Chapter Text
A file was slid across the desk and into Andrew’s waiting hands. Wymack always did have a way with making a case dramatic, something that had clearly been passed down to his son.
“Nathaniel Wesninski, and/or Neil Josten. 26, we think, five feet four inches. Killed his mother Mary Wesninski on the Californian coast roughly seven years ago. Son of the Butcher of Baltimore, Nathan Wesninski.”
Andrew raised his eyebrows at that, the Butcher of Baltimore was the type of killer that seemed fictional, his actions so unfathomable that they had to have been fabricated in a horror novel.
Andrew was going to meet Nathan’s flesh and blood. Andrew had heard about the Wesninski’s disappearance years ago, covered on a true crime podcast he used to listen to. To this day it remained his favourite unsolved case. Andrew would be the one to solve it.
“There is no pointing this kid as innocent.” Wymack said, voice gruff as it often was when he talked about heavier cases. “He basically admitted it with a smile all over his face.” That piqued Andrew’s interest even more. A psycho with a smile? Andrew couldn’t help but reminded of his drugged days, the days that had blurred to nights and he couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.
This one would be interesting indeed.
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Neil jostled in his handcuffs, hoping it would be over soon. He was caught, and he was glad. The jig was up, and he’d never had to run again. Neil could practically hear Mary rolling in her sandy grave at the prospect of Neil being caught so easily.
In the end he’d been arrested for speeding. The pigs had asked for his ID, which his hair and eyes didn’t match. It was a stupid mistake, but Neil was nothing if not stupid.
They took him back to the station and searched for his records, which they obviously didn’t find. The pigs made an executive decision to leave him in a cell overnight until he cracked. It took weeks for them to crack his identity.
Once they did, it was game over.
They dug deeper, involved the FBI, lots of paperwork, and somehow linked his fingerprints to an old case years ago of a woman finding bones and a gun buried on a Californian beach.
Neil had kind of being enjoying the whole process. A change of scenery was always appreciated, and at least he’d gotten some local cops a lucky promotion. Neil had been enjoying messing with FBI, conning them into giving him food in exchange for more information on “the Butcher Case”.
The pigs had come up for a clever nickname for Neil’s case. “The Slaughter-man” as they called it, was the bloody and violent sequel to the “The Butcher Case” and a follow up to “The Slaughterhouse Case” (Nathan’s basement; in which hundreds of murders had taken place) and Neil’s personal favourite, “The Bitcher Case”, for Lola Malcolm.
Neil had been informed that he was commonly referred to as the “Slaughter-man” among the cops then his actual name. At least it was better than “Nathaniel” or god forbid: “Sylvester” which had probably been his worst identity Mary had ever given him.
Neil had been informed about his court dates, of which there were many, due to the weight of his case and all the evidence to get through. Neil wasn’t too sure why he’d been given a trial in the first place. They all thought he guilty anyway, hiring lawyers was a waste of everybody’s time and money. Neil let the pigs chose his lawyers and ended up with a useless asshole called Jack who spent most of his time fiddling with his watch and questioning Neil on Nathan. Neil rather enjoyed it. Their last interaction had gone some thing like this:
“How many times did you go down to the Slaughterhouse?” Jack had said, pretending it was relevant to Neil’s lost cause of a case.
“Many, many, times.” Neil had said, pausing to stroke his chin like a wise old wizard in a play. “Can’t remember much though Jack-In-The-Box, lots of bleeding, too little time.” Neil said with a faux-nostalgic expression on his face. He really did crack himself up sometimes.
“Do you remember any of the Butcher’s… victims?” Jack had questioned, with an uneasy expression on his face. Neil had discovered very early on that Jack was squeamish and Neil oh so loved describing his past in as much bloody detail as he could to see the man squirm.
“Now Jack ol’ fella unless I count, no. As I said, too much bleeding too little time. My old man wasn’t one for long chit-chat before he got down to all that torture kerfuffle.” Neil sent Jack an over-exaggerated frown, it was truly such an inconvenience that Nathan didn’t ask his murder victims their favourite colour before he chopped them to pieces.
Neil had accepted this case as his last hoorah on this god-forsaken floating rock. He’d truly had a good run, but it was soon time for the curtains to close and for everybody to forget about it in the morning. That wasn’t going to stop him for being difficult about it.
