Fic: The Devil You Know (4/25)
Jan. 11th, 2014 09:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citrinesunsetTitle: The Devil You Know
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 2600 this part. About 122k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
On the day the appraiser was scheduled to come over, Peter took the morning off.
Neal got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but stayed barefoot and didn't commit himself to any time-consuming tasks. He knew his presence would be required, and that'd he'd almost certainly have to strip at some point.
While Neal made a show of straightening up the bookcase, Peter sat on the sofa. Elizabeth was in the kitchen, making coffee. Neither of them had said much to Neal this morning. Peter seemed calm enough, but Elizabeth had looked almost guilty when she'd encouraged Neal to take a second helping of scrambled eggs at breakfast.
"Remember what I said about being good?" Peter said.
"Hard to forget."
"Well, if you behave, there might a reward for you."
Before Neal could respond, there was a knock at the door. Peter got up to let the appraiser in.
The appraiser introduced himself as Carl. He was a stocky man with a well-groomed, graying beard. He worked for the Burkes' insurance company, and showed Peter the card that qualified him to perform state-licensed slave appraisals. He carried a soft, worn leather briefcase from which he immediately pulled a stack of papers.
He accepted a cup of coffee from Elizabeth and sat down to talk to her and Peter. Neal stood and listened, unsure of what to do with himself. He’d started to forget what it was like to have people discuss him in his presence.
"I've already reviewed the medical and dental records you forwarded to me," Carl said. "It was a good idea to take him in for exams early."
Neal had gotten checkups at the doctor and dentist during his first week with the Burkes. It felt like a long ago now, even though it’d only been a few weeks.
"He seems to be in very good health," Carl continued, looking at some paperwork he had in his lap. "It certainly helps his market value, and of course, good health reflects well on the owners. Now, on the phone, you said he performs domestic duties?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "He helps with the cooking and cleaning." She thought for a second and added, "He’s a very good cook. We haven’t had to give him any instruction."
Carl nodded and made some notes. "That’s good. Now, you’ll have to forgive me for being frank. We need to speak openly about the slave’s assets. The state assumed he would be used for companionship and sexual use as well as domestic duties. Is that the case?"
Peter and Elizabeth glanced at each other, and Peter started to play with his watchband.
"Well, yes," Peter said.
"We don’t need to discuss the details of that, of course. Just a couple questions. Are you sharing him with others? Friends?"
"No," Elizabeth said. "No, of course not. He’s just...ours."
Carl nodded and made another note. "Out of curiosity, is Neal bisexual, by any chance?"
"Well," Peter said, keeping his gaze away from Neal. "I'm not sure Neal sees himself that way...."
Carl held up a hand. "Oh, it’s no problem. Not many slaves are bisexual, and it doesn’t affect market value much. It just makes things simpler, and it can be a selling point. Not all owners realize that, so I like to bring it up."
"Oh," Elizabeth said, "well, we’re not interested in selling him."
"I understand. Now, according to the slave’s official record, he’s considered an escape risk."
"Yes," Peter explained, "they had to classify him that way because he has a history of eluding the authorities. But we keep a close eye on him. I don’t anticipate any problems that would require the insurance company to get involved. I already know there'll be a higher deductible, though."
"Maybe at first. According to my information, this isn't considered a high-risk placement. We assume you're used to handling felons. So I wouldn't expect insurance to be too prohibitive. Honestly, I'm not the one to talk to about that. The problem is that being classed as an escape risk does lower his value somewhat."
Peter nodded solemnly.
Neal's ears grew hot at hearing himself discussed this way. Like he was an object. He bit his tongue, wanting desperately to make a smart remark. But he remembered he was supposed to be conning the appraiser. He knew it was in his best interests to be appraised highly.
Setting his coffee mug and paperwork down on the coffee table, Carl said, "Would it be all right if I got a closer look at the slave, now?"
"Of course," Peter said. He looked at Neal for the first time during the proceedings. "Go on and get undressed, Neal."
Just like that, it got even worse. How long was this appraisal going to take, anyway?
As he slowly stripped off his clothes, Neal reflected on how quickly things changed. A couple months ago, this sort of humiliation was foreign to him. He'd adjusted quickly enough during processing, but now, a few weeks later, the shame was almost fresh. Maybe he'd gotten used to the comparatively better treatment at the Burkes'; maybe it was simply different having to do this in front of people he knew.
