Chapter 35: The Frank Betrayal
Ben's Danger Intuition detonated at 9 AM with the specific wrongness that meant betrayal.
He was halfway to the police station before conscious thought caught up, his power pulling him toward disaster with the inevitability of gravity. The unmarked sedan was gone from its surveillance spot—Morrison had moved, escalated, found enough leverage to make arrests.
Or deals.
Ben walked into the station and his worst fears materialized: Frank sat in an interview room visible through glass walls, gesturing animatedly while Detective Morrison took notes. Both looked up when Ben entered. Morrison's expression was professionally neutral.
Frank wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Mr. Fisher," Morrison said, standing. "Perfect timing. We were just discussing you."
Ben's stomach dropped through the floor. "What's going on?"
"Mr. Gallagher has provided valuable testimony regarding the jewelry fraud operation. In exchange for immunity from prosecution, he's offered a full account of how the scheme operated." Morrison gestured to an empty chair. "We'd like to hear your version of events."
He did it. Frank actually threw me under the bus.
Ben sat because standing felt impossible. Through the glass, Frank was explaining something with drunken earnestness, hands moving to illustrate points. Selling Ben out with the same enthusiasm he brought to every con.
"Frank says you ran the operation," Morrison continued, opening a fresh folder. "That you recruited him to help move merchandise, created the fake jewelry through methods he doesn't understand, and paid him a percentage to stay quiet. He claims he thought everything was legitimate until items started reverting."
Ben's Silver Tongue stirred, showing him desperate arguments, persuasive frameworks. But Morrison was watching for exactly that—any sign he was trying to manipulate her.
"That's interesting," Ben said carefully. "What else did Frank tell you?"
"Dates, locations, transaction details. Enough to corroborate witness statements and build a timeline." Morrison leaned forward. "Here's your choice: cooperate fully, explain how the fraud actually worked, and receive consideration for substantial assistance. Or remain silent and face conspiracy charges that Mr. Gallagher's testimony will support."
Ben's MacGyver Mind processed the trap's elegant construction. Frank had provided truth mixed with lies—admitting participation while minimizing his role, making Ben the mastermind and himself the dupe. It was brilliant criminal strategy, the kind of survival calculation Frank excelled at.
"Can I see Frank's written statement?" Ben asked.
Morrison hesitated, then slid papers across the table. Ben read carefully, his MacGyver Mind identifying inconsistencies, holes in logic, places where Frank's version contradicted known facts.
He's protecting himself by claiming ignorance about the mechanism. Smart. But he's also overstating my control to make himself look coerced. That creates vulnerabilities.
"This is interesting fiction," Ben said finally. "But Frank's lying about several things."
"Such as?"
"Timeline. Frank says I recruited him in November. But I didn't meet him until January, and neighborhood testimony will confirm that. He's backdating our partnership to claim longer involvement than reality."
Morrison made notes.
"He also says I paid him percentage of sales. But Frank had access to my repair shop independently—fixed my locks himself, actually. I have documentation showing he used the space when I wasn't present. Could've been running his own operations without my knowledge."
"You're suggesting Frank acted alone?"
"I'm suggesting Frank's minimizing his involvement. He's a career criminal with extensive history. I'm a handyman who arrived three months ago with no priors. Which of us is more likely to orchestrate interstate fraud?"
Morrison's expression shifted—skepticism mixing with calculation. "So your story is you're the innocent dupe?"
"My story is Frank and I ran separate operations that sometimes intersected. I did repair work, some of it probably on items he was fencing. He used my shop as cover for his schemes. But the organized fraud across multiple states? That requires expertise I don't have. Frank does."
It was its own betrayal, throwing Frank under the bus while claiming ignorance. But Frank had struck first, and Ben's MacGyver Mind showed him this was the only counter-move with any chance of working.
"I'll need you to provide detailed testimony," Morrison said. "Everything you know about Frank's operations, every interaction, every transaction you witnessed."
"I want immunity too. Same deal Frank got."
"You're not in as strong a position—"
"I'm in exactly the same position. We both participated in activities that were probably illegal. Only difference is Frank talked first. But if you want my testimony about his criminal network, his contacts, his methods? I can provide that. Otherwise, you've got conflicting stories and reasonable doubt."
Morrison studied him with frank assessment. "You're either very smart or very desperate."
"Can't it be both?"
She almost smiled. "I'll talk to the prosecutor. No promises, but if your testimony helps build a case against larger operations, we might have room for a deal."
Fiona and Lip were waiting when Ben emerged two hours later.
They'd heard through South Side's efficient gossip network—Frank at the police station, Ben called in for questioning, rumors of betrayal flying through neighborhood like wildfire.