For his whole life, he’d been forced to blend in, now was his time to stand out, in a lovely shade of inmate orange that clashed magnificently with his hair.
“What was his most common um, method.”
“Now that one’s tricky Jacky-Wacky.” Neil tapped his chin as he searched his mind palace, which didn’t take long, Neil didn’t have many thoughts up there in the first place. “Now my first thought was the tale as old as time strangle-scream-stab.”
Jack didn’t look like he had heard of the ancient Roman method. “Oh don’t you worry pal I can demo.” Neil had given him a smile that was all teeth a mustered all of his sadistic killer into it.
“I- I think I have enough information.” Jack had muttered as he gathered together his blank notebook and untouched pencil.
“Cheerio.” Neil had said with an over exaggerated wave as he hummed ‘Hit The Road Jack’.
Anyway, Jack was one of Neil’s favourite parts of his brisk decent into madness and slow tumble into death. Although, everybody is on a slow tumble to death if you think about it.
Jack was the ideal victim to fuck with. He had come in confident and commanding and Neil had belittled him into a mumbling idiot who couldn’t meet his eye. Neil knew Jack was probably extremely valuable to the FBI’s case, not that they knew that of course. Jack knew tenfold of what the cops had tried to weasel out of him, plus little nuggets of information that Neil knew Jack appreciated.
When it came to Neil’s first court day of many, he walked in late. A stupid decision on his part, the guards had been banging every kitchen utility (Neil could’ve sworn he heard a whisk at some point) to wake them up. Neil deemed it the worst percussion section of all time, and there hadn’t even been use of a kazoo. Neil had somehow slept through the ruckus, deciding it was irrelevant to his miserable life and he was therefore late to his own goddamn trial.
Neil stalked down the courtroom and said to everybody there, “Sorry fellas, got caught up in prison rush hour, then I accidentally broke the soda machine, sorry ‘bout that by the way, the bloods on my hands for that,” he paused and looked up at the Judge, “not like that obviously. Anyway, then there was pesky paperwork to get in this miserable building. You guys should really decorate or something, maybe some house plants?” Neil slouched down in his chair and threw up his hands, “But what does it matter, I’m here now. As you were, as you were.”
Neil downed all his water in one and looked around the room, waiting for something to happen. The judge cleared her throat, and started reading out some boring shit that Neil couldn’t be bothered to listen to. Neil listened to Jack meekly try to defend Neil’s actions, but what could he really say? Neil knew he was innocent, but nobody else did, and nobody else ever would, so what was the point?
At one point, Neil caught the eye of the tiny lawyer on the prosecution. The blond was looking at him with interest, and wasn’t breaking eye contact.
Neil didn’t like that this dumb lawyer thought he could read Neil like a goddamn book.
Neil flipped him off when the judge wasn’t looking and went back to messing up the order of Jack’s files.
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Nathaniel/Neil or whatever his name was, was the exact opposite of what Andrew had expected. He was loud, obnoxious, and surprisingly funny as he reacted to the case like he was shocked by information that was being shared, despite being at the scene of the crime.
Andrew noticed something else too.
Andrew saw how everything Neil said was covered in sarcasm and said like a Friends character waiting for the laugh track. It was fake. If Andrew had to guess, he’d say this was the opposite of Neil’s actual personality and he was playing this one because he truly had nothing to lose. Everybody knew Neil was going to prison. The trial was just a formality, and Neil was fucking around with it.
Andrew couldn’t help but feel like there was something more to Neil Josten, as he preferred to be called. Andrew had seen his fair share of liars, and Neil seemed like a special case. There were layers to his lies, layers that Andrew wanted to peel back and understand.
Neil was a professional liar, just enough truth in there to hide his lies with a smirk and a snarky comment but Andrew was infamous for seeing through lies, and there was something Neil was hiding.
Andrew was also infamous for only representing cases he believed in.
Andrew rushed to catch Neil after the trial. He was being escorted out the room by officers and he chatted to them animatedly, not dropping his act for a second. Andrew was just about to catch up to him, when a man stood in front of his path. Andrew took a step backwards.
“And where do you think your going?” Andrew recognised the voice as Neil’s dick-wad of a ‘lawyer’.
“I’m going to talk to Neil, get out my way.” Andrew said, trying to keep his cool.