Carl stood and walked closer to Neal. He looked him up and down and covered every inch of exposed flesh with his gaze.
First, Neal had to stand up straight with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands behind his head. Carl snapped on some latex gloves and squeezed Neal's biceps. He looked into Neal's eyes and had him open his mouth.
Carl crouched down. Neal steeled himself for what he knew was coming. Carl lifted Neal's dick and gently manipulated it. Next, he pressed his fingers into Neal's balls, searching for lumps or other anomalies.
Looking over his shoulder, Carl said, "I'll measure him now, if you don't mind."
"Go ahead," Peter murmured.
Carl pulled a disposable paper measuring tape out of his pocket. He held one end at the base of Neal's cock, and the other at the head. Neal clenched his jaw. He couldn't bring himself to look down, or at Peter and Elizabeth.
He'd suffered this indignity before, at the processing center. But apparently that record wasn't enough for the appraiser's satisfaction.
Carl started to stroke Neal's cock, trying to coax it into hardness. But Neal's cock resisted this assault from a stranger.
With small huff of dissatisfaction, Carl said, "Is he more responsive with you guys?"
"Oh, yes," Elizabeth said quickly. "I think he's just nervous about the appraisal."
"Yeah, that happens. I can try to measure him again at the end." He let go of Neal's cock and stood up. To Neal, he said, "Okay, I need you to turn around and bend over."
Neal didn't see how any of this related to his value. Peter and Elizabeth didn't even show much interest in his cock, so why did it matter how long it was? And what did his ass add to his value?
But he knew he would be in trouble if he didn't obey. Slowly, he turned around and bent over, touching his toes.
"Spread your legs more," Carl said.
Neal cringed and inched his legs apart. He swore he could feel the eyes on him. He knew everyone was staring at his asshole right now.
He heard a packet of lube being torn open, and the next thing he knew, a cold, slick finger was being pushed inside him. He squirmed.
"Mm, very tight," Carl said. "Great muscle tone. I'll just manipulate his prostate a bit."
Neal's face was burning. Whether it was more from embarrassment or being upside down, he didn't know.
Carl was dispassionate as he started to stroke Neal's prostate. "You might want to think about giving him prostate massages," he said. "It's good for slaves."
Neal knew what the appraiser was trying to accomplish, and he willed his cock to get hard just to bring an end to it.
Finally, after a couple minutes, Neal's erection met Carl's satisfaction, and he removed his finger and allowed Neal to stand up again. He picked up the tape measure and took a second measurement of Neal's now-erect dick.
"Great," Carl said, finally. "I think I'm done with him. He has a wonderful body."
"You can go ahead and get dressed again," Peter said.
As he reached for his clothes, Neal couldn't help but say, "Are you sure you've seen everything?"
Peter raised his eyebrows, but Carl ignored the outburst. As Neal got dressed, Elizabeth gave him a sympathetic look.
"I'll contact you with my estimate of his value within a day or two," Carl said. "I will say that you could probably make a few thousand more on him than what you paid. You got a very good deal. If you wanted to add to his value, you could consider getting him professional training. That can add on thousands more. But if you're not planning to sell, it may not be a good investment."
"No," Elizabeth said, "we're definitely not interested in selling. And Peter and I want to handle all the training ourselves."
Carl nodded. "That's very doable. Just don’t be alarmed if it's harder than you expect. Arrangements like this can have some challenges."
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Arrangements?"
"Some couples find that the slave prefers one owner over the other. This is normal, especially if the slave isn't bisexual. But it can cause conflict."
Elizabeth blushed slightly. Peter frowned and said, "I don't think we're going to have any trouble."
After Peter saw the appraiser out, Elizabeth said, "Thank goodness that's over. It was kind of undignified, wasn't it?"
Peter winced. "I know, but at least now we should be all set with insurance. I think we could have done without some of the 'advice,' though."
Elizabeth motioned for Neal to sit beside her on the sofa. She rubbed his shoulders and he leaned against her, happy for the sympathy.
"You did really well." She murmured. Looking at Peter, she said, "Didn't he do well?"
"Yeah, you were a good sport." He looked at his watch. "Damn, I need to get to work. I'll tell you what, Neal: when I get home, I'll give you your reward. How about that?"
Neal nodded.