Fiona's fury was incandescent. "My fucking father. I should've known. Should've warned you."
"It's not your fault," Ben said.
"No, it's Frank's fault. But I knew what he was, knew he'd throw anyone under the bus to save himself, and I didn't say anything."
Lip's analysis was colder. "You chose Frank as a partner. Despite knowing his history. Despite seeing how he operates. So yeah, he betrayed you. But you walked into that with open eyes."
The accuracy stung worse than accusation. "You're right."
"Doesn't make Frank less of an asshole. Just makes you responsible for trusting one." Lip lit a cigarette despite the no-smoking signs. "What did you tell Morrison?"
"That Frank's lying. That he operated independently and used my shop as cover. That I can testify about his criminal network if she gives me immunity."
Fiona's eyes widened. "You counter-testified against Frank?"
"He testified against me first. I just returned the favor."
"Jesus," Lip muttered. "This is going to get ugly."
Ben's Danger Intuition pulsed agreement. Frank would know about the counter-testimony within hours—police leaked information, and Frank had contacts throughout the system. He'd retaliate somehow, probably by giving Morrison more details that incriminated Ben.
"Am I getting arrested?" Ben asked Lip directly.
"Not immediately. Morrison's building a case, which takes time. Your counter-testimony creates doubt, which slows her down. But eventually? Yeah, probably. One of you is going down, maybe both."
"Great."
"Could run," Lip suggested. "Leave Chicago before charges get filed. Start over somewhere else."
Ben's first instinct was refusal. But he'd promised Fiona—if she told him to run, he would.
"What do you think?" he asked her.
Fiona was quiet for a long moment. "I think Frank destroyed any chance you had at a clean resolution. I think Morrison's going to keep pushing until someone goes to prison. And I think—" her voice cracked slightly, "—I think I'm terrified of losing you."
"Then tell me to run."
"I can't. Because running means you leave forever, and staying means you might go to prison, and both options feel like losing you." Fiona's hands clenched into fists. "I hate this. Hate that Frank put you here. Hate that you can't catch a break."
Ben pulled her into a hug. She pressed her face against his shoulder, not crying but close. Lip looked away, giving them privacy.
"We'll figure something out," Ben said, not believing it but needing to offer comfort.
"You always say that. Doesn't make it true."
Frank was waiting at the garage when Ben returned at sunset.
Drunk—naturally—but sharp-eyed, radiating defensive aggression. He sat on an overturned crate like he owned the space, bottle of whiskey dangling from one hand.
"Heard you told Morrison some interesting stories about me," Frank said.
Ben locked the door behind him. His Danger Intuition was pulsing softly—Frank wasn't dangerous physically, but the conversation would have consequences.
"You testified against me first. I adapted."
"Survival of the fittest, kid. You'd do the same in my position."
"I did do the same. Just faster than you expected."
Frank laughed—bitter, genuine sound. "Fair. Can't even be mad, really. I taught you that move. Throw your partner under the bus before they throw you."
"Then why are you here?"
"Professional courtesy. Wanted to let you know I'm giving Morrison more details tomorrow. About the jewelry, the transportation, the buyers. Everything I can remember to strengthen my deal." Frank took a long drink. "Nothing personal. Just covering my ass."
Ben's Silver Tongue stayed inactive deliberately. He wanted Frank to hear pure, unfiltered rage.
"You have six kids who look up to you. Who defend you despite every shitty thing you've done. And you're proving them wrong by betraying someone who's been there for your family more than you have in months."
"Don't lecture me about my kids—"
"Ian almost died. I stopped it. Fiona's drowning in responsibility you created. I'm helping her stay afloat. Carl's learning skills that might keep him out of prison. And you? You're drunk at nine PM, selling out the person who's been covering for your neglect."
Frank's expression flickered—something that might have been shame before defensiveness reasserted itself. "They'll get you eventually. Morrison, Marcus, whoever. And when they do, you'll understand why I protected myself first. Because nobody else will."
He left, stumbling slightly, whiskey bottle clutched like a lifeline.
Ben sat in his garage surrounded by the tools and equipment of his carefully constructed life, feeling Frank's betrayal like a physical wound. Some part of him had hoped Frank was capable of loyalty, of choosing partnership over self-preservation.
That part was dead now. Burned away by Frank's calculated survival instinct.
He's right about one thing: they'll get me eventually. Morrison or Marcus or the investigation or the unstable powers. Something will break, and when it does, I'll be alone because I chose to trust people who prioritize survival over loyalty.
But at least I tried. At least I chose to believe people were capable of being better than their worst instincts.
That has to count for something.
Even if it counted for nothing.
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