Peter Burke didn't sleep much that night. His gut told him there was more to Neal's mysterious "brother" than either man was letting on, and Peter trusted his instincts. They hadn't failed him yet.
The next morning, Peter poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at his desk, going over the limited information he had on Henry Caffrey.
"Or lack thereof," he muttered, staring at the blank search results for the tenth time.
Henry Caffrey didn't exist—not in any federal database, not in any financial institution, not even in local records. It was as if the man had appeared out of thin air.
"Jones," Peter called out, motioning for his colleague.
Clinton Jones appeared moments later, a folder in hand. "Got something for you."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "You actually found something?"
Jones nodded, setting the folder on Peter's desk. "Not much, but it's something. Neal's brother—if he really is Neal's brother—has been careful. No paper trail, no digital footprint. But I cross-referenced some facial recognition software with surveillance footage from various cities over the past decade."
Peter opened the folder and scanned the contents. Several blurry photos showed a man who could easily be Henry Caffrey, but the images were inconclusive.
"It's him," Peter muttered.
Jones nodded. "He's been spotted in Paris, London, Tokyo, and Hong Kong. Always near high-profile heists but never directly connected. The guy's a ghost."
Peter leaned back in his chair, the gears in his mind turning. "A ghost with a connection to Neal. That's not a coincidence."
Meanwhile, at Neal's Loft
"Henry, we have a problem," Neal said as soon as I stepped through the door.
"Let me guess," I replied, closing the door behind me. "Peter's on the warpath."
"He's not just on the warpath," Neal said, pacing the room. "He's digging into you. Jones is probably running facial recognition as we speak."
I smirked. "Let them dig. They won't find anything worth worrying about."
Neal stopped pacing and turned to me, his expression serious. "You don't get it, Henry. Peter's relentless. If he even gets a whiff of something, he won't stop until he has answers."
"Then we make sure he doesn't get that whiff," I said, pulling out a laptop from my bag. "Trust me, Neal. I've dealt with bloodhounds like Peter before."
"This isn't some random cop," Neal argued. "This is Peter. He's smart, and he knows me better than anyone."
"Good," I said, typing furiously on the laptop. "Then he'll be easier to predict."
Neal sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I hate when you're this confident."
"You hate it because I'm usually right," I said with a grin.
As I worked, I explained my plan to Neal. If Peter was using facial recognition, it meant he was accessing old surveillance footage. All I had to do was corrupt the data trail, ensuring that any matches to my face were flagged as false positives.
It was a simple trick, but one that required precision. I tapped into a series of remote servers, rerouting my signal through multiple proxies to avoid detection.
"What are you doing?" Neal asked, leaning over my shoulder.
"Planting seeds," I replied. "By the time I'm done, every database Peter accesses will show conflicting results. One minute, I'll be in Paris. The next, I'll be in Antarctica."
Neal frowned. "Won't that make him more suspicious?"
"Maybe," I admitted. "But it'll also confuse the hell out of him. And in the meantime, we'll stay one step ahead."
At FBI Headquarters
Peter frowned at his screen, frustration building as the data Jones provided began to unravel.
"What the hell?" he muttered as the facial recognition software flagged a match to a man in Antarctica—at a research station that didn't exist.
Jones appeared at his side, equally puzzled. "That doesn't make any sense."
"No, it doesn't," Peter said, narrowing his eyes. "This isn't a mistake. Someone's tampering with the system."
"You think it's Henry?" Jones asked.
Peter leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. "I think whoever Henry Caffrey is, he's not someone we can underestimate."
Back at Neal's Loft
"There," I said, closing the laptop with a satisfied smile. "That should keep Peter busy for a while."
Neal didn't look convinced. "You're playing with fire, Henry. If Peter figures out you're manipulating the system—"
"He won't," I interrupted. "And even if he does, he won't be able to trace it back to me."
Neal sighed, shaking his head. "You're impossible."
"And you're too cautious," I replied. "That's why we make a good team."
Neal gave me a pointed look. "This isn't a team, Henry. This is you dragging me into your chaos."
I laughed. "Call it what you want, little brother. But you'll thank me when this is all over."
The Next Day
Peter wasn't the type to let things go, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he confronted me directly. Sure enough, Neal called me that afternoon, his voice tense.
"Peter wants to meet again," he said.
"Does he now?" I replied, leaning back in my chair.
"Henry, this isn't a joke," Neal said. "He's suspicious, and he's not going to stop until he gets answers."
"Then let's give him some," I said.
Neal groaned. "Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?"
"Because you worry too much," I replied with a grin.