After the Golden Age

Captain Olympus hardly seemed able to take his gaze from Celia. At last, he looked at Bronson in acknowledgment of what he had said. “Tax evasion? This man tried to destroy the city I don’t know how many times and you’re charging him with tax evasion?”

“Anything to lock him up,” Bronson said calmly.

He clenched his jaw—a bad sign. “I don’t believe … Was this your idea?” He pointed at Celia.

Enough was enough. “Dad, please. I’m helping sort through the records. It’s part of my job.”

“Forensic accounting? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

She tried to sound calm and reasonable. “We can prosecute the Destructor within the structure of the legal system. Isn’t that the important thing?”

“The legal system … I’ve got half a mind to head over to the Asylum and finish him myself—”

Bronson raised his hands. “Please don’t do that, sir. I’ll need you to testify in the trial, all right, Captain?”

Olympus glared. Bronson may have had the authority to stand up to the superhero, but Celia knew that glare. It had terrified her as a child, and, well, it still terrified her.

His lips thinned, his eyes narrowed. “Wait ’til your mother hears about this.”

Celia slumped against the nearest wall and closed her eyes. She couldn’t win with him. She just couldn’t.

Olympus turned to stalk out of the room, but the admiring crowd blocked the way. Everyone in the room held their breath a moment: what would Olympus do? But even from the back, Celia recognized him settling into his public persona, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. The crowd before him sighed, seemingly as one.

A woman in a gray dress suit stepped forward, tentative. “Sir? You probably don’t remember this but about fifteen years ago you saved a school bus from falling off a bridge? I was on that bus, and I … I just wanted to thank you.” Her voice cracked and tears fell.

Kindly, Captain Olympus touched her shoulder. “No thanks needed. It’s what I do.”

Then a flurry of voices rose up, and people stuck their hands out, and Olympus shook them all as he pressed forward through the crowd. People applauded as he finally left the room.

And that was Captain Olympus, Celia thought with a tired sigh.

Meanwhile, Bronson stared at Celia. “You didn’t tell him you were working on the case?”

“I try not to talk to him at all if I can help it.” It was a perfect end to the afternoon, really.

“Huh. Wild.”

Yeah, every kid dreamed of having Captain Olympus as a father. They had no idea.

FOUR

SHE called Bronson to make sure Captain Olympus wasn’t going to be at the prosecution team’s strategy meeting. If he had been, she would have called in sick. She didn’t care about her career enough to go through that.

She walked into the conference room, harried because the bus was late. The place was packed. Every branch of law enforcement in town wanted a piece of the Destructor, and they’d all sent people here to make sure they got it. Cops, detectives, the mayor’s office, the DA’s office. Detective Paulson was there and gave her a friendly smile that made her knees go a little shaky. He looked taller in daylight, when her vision wasn’t swimming.

Stacks of paper filled the table and flow charts were pinned to the walls: photographs, diagrams, copies marked EXHIBIT A, EXHIBIT B, and so on. And no Captain Olympus.

But Dr. Mentis was there. Her stomach did a flip, responding to that self-conscious twinge she felt whenever she encountered any members of the Olympiad. Even him.

He caught her eye and nodded. Made no move to approach her, to berate her, or to tell her how her family was doing. Her nervousness eased. She could always count on him to give her the space she needed.

Of all of them, Mentis had a clear idea of what her childhood had been like. Telepath that he was and all.

The room’s ventilation system couldn’t keep up with the mass of body heat. People fanned themselves with photocopied handouts, but managed to keep their tempers in check. Their intensity was palpable, though. Bronson left no loose ends, demanded that every shred of evidence be brought to light. When Celia’s turn came to stand and plot out the details of Sito’s nefarious accounting practices, her anxiety went away. She had to make it clear to these people exactly what the evidence entailed, so they could coordinate and ensure there were no holes in the prosecution.

Arthur Mentis was heading up the psychological evaluation. Unflappable, he spoke of his belief that Sito was perfectly sane. He’d already been declared competent to stand trial, and the various crimes of which he was accused were proof of his own rationality. No irrational madman planned fraud so assiduously as he had.

It felt like a conference of generals, like they were preparing for battle. Even Celia felt the excitement of it—ready to move forward with the plan, happy to be part of a team. God, teamwork. What would her father say?