bald, tattooed, mountain of a man eating alone. "Well well, aren't you a pretty one," he sneered. The man looked up from his plate. "What did you just say?" the inmates at the surrounding tables all stopped talking. "I said, aren't you a pretty one, you little fag," Damon repeated. He dropped his tray just in time to dodge the fist flying at his face, and drive a punch into the other man's shoulder. With a roar, the man knocked the table over, and dove for Damon. Within moments, punches were flying and a ring of chanting onlookers surrounded the two combatants, who did not disperse until the wardens came running in. "Break it up, break it up or we taser," the first warden shouted, barely pausing before pressing the stick to the brawling men and holding it there until they flopped to the ground. "All right you pieces of shit, kiss and make up, or it's solitary," a guard announced. Damon spat on his shoes. "Fuck you," Damon spat through a bloody mouth. The warden raised an eyebrow before casually kicking Damon in the ribs. "Solitary it is. I'll take this one boys," the other wardens smirked as he cuffed Damon and picked him up. The solitary cells were next to the hospital ward, a neat design feature given the frequency of interchange between the two locations. Damon was silent until they nearly reached the block. "That kick was completely unnecessary, Matt," he complained. "What can I say, something about you just makes me want to kick you, Damon," Matt replied, snapping the cuffs unlocked. "Should be long enough for Elena to get the plan from Mrs Flowers," he added. Damon rubbed his wrists delicately, "of course it is, I timed it perfectly." Matt rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you're the man." The nurses were all coy smiles as Matt walked into the medical ward. "Taking the girls back for overnight," he said, gesturing to where Elena and Mrs Flowers lay listlessly on the beds. He released them and herded them out in front of him, with a wave for the nurses. They joined Damon in the hallway outside. "We have three minutes to reach the empty guardroom in Block C," Matt outlined, "we wait there for ten minutes, then have a clear run in the next seven minutes to the delivery entrance at the back of the kitchen. Stefan picks us up from there." 19th June, 2006. Westchester, New York, United States of America. 3:46am. Bonnie and Meredith were still arguing over what to order, snatching the phone off each other as they both tried to commandeer the take-out menu. "Enough California rolls for seven," Bonnie shouted into the receiver as Meredith held it out of reach. "Two unagi hand rolls, three soft-shell crab rolls and a mixed sashimi platter," Meredith added. "Five miso soups and four green teas," Bonnie took the phone again. "And plenty of wasabi," Meredith got the last word. They had just hung up when the garage door rolled open, car driving deep within the building. "Elena! Boys!" Bonnie was the first to get to the newcomers. "Mrs Flowers, it is an honour to meet you," Meredith added, holding out her hand. The older woman smiled. "You all have a lot of work to do to pull my con off. Don't disappoint me," she warned. Meredith nodded. "We'll get to planning right after dinner, I'm sure Elena will have been working on something. But everyone, come through to the kitchen, we've got take-out coming any moment." 28th November, 2007. North Side, Chicago, United States of America. 1:32pm. Meredith was browsing through the bookstore when she came across it. The exact same story of the great insurance con that she herself had published under her name a year ago. It was four months since she had received Bonnie's text message. She picked up a copy of the book, and paid for it in cash. She did not bother to open it before she dialled her lawyer. "Mr Hughes? This is Meredith Shulamith here, you helped me with my publishing contract last year? Hi, yes, how are you? Well, actually, I'm ringing you about that. I think...well, Mr Hughes, I hate to make an accusation like this, but I think someone has plagiarised my work." 5th October, 2008. Manhattan, New York City, United States of America. 5:51pm. The trial had run for two days before the publishers tabled their first offer of settlement. Meredith's lawyer had waxed lyrical about the pain and suffering she had undergone in this living nightmare where someone else had stolen her work and tried to, horror of horrors, profit from it. The judge had nodded at the suggestion of exemplary damages. The two parties sat across from each other in the law firm conference room. "This offer is being made with no admission of liability," the man in a suit said, passing a folded piece of paper across the table. Mr Hughes looked at it, then slid it back immediately. "No deal. And that offer was an insult. We have a watertight case, and by the time this is over, your client's name won't be worth the paper it is written on." The other side had a furiously whispered discussion. "OK, again, no admission of liability," another figure was written on a slip of paper. Mr Hughes considered it, then showed it to Meredith. She took a moment, and then nodded slightly. "You have a deal," Mr Hughes said, reaching across the table to shake the other lawyer's hand. 24th December, 2008. Florence, Tuscany, Italy. 9:38pm. The six of them were sprawled out across the room, bottle of wine lying abandoned on the floor and the remnants of cheese and crackers on the table. "So what do you think was worth more, the necklace, or the plagiarism settlement, and Damon, Meredith, you two aren't allowed to guess!" Elena asked with the careful enunciation of the tipsy. "Settlement, for sure," Matt replied, "lawyers are smart little weasels." "Nuh-uh, you haven't seen the diamonds on that thing! Necklace for sure," Bonnie retorted. Stefan looked up from his position on the floor. "No one knows the exact value of both, right? Just one or the other?" He received nods from around the room, "so how about we all pick the one we don't know, guess the value. Whoever is closest gets to pick the next con." "You're on," was his answer from a chorus of voices. There was laughter and clambering over each other as they reached for paper and pens, and wrote down their best offers. Fin.