Elizabeth must have felt guilty about subjecting Neal to the appraisal, because after Peter left she let Neal put off his chores, have some coffee, and spend time watching TV with her. The appraisal hadn't been any worse than what Neal had experienced in processing, but he appreciated the opportunity to relax.
* * *
Neal was in his room when Peter came home. Out of habit, he stayed where he was. He figured if he didn't make himself easily accessible, he was less likely to find himself on his knees.
He heard Peter rifling around in the master bedroom for over a half hour. Then Peter came over to the foot of the stairs and yelled, "Neal, could you come down here?"
Neal sighed and cursed his luck, but then he recalled the promise of a reward. Hoping for the best, he went down to the master bedroom.
Peter had laid out some clothes on the bed. There were a couple worn out pairs of jeans, a pair of khaki slacks, and a handful of shirts.
"What's going on?" Neal asked.
Peter smiled. "El has wanted me to go through my old clothes for months now. Since you didn't act out too much today, I thought we could see if any of this stuff fits you. Your wardrobe is pretty sparse."
Neal looked at the clothes with raised eyebrows. "My reward is to help you clean out your closet?"
"Figured we could kill two birds with one stone. Go on—take a look."
Neal stepped over to the bed and shifted through the garments, pretending to seriously consider them. But he'd already made his judgment.
He'd been wishing for more clothes for weeks, but the thought of wearing clothes that Peter Burke thought were too outdated and worn out made him very happy with what he already had.
Neal held a t-shirt up to his chest. "I'm pretty sure I didn't attend any law enforcement conventions in 2003. I'm not going to be accused of impersonating a federal agent if I wear this, will I?"
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Don't worry; I think you're safe."
Neal set the t-shirt aside and continued to shift through the items of clothing. His disdain must have been evident on his face.
"You know," Peter said, "it wouldn't kill you to pretend to be grateful. I'm trying to be nice, here. And legally, I don't even have to give you clothes except for when you go out in public. Maybe you should think about that."
Neal frowned. Peter was right, of course—Neal had heard of slaves being kept naked. He didn't believe for a second that Peter would actually do that to him. Peter was too fond of seeing himself as a kind master, and lording that over Neal. But he'd made his point, regardless.
"It's not that I don't appreciate all this," Neal said. "I do. But I'm not sure I see myself wearing some of these pieces."
"Well, if you don't like these, I guess you can get a cab and take yourself shopping for some things you like better."
"That'd be nice! If I had some money...."
"Too bad you don't."
Neal cocked his head. "Come on. Is there really no way I could...."
"I'm not spending my money so you can have fancy suits or whatever else you want. You don't need that sort of stuff right now, anyway."
"I had some really nice suits," Neal said wistfully. "Designer. Some of them were bespoke. I suppose they were sold. They told me any valuables I had were going to be auctioned off. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"No," Peter said with a touch of sympathy. "I have no idea what happened to your things."
Slaves' belongings provided a legal conundrum. Valuables were sold at auction, with the money either going to the state or to the felon's victims. The felon's family could usually get possession of any heirlooms, even valuable ones, if they could prove they had a legitimate claim to them. The state didn't care what happened to the rest of the stuff. If a felon made arrangements prior to being enslaved, they were honored. If there were no arrangements, a small amount of clothing and personal effects were stored for those who were serving brief sentences, but there were no guarantees about the fate of the rest of it.
Neal had taken his lawyer's advice and drawn up the papers bequeathing his belongings to Kate. She should have gotten whatever the state didn't auction off, but he had no way of knowing if she actually did, or where his things were now.
But he only cared about the suits, and those were gone.
"Those nice things you had—you didn’t earn them, you know. You can’t lose something you were never supposed to have in the first place."
"There’s nothing wrong with wanting to enjoy the finer things in life."
"There is when it leads you to break the law. That’s why you’re here."
Was wearing clothes he hated supposed to be his penance? It was evident that he had to try to adjust to a lower standard of living.
Peter’s clothes didn’t quite fit, but they ran large, not small, which by Peter’s judgment was good enough.
"You can roll up the cuffs," he said, indicating the too-long sleeves and pant legs.
Neal had to concede that a few of the items Peter gave him weren’t that bad. There was a button-down shirt that was almost new. He would save the stuff he didn't like for doing dirty chores.
