Shattered Circle by Linda Robertson

a bright blue tie.
    Johnny took that as a bad sign. They might be legitimate representatives of ODOT, or they might be, literally, hired guns.
    “Very well. Are you the mediator?” she asked the nervous man with the briefcase.
    “I am.” He inched forward.
    She closed the distance to him and shook his hand. “Aurelia.”
    “Baker,” he said, soaking in her beauty and kindness. “Scott Baker.”
    “Nice to meet you, Scott,” she said warmly. “Usually this kind of thing takes place in an office, around a table. Since we have neither of those here, how do you want to proceed?”
    Johnny knew she was charming the man to put him at ease and gain some of his favor for their side. But Scott was obviously not a fool. Caught between wærewolves and armed “government officials” in a last-minute meeting at a secret locale, he recognized the danger he was in. Johnny wondered if ODOT had bribed him.
    “As I understand it,” Scott said, pointing at ODOT’s line of suits, “ODOT wants the Cleveland Cold Storage building and has made an offer which has been declined. You’re here to make a new offer.”
    “Correct,” Blue Tie said.
    “And you,” Scott gestured at Johnny, “simply want to keep the building.”
    “The location in question,” Mr. Plympton said in his lilting Cajun accent, “is a mostly windowless structure that is perfect for the specific needs of our people.” His hands flitted this way and that as he spoke. “We’ve modified the interior extensively over the years and to move the den to any other building would require starting over on those modifications. The purchase price ODOT has previously offered does not come close to allowing us to purchase a new structure in the area and then modify it similarly in order to ensure the safety of our people . . . and yours.”
    “There are other areas,” Blue Tie said softly.
    Aha. They want us out of their downtown .
    A few tense seconds passed, then Scott asked Plympton, “You are open to considering the new offer they have prepared, though, right?”
    “Of course we will consider the new offer.”
    Scott faced the ODOT reps. “You have the paperwork?”
    The man to Blue Tie’s right opened his jacket. From an inside pocket he removed a mass of papers stapled together and folded once lengthwise. He handed it to Scott, who in turn handed it to Plympton.
    Plympton perused the document, not bothering to remove his sunglasses. “There’s nothing new in this offer. In fact, these pages are identical to the last offer.”
    “That’s correct,” Blue Tie said.
    Johnny let his internal struggle for dominance deepen his voice as he asked, “If you’re not offering anything new, why are we here?”
    “Oh, we’re offering something new.” Blue Tie noddedto the man on his left and he pulled out more papers from the opposite side of his jacket. “It’s something that is . . . out of the public eye, for now.”
    When these papers were handed to him, Plympton quickly scanned through the pages.
    Johnny tried to see what was written on them, but the smugness in Blue Tie’s voice made him look up.
    “You see, we’ve had reports coming in about this pack,” Blue Tie said. “It seems some dubious activities are going on in Cleveland, activities that—according to our investigation—lead back to this den. As the paperwork trail you’re now looking at shows, this includes burglary, grand theft auto, receiving stolen goods, trafficking, money laundering, racketeering, tax evasion, embezzlement . . . ”
    “That’s not true,” Todd growled.
    Blue Tie hesitated only briefly at the outburst. “ . . . We even have evidence of insurance fraud, where the widow of one Ignatius Tierney is concerned.”
    Johnny’s hands clenched. They’d made this up. All of it. They’d falsified documents to blackmail them. He could not let them mess with the pack, and would not let them harass Moira. His beast slavered and snarled, feasting on his hate.