“No you’re not. Nathaniel doesn’t want to talk to you.” Jack Madden’s words overcame Andrew with a type of rage he hadn’t felt since his teenage years. Jack choosing to use ‘Nathaniel’ despite Neil making it abundantly clear that it wasn’t his name. Jack’s words had prickled old wounds on Andrew’s skin, Jack was making choices for Neil without him having a drop of input. Andrew found himself wanting to shred Jack’s skin from his bones, but that’s not very ethical and would involve too much paperwork.
“How do you know that? Did you ask him?” Andrew asked, trying desperately to keep his cool.
“I don’t need to ask him.” Andrew would’ve punched him right there if Wymack hadn’t walked up.
“Am I interrupting something boys?” Jack shook his head frantically.
Wymack was a big name in the law industry, known for taking on employees others wouldn’t and finding talent in the rarest of places. He had hand-picked medicated Andrew straight from college after all. Wymack had been the one to get Andrew off his awful drugs, presenting a tough case for it and how ethical it was testing strong medication on convicted criminals. Andrew felt like he was forever in Wymack’s debt for it.
“Madden, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a bother if Minyard popped over to talk to Wesninski? No? Good good, he’ll see him Wednesday at three. Here’s my card.” Wymack spoke so quickly that Jack didn’t have a chance to argue back. Andrew would feel sympathetic, but then again, Jack deserved it.
Wymack walked away and Andrew gave him a grateful look. He’d gotten that interview with Josten. Little did Wymack know, it wouldn’t be for evidence.
When Wednesday came, Andrew found himself surprisingly nervous. Once he was finally called over to meet him, Andrew found himself fiddling with the earrings down his ears and tracing his fingers up the length of the glasses in his hand.
Andrew found Neil leaning back in the chair, as if meditating or at some sort of spa, with one leg crossed over the other and tipping the chair back a dangerous angle. Neil flicked one eye open to assess Andrew and said:
“You’re smaller up close.”
“You too.” Andrew responded as he slid into the chair opposite him.
Neil straightened the chair to get a better look at Andrew. He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows a little. This close, Andrew noticed the freckles all over Neil’s face like constellations. It felt poetic that something so juvenile could suit a convicted murderer so well.
Neil clearly got tired of waiting. “Tick tock Minyard, I haven’t got all day. Shivs to make, toilets to block so on so on.”
“I’m here to offer you a deal.”
Neil leaned closer, putting his elbows on the table and his head in his scarred hands.
“I’m listening.”
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Neil wasn’t quite sure what to make of Minyard. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was a hobbit. Minyard was a textbook lawyer, all glasses and piercings he really had gotten that hipster crossed with a My Chemical Romance fan thing nailed.
“I can prove you’re innocent.” Neil would’ve laughed if Minyard didn’t look completely serious.
“Nobody can prove that.” Neil said, matching Minyard’s tone. “How do you know I’m innocent anyhow? Gaze into a crystal ball? Ask the bitter ghoul of Mary Wesninski through an Ouija Board?”Andrew opened his mouth to argue, but Neil spoke first. “Look it’s great and all that you get the whole ‘Not Guilty’ thing, but nobody will ever believe you.” Neil knew Minyard was seeing cracks in his façade, but he didn’t particularly mind. Minyard needed to understand that Neil was serious.
“Let me represent you.” Neil laughed at that one.
“No thanks, I already got a lawyer.” Neil said, leaning back in his chair and double-checking his nails for blood he knew wasn’t there.
“‘Lawyer’ is a strong word for what you have.” Neil knew Andrew was right, but he’d been craving an interesting conversation for months and this was the first glimpse he’d had since Jack cracked.
“And yet,” Neil started, waving his finger at him, “it’s none of your business.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I can get you out of here.” Neil stiffened. He’d heard that before. Was Minyard more than he thought? Connected to the Moriyama’s? Or worse, Nathan’s men? Nobody had the power to get him out of this shit hole, especially some blond garden gnome dressed for a funeral.
“I don’t know, there’s a lot of content in my file, lots of paperwork.” Neil said, back to inspecting his nails and purposely ignoring Minyard’s glare. Neil had seen worse death stares.
“I never forget a thing.”
“Good luck. Every word out of my mouth is a lie.” Neil responded with a sneer.