Neal resolved that the next time Peter offered a reward for cooperation, he'd demand to know what it was first.
Chapter 5
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 2600 this part. About 122k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
On the day the appraiser was scheduled to come over, Peter took the morning off.
Neal got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but stayed barefoot and didn't commit himself to any time-consuming tasks. He knew his presence would be required, and that'd he'd almost certainly have to strip at some point.
While Neal made a show of straightening up the bookcase, Peter sat on the sofa. Elizabeth was in the kitchen, making coffee. Neither of them had said much to Neal this morning. Peter seemed calm enough, but Elizabeth had looked almost guilty when she'd encouraged Neal to take a second helping of scrambled eggs at breakfast.
"Remember what I said about being good?" Peter said.
"Hard to forget."
"Well, if you behave, there might a reward for you."
Before Neal could respond, there was a knock at the door. Peter got up to let the appraiser in.
The appraiser introduced himself as Carl. He was a stocky man with a well-groomed, graying beard. He worked for the Burkes' insurance company, and showed Peter the card that qualified him to perform state-licensed slave appraisals. He carried a soft, worn leather briefcase from which he immediately pulled a stack of papers.
He accepted a cup of coffee from Elizabeth and sat down to talk to her and Peter. Neal stood and listened, unsure of what to do with himself. He’d started to forget what it was like to have people discuss him in his presence.
"I've already reviewed the medical and dental records you forwarded to me," Carl said. "It was a good idea to take him in for exams early."
Neal had gotten checkups at the doctor and dentist during his first week with the Burkes. It felt like a long ago now, even though it’d only been a few weeks.
"He seems to be in very good health," Carl continued, looking at some paperwork he had in his lap. "It certainly helps his market value, and of course, good health reflects well on the owners. Now, on the phone, you said he performs domestic duties?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "He helps with the cooking and cleaning." She thought for a second and added, "He’s a very good cook. We haven’t had to give him any instruction."
Carl nodded and made some notes. "That’s good. Now, you’ll have to forgive me for being frank. We need to speak openly about the slave’s assets. The state assumed he would be used for companionship and sexual use as well as domestic duties. Is that the case?"
Peter and Elizabeth glanced at each other, and Peter started to play with his watchband.
"Well, yes," Peter said.
"We don’t need to discuss the details of that, of course. Just a couple questions. Are you sharing him with others? Friends?"
"No," Elizabeth said. "No, of course not. He’s just...ours."
Carl nodded and made another note. "Out of curiosity, is Neal bisexual, by any chance?"
"Well," Peter said, keeping his gaze away from Neal. "I'm not sure Neal sees himself that way...."
Carl held up a hand. "Oh, it’s no problem. Not many slaves are bisexual, and it doesn’t affect market value much. It just makes things simpler, and it can be a selling point. Not all owners realize that, so I like to bring it up."
"Oh," Elizabeth said, "well, we’re not interested in selling him."
"I understand. Now, according to the slave’s official record, he’s considered an escape risk."
"Yes," Peter explained, "they had to classify him that way because he has a history of eluding the authorities. But we keep a close eye on him. I don’t anticipate any problems that would require the insurance company to get involved. I already know there'll be a higher deductible, though."
"Maybe at first. According to my information, this isn't considered a high-risk placement. We assume you're used to handling felons. So I wouldn't expect insurance to be too prohibitive. Honestly, I'm not the one to talk to about that. The problem is that being classed as an escape risk does lower his value somewhat."
Peter nodded solemnly.
Neal's ears grew hot at hearing himself discussed this way. Like he was an object. He bit his tongue, wanting desperately to make a smart remark. But he remembered he was supposed to be conning the appraiser. He knew it was in his best interests to be appraised highly.
Setting his coffee mug and paperwork down on the coffee table, Carl said, "Would it be all right if I got a closer look at the slave, now?"
"Of course," Peter said. He looked at Neal for the first time during the proceedings. "Go on and get undressed, Neal."
Just like that, it got even worse. How long was this appraisal going to take, anyway?
As he slowly stripped off his clothes, Neal reflected on how quickly things changed. A couple months ago, this sort of humiliation was foreign to him. He'd adjusted quickly enough during processing, but now, a few weeks later, the shame was almost fresh. Maybe he'd gotten used to the comparatively better treatment at the Burkes'; maybe it was simply different having to do this in front of people he knew.