“I’ll convince you eventually Josten.” Andrew said with certainty, and a glint of determination highlighting his eyes.
“Wanna bet on it?”
“I’m not a gambling man.” Andrew said, leaning further forward on the table.
“Oh, but I am.” Neil taunted, leaning even closer and speaking the words so harshly they fogged Andrew’s glasses a little. They were practically nose to nose. Neil had missed this. A good rival was always fun. Neil hunched back into his chair, not breaking eye contact.
“I’ll tell you what Minyard, as I’m in a good mood today, I’ll offer you a deal.” Neil noticed a change in Andrew’s posture, a tell of his curiosity. “Truth for truth.”
“What are we? Highschoolers?”
“Ah well, I never went to highschool, we might as well.” Neil said, giving Andrew a teaser of his promised honesty.
Neil saw Andrew considering his proposal. A proposition that Neil himself hadn’t really thought through. Although, he didn’t think very often, and when he did, he ended up in convict orange.
Neil noticed Andrew do the slightest of nods and Neil waited for all of Minyard’s earrings to still before he spoke again.
“Same time next week?”
Andrew shook Neil’s hand before he stood up (Neil assumed it was a lawyer thing) but before he left through the door, he turned back and added:
“Orange isn’t your colour Josten.”
“Don’t lie to me Minyard.” Neil said rippling coyness into his voice.
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Andrew hadn’t exactly been expecting a yes from Neil, but Neil’s proposition of truth for truth was certainly interesting. What information did Andrew have that he wanted? Andrew had to remind himself not to get caught up by the glamour that was Neil Josten, despite Andrew knowing he didn’t kill his mother, there were many other crimes Neil had been convicted for.
Andrew always tried not to judge his clients based off their crimes, taking he was a murderer himself and a part-time professional stabber in college.
Andrew had given up his knives a long time ago, but not his armbands. Sure, they gave him the worst tan line, but he wasn’t about to show his scars to the whole world. He’d debated getting a sleeve of tattoos to cover them, but he knew the skin was too damaged for any tattoo to even get close to covering them.
Andrew still kept Renee’s knives in a drawer by his bed, in case of emergency, or in case he found somebody who needed them.
Andrew hadn’t shared Josten’s encounter with Wymack or Kevin. When Kevin had asked about it, Andrew had ignored him and continued sipping his overly sweetened coffee.
Wymack hadn’t asked how it went, but Andrew knew he was curious. Wymack didn’t bother him though, he trusted Andrew with the case enough that Andrew was gathering ‘evidence’ for Josten. Andrew wasn’t too sure if what he was doing could be called ‘gathering evidence’.
When the next Wednesday finally rolled around, Andrew wasn’t too sure what to expect as he crossed the corridor to Neil’s ‘room’, which was basically just an old-timey dungeon
When Andrew entered the room, Neil was facing the wall scraping the brick with his blunt nails. Andrew wasn’t too sure if Neil had heard him enter, because he continued scratching the wall like a cat.
“Digging your way out?” Andrew asked, sidestepping pieces of paper Neil had thrown across the floor and settling back into the chair he’d been in last week.
“Mhm, Vinny said these walls were weak as foam. I knew the fucker was lying, there’s only so much to do in prison though.” Neil said turning around and allowing Andrew his full attention. Neil had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair looked like his calloused fingers had run though it a thousand times, Neil also needed a shave.
Andrew didn’t mention any of these facts, at least Neil had clipped his nails in someway. Neil had entered the stage every convict faced, and prison was getting to him.
Andrew noticed the tips of Neil’s fingers grazed with blood from scraping at the wall. Not enough to cause concern, but enough that Andrew mentally took note of it.
Neil clambered onto his chair in the most inventive way Andrew had ever seen, and Andrew had been to his fair share of gay bars in his time.
“So.” Neil clapped his hands together before his next sentence, and it reminded Andrew a little of Wymack’s mannerisms. “Let’s quick fire.”
“Quick fire?” Andrew asked, settling into his chair, he was going to be here a while.
“Yeah, don’t think about it answer honestly we both answer the questions, take turns asking.” Neil rushed out, a messy explanation, but enough for Andrew to get the general jist of what he’d meant.
“Okay.” Andrew said, confirming Neil’s idea.
“Favourite colour?” Neil said. Andrew found himself stumped, he’d never thought about it, and it wasn’t the kind of question he’d been expecting.
Andrew gazed into Neil’s eyes as he said, “Blue.”
“Grey.” Neil responded instantly. “Your turn.” He pointed out, as if Andrew didn’t already know the rules of the game.
Andrew asked the first thing that popped into his head. “Middle name?”
Neil hesitated before he murmured, “Abram.” Not as confidently as his previous answer. Andrew took note of that, and saw how effective this game was to the case.
“Joseph.”
They bounced questions off each other for a couple of minutes about stupid things like music styles and and fruits before the changed the style and started asking direct questions.
“Why are you a lawyer?” Neil asked tilting his chair back and that dangerous angle again.
“Someone had to fix the justice system.” Andrew responded truthfully. Neil tilted his head in a signal of ‘fair enough’.
“Why did you plead not guilty?” Andrew asked, a question which had been burning his mind for days.
“Because I’m not guilty duh, waste your breath on a better question next time.”
“You said nobody would believe you Neil. So why on Earth would you plead not guilty?”
“Pleading guilty is suicide Andrew, everybody knows that.” Neil said, biting at his nails again. It was the first time Neil had used his first name.
“Oh believe me, I know. I’m just curious, for someone who’s fought so hard to survive, you sure don’t act like it.” Andrew had him backed into a corner, but this was evidence he could never share in a courtroom.
“I’m exhausted okay? Running for almost two decades catches up with you. I’ve never been a free man my whole life, maybe pleading not guilty was my last shot at that.” Andrew was taken aback by his honesty. Andrew had known the man less than a month, but it felt much longer than that. Every minute they spent together spent like a year, every hour a century.
“Then let me help you.” Andrew said, leaning closer to him across the table again.
“I can’t.” Those two words cut Andrew like a knife. “Andrew you don’t understand, I’ve never been helped a day in my goddamn life, and I sure ain’t gonna start today.” Andrew swore he’d heard those exact words from his own mouth before. He did understand. “It’s impossible to prove Minyard. I’ll forever be guilty in their eyes.”
“Then give them a new lens.” Andrew said, punctuating every word. Neil’s gaze softened when he spoke and he rubbed a hand over his face and eyes.
“It won’t matter Andrew. Even if I started a goddamn charity or something, I’ll always be The Butcher of Baltimore’s son, the “Slaughter-man” if you will, I can’t rip my own blood from my veins, and believe me, people have tried.”
Andrew wasn’t quite sure how to react. Every possible reaction felt inappropriate. So he stayed silent, and let Neil talk.
“I don’t even know if I can trust you.” Neil muttered the words like they were only meant for his ears. Neil looked down at the floor, and furrowed his eyebrows at the paper littering it, as if he hadn’t noticed it before. He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but Andrew chose that time to interrupt.
“You can.”
Neil looked up at him.
“Ask me.” Andrew said. Neil tilted his head in confusion. “Ask me something Neil.” Neil seemed puzzled before he understood what Andrew was saying. Andrew was offering trust, Neil just had to be willing to take it and ask the right questions.
“Tell me something.” Neil hadn’t said it as a question, but as an answer. So Andrew started from the beginning, and they exchanged stories of their past until their time ran out.
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Neil fist-bumped Matt, his roommate and prison buddy, on his way up to the witness stand. It was his second court-sesh, after his third week of speaking with Andrew. Matt was one of the only people in the world who believed in Neil’s innocence. Although, Matt naïvely believed every word Neil said.
Neil and Andrew had continued their truth game in the last three weeks. Meeting more often had helped Neil trust him and Neil knew Andrew had trick questions up his sleeve (armbands?) to keep pushing the idea of Neil’s innocence. When Andrew had first brought up the idea of crafting such questions, Neil had protested, but now he’d given up arguing with him and allowed Andrew’s antics.
Unfortunately, Neil still had Jack as a lawyer. Neil had not a single doubt in his mind that Jack beloved he was one hundred percent guilty.
Andrew stood up, holding his neat stack of paperwork and pacing the room as he prepared to question Neil. In the hours they shared with each other, Neil had studied Andrew’s minute facial expressions. Even in the days they spent apart, Neil didn’t have much else to think about. He considered himself somewhat a master in the field of Minyard facial expression and he could tell by even the slightest millimetre in Andrew’s eyebrows his emotion.