Carl stood and walked closer to Neal. He looked him up and down and covered every inch of exposed flesh with his gaze.
First, Neal had to stand up straight with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands behind his head. Carl snapped on some latex gloves and squeezed Neal's biceps. He looked into Neal's eyes and had him open his mouth.
Carl crouched down. Neal steeled himself for what he knew was coming. Carl lifted Neal's dick and gently manipulated it. Next, he pressed his fingers into Neal's balls, searching for lumps or other anomalies.
Looking over his shoulder, Carl said, "I'll measure him now, if you don't mind."
"Go ahead," Peter murmured.
Carl pulled a disposable paper measuring tape out of his pocket. He held one end at the base of Neal's cock, and the other at the head. Neal clenched his jaw. He couldn't bring himself to look down, or at Peter and Elizabeth.
He'd suffered this indignity before, at the processing center. But apparently that record wasn't enough for the appraiser's satisfaction.
Carl started to stroke Neal's cock, trying to coax it into hardness. But Neal's cock resisted this assault from a stranger.
With small huff of dissatisfaction, Carl said, "Is he more responsive with you guys?"
"Oh, yes," Elizabeth said quickly. "I think he's just nervous about the appraisal."
"Yeah, that happens. I can try to measure him again at the end." He let go of Neal's cock and stood up. To Neal, he said, "Okay, I need you to turn around and bend over."
Neal didn't see how any of this related to his value. Peter and Elizabeth didn't even show much interest in his cock, so why did it matter how long it was? And what did his ass add to his value?
But he knew he would be in trouble if he didn't obey. Slowly, he turned around and bent over, touching his toes.
"Spread your legs more," Carl said.
Neal cringed and inched his legs apart. He swore he could feel the eyes on him. He knew everyone was staring at his asshole right now.
He heard a packet of lube being torn open, and the next thing he knew, a cold, slick finger was being pushed inside him. He squirmed.
"Mm, very tight," Carl said. "Great muscle tone. I'll just manipulate his prostate a bit."
Neal's face was burning. Whether it was more from embarrassment or being upside down, he didn't know.
Carl was dispassionate as he started to stroke Neal's prostate. "You might want to think about giving him prostate massages," he said. "It's good for slaves."
Neal knew what the appraiser was trying to accomplish, and he willed his cock to get hard just to bring an end to it.
Finally, after a couple minutes, Neal's erection met Carl's satisfaction, and he removed his finger and allowed Neal to stand up again. He picked up the tape measure and took a second measurement of Neal's now-erect dick.
"Great," Carl said, finally. "I think I'm done with him. He has a wonderful body."
"You can go ahead and get dressed again," Peter said.
As he reached for his clothes, Neal couldn't help but say, "Are you sure you've seen everything?"
Peter raised his eyebrows, but Carl ignored the outburst. As Neal got dressed, Elizabeth gave him a sympathetic look.
"I'll contact you with my estimate of his value within a day or two," Carl said. "I will say that you could probably make a few thousand more on him than what you paid. You got a very good deal. If you wanted to add to his value, you could consider getting him professional training. That can add on thousands more. But if you're not planning to sell, it may not be a good investment."
"No," Elizabeth said, "we're definitely not interested in selling. And Peter and I want to handle all the training ourselves."
Carl nodded. "That's very doable. Just don’t be alarmed if it's harder than you expect. Arrangements like this can have some challenges."
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Arrangements?"
"Some couples find that the slave prefers one owner over the other. This is normal, especially if the slave isn't bisexual. But it can cause conflict."
Elizabeth blushed slightly. Peter frowned and said, "I don't think we're going to have any trouble."
After Peter saw the appraiser out, Elizabeth said, "Thank goodness that's over. It was kind of undignified, wasn't it?"
Peter winced. "I know, but at least now we should be all set with insurance. I think we could have done without some of the 'advice,' though."
Elizabeth motioned for Neal to sit beside her on the sofa. She rubbed his shoulders and he leaned against her, happy for the sympathy.
"You did really well." She murmured. Looking at Peter, she said, "Didn't he do well?"
"Yeah, you were a good sport." He looked at his watch. "Damn, I need to get to work. I'll tell you what, Neal: when I get home, I'll give you your reward. How about that?"
Neal nodded.