“Josten can you recount the events of the night of your mother’s death?” Andrew asked him, having already gone over the question a hundred times in their secret sessions in Neil’s cell.
“Ok so, ‘twas a dark and stormy night,” Neil started, setting the atmosphere, “just kidding, it was in Cali. Basically, Nathan’s goons shot my mother, she somehow didn’t make a sound, which I’ll honestly never get. Like I’ve been shot before, and it hurt like hell, how did she stay silent?”
Neil heard a few whispers among the jury, but he pressed on. “Anyhow she was like screaming at me to drive, to be honest, I’m not the best driver, self-taught and all that.” He chanced a look at Jack. “Whoops, is that a crime? Anyways she then tells me to pull over at this beach and she’s like coughing up blood, all that good stuff, she says her last words ya-de-da. Then, she like dies and all that and you know, I was like seventeen so that’s pretty traumatic. I’m honestly not sure how long I spent in that car, but it was long enough for her blood to dry. And I wasn’t ‘bout to peel my Mom’s carcass off the car seat. So I just burnt the car, problem solved. Then I dig a hole, put her bones and a spare gun in a bag, put that bag in the hole and I move out.”
“How deep would you say you buried her bones?” Neil wasn’t too sure how relevant this question would be, but he answered anyway:
“I mean I’m not too sure, I was using my bare hands but I was at it for like an hour maybe?” Andrew nodded, satisfied with his answer.
“Could you describe her injury?”
“It was on her left side, so I didn’t really see it she was out in about 5 minutes though. All the other times we’d been shot we’d tried to save it, I think she knew that one was lethal.”
“The gun you put in the bag, was it loaded?”
“Yeah, I didn’t really want to think about it too much so I didn’t even think to take out the bullets.” Neil wasn’t quite sure how helpful his answers were being, but he hoped it was somehow helping Andrew build a view of what happened that night from Neil’s perspective.
Jack approached the stand, shuffling his papers that Neil had promptly disorganised for him a few minutes before. “You were shot?”
“Yes.” Neil responded, willing to entertain Jack’s train of thought.
“How many times?”
“Four, I’m not sure how this is releva-“
“Who shot you?”
“Oh you know, mainly Nathan’s goons.” Neil saw his trip up right as he said it.
“Mainly? Who else? Mary Wesninski? Yourself?” Neil did a double take. Was that really where Jack was going with this? His hesitation made Jack feel as if he had accomplished something, Neil saw victory all over his face.
“No no no, Jack let’s not get it twisted,” Neil risked a look at Andrew on the other table, whose eyebrows were slightly raised. Andrew knew exactly every person who’d shot Neil and he was probably as curious by Jack’s tangent as Neil was. “I was shot by a childhood friend let’s say, we weren’t the best of friends.” The explanation was messy, but Neil didn’t want to say more about the Moriyama’s than he had to, so he didn’t mention Riko by name. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if they got Jean Moreau on the witness stand, the only friend Neil had in that hell hole before he escaped.
“Where did he shoot you?”
“My right calf, I clearly hadn’t been running fast enough.” Neil replied, allowing the nonchalance he’d walked in with to soothe back into his voice. If he was anything, he was a liar. And he wasn’t going to let Madden see even a blemish in his lies.
“When was this?”
“About five years ago.” Neil was giving rough times, vague answers. The last thing he needed was the Moriyamas on his back again.
“How are you walking without a limp?”
“I recovered.” A lie. Neil ‘recovered’ because he had to. You can’t be ‘on the run’ if you can’t run.
Neil had hidden has limp by changing his whole stance and using his bad leg over his good one every time. It was painful, but it worked. Jack went back to sit down, dissatisfied by Neil’s answers but knowing Neil wouldn’t give him anything else.
Neil went to sit back down a few minutes later, and a cop who found the burnt car took the stand. Neil watched Andrew pace the room as he asked him carefully calculated questions, he noticed Andrew’s tells when he knew he’d gotten something of value out of the witness.
When the cop had said the car contained charred passports he couldn’t make out, Andrew’s eyebrows slightly rose. He also claimed the car had not been crashed, neither side was damaged, the car was just completely burnt. All claims that supported Neil’s innocence.
Maybe Andrew could pull it off after all.
The next day, Neil fired Jack.