Elizabeth must have felt guilty about subjecting Neal to the appraisal, because after Peter left she let Neal put off his chores, have some coffee, and spend time watching TV with her. The appraisal hadn't been any worse than what Neal had experienced in processing, but he appreciated the opportunity to relax.
Neal was in his room when Peter came home. Out of habit, he stayed where he was. He figured if he didn't make himself easily accessible, he was less likely to find himself on his knees.
He heard Peter rifling around in the master bedroom for over a half hour. Then Peter came over to the foot of the stairs and yelled, "Neal, could you come down here?"
Neal sighed and cursed his luck, but then he recalled the promise of a reward. Hoping for the best, he went down to the master bedroom.
Peter had laid out some clothes on the bed. There were a couple worn out pairs of jeans, a pair of khaki slacks, and a handful of shirts.
"What's going on?" Neal asked.
Peter smiled. "El has wanted me to go through my old clothes for months now. Since you didn't act out too much today, I thought we could see if any of this stuff fits you. Your wardrobe is pretty sparse."
Neal looked at the clothes with raised eyebrows. "My reward is to help you clean out your closet?"
"Figured we could kill two birds with one stone. Go on—take a look."
Neal stepped over to the bed and shifted through the garments, pretending to seriously consider them. But he'd already made his judgment.
He'd been wishing for more clothes for weeks, but the thought of wearing clothes that Peter Burke thought were too outdated and worn out made him very happy with what he already had.
Neal held a t-shirt up to his chest. "I'm pretty sure I didn't attend any law enforcement conventions in 2003. I'm not going to be accused of impersonating a federal agent if I wear this, will I?"
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Don't worry; I think you're safe."
Neal set the t-shirt aside and continued to shift through the items of clothing. His disdain must have been evident on his face.
"You know," Peter said, "it wouldn't kill you to pretend to be grateful. I'm trying to be nice, here. And legally, I don't even have to give you clothes except for when you go out in public. Maybe you should think about that."
Neal frowned. Peter was right, of course—Neal had heard of slaves being kept naked. He didn't believe for a second that Peter would actually do that to him. Peter was too fond of seeing himself as a kind master, and lording that over Neal. But he'd made his point, regardless.
"It's not that I don't appreciate all this," Neal said. "I do. But I'm not sure I see myself wearing some of these pieces."
"Well, if you don't like these, I guess you can get a cab and take yourself shopping for some things you like better."
"That'd be nice! If I had some money...."
"Too bad you don't."
Neal cocked his head. "Come on. Is there really no way I could...."
"I'm not spending my money so you can have fancy suits or whatever else you want. You don't need that sort of stuff right now, anyway."
"I had some really nice suits," Neal said wistfully. "Designer. Some of them were bespoke. I suppose they were sold. They told me any valuables I had were going to be auctioned off. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"No," Peter said with a touch of sympathy. "I have no idea what happened to your things."
Slaves' belongings provided a legal conundrum. Valuables were sold at auction, with the money either going to the state or to the felon's victims. The felon's family could usually get possession of any heirlooms, even valuable ones, if they could prove they had a legitimate claim to them. The state didn't care what happened to the rest of the stuff. If a felon made arrangements prior to being enslaved, they were honored. If there were no arrangements, a small amount of clothing and personal effects were stored for those who were serving brief sentences, but there were no guarantees about the fate of the rest of it.
Neal had taken his lawyer's advice and drawn up the papers bequeathing his belongings to Kate. She should have gotten whatever the state didn't auction off, but he had no way of knowing if she actually did, or where his things were now.
But he only cared about the suits, and those were gone.
"Those nice things you had—you didn’t earn them, you know. You can’t lose something you were never supposed to have in the first place."
"There’s nothing wrong with wanting to enjoy the finer things in life."
"There is when it leads you to break the law. That’s why you’re here."
Was wearing clothes he hated supposed to be his penance? It was evident that he had to try to adjust to a lower standard of living.
Peter’s clothes didn’t quite fit, but they ran large, not small, which by Peter’s judgment was good enough.
"You can roll up the cuffs," he said, indicating the too-long sleeves and pant legs.
Neal had to concede that a few of the items Peter gave him weren’t that bad. There was a button-down shirt that was almost new. He would save the stuff he didn't like for doing dirty chores.
Neal resolved that the next time Peter offered a reward for cooperation, he'd demand to know what it was first.
Chapter 5
