|Donna knows (recursion) wrote in rooms,|
@ 2015-09-24 21:49:00
|Entry tags:||!dc comics, *narrative, donna carroll|
Who: Tiny!Donna Carroll
What: A visit from "her lawyer".
When: Roughly 24 hours after this.
Warnings/Rating: Nope. I just write too much. :/
She really wasn't scared.
Sure, Donna had perhaps suffered through about ten anxiety attacks in the past 24 hours, but she wasn't scared. They couldn't keep her here much longer. They didn't have anything concrete on her. It was all circumstantial. She knew that much. The lecherous creep that somehow managed to become a cop leered into her holding cell, dangling a pair of handcuffs from his index finger. "Magistrate extended your hold to the full 96 hours. Get comfortable, Janey. You're going to be here a while."
Janey. Donna rolled her eyes. They thought they were so funny. She was officially labelled as Jane Doe. It made her feel like she should be dead. Maybe she should be. Maybe she was. From what she could gather, she simply didn't exist here. They ran her name. Nothing. They ran her fingerprints. Nothing. She used her phone call to try and get a hold of her parents. Nothing. Her entire family had no record of existing. Donna had no ID, no bank account, no official enrollment at Gotham University, no citizenship, nothing. She was no one, totally alone, and all that lead the police to believe was that she was hiding something major. Hell, at this point, Donna thought she was hiding something major.
The creep cop licked his lips, his eyes darting over her slight frame, and motioned for her to put her hands through the slot of the cell door so she could be appropriately cuffed behind her back. You know, because a 95 pound nerd girl was really a threat. "Your lawyer is here. We're going to the interrogation room." Donna whimpered as the handcuffs clicked down tight on her wrists, digging into her already bruised flesh. There was no reason to have them that tight, except for the fact that the cop must have gotten off on it somehow. Her brow furrowed as the statement sunk in. Her lawyer? It must be the public defender, because she certainly didn't hire any lawyer.
Donna was led into an interrogation room, all grey concrete, with oddly no mirror inside. Once she sat, her cuffs were removed and she was left alone for less than a minute. When the door opened again, the personification of intimidation walked into the room. Expensive suit, wide shoulders, icy blue gaze. This man was not a lawyer. Maybe she was a stupid kid, but it wasn't difficult to pick up that his supposed occupation was only a facade. "We thought you'd be older," he commented as he shut off the video camera in the room, and ripped a recording device from under the table, tossing both outside the door with no regard for if they broke.
Behind messy curls, Donna stared skeptically at the man but didn't say a word. She didn't know what to say. Thankfully, he didn't need her to say anything. "You took money from the wrong account," matter of fact as he sat in the chair across the table from her. Quietly, but with a hint of defiance, she shot back immediately, "I didn't take any money." That much was true. Donna hadn't taken any money, she had transferred funds from what she believed was the Gotham University account in order to pay for the crane rental. If the school had bothered to do anything with the cow, they would have been the ones responsible for the cost of removal anyway. Donna had simply decided to skip the middle man because they didn't have time to go through the proper channels. That and she couldn't explain why she didn't have any sort of money.
"You did. The person that sent me takes great care to monitor his accounts at Gotham Bank. And according to the evidence, you've done much more than that." He opened his briefcase and started to rattle off the charges being brought against Donna for such a minor dalliance. "Identity theft, bank fraud, carding, cyberheist, extortion-" Her hands flew up in surprise, butting into the list loudly, "WOAH! Extortion? How is there anything remotely close to extortion?" The 'lawyer' ignored her question, continuing the list of charges that were being brought against her. "Extortion, theft of classified information, cyberterrorism-" "Oh, come on. That's a bit of a stretch," Donna interrupted once more, that being the closest to an admission of guilt as she had allowed.
The 'lawyer' pushed a folder across the table filled with papers, "Look for yourself." Donna shot a doubtful look at the man sitting before her, dark circles under her eyes, and reluctantly flipped through the evidence with shaky fingers. It started with the account that she had hacked. The account number looked right, according to memory, but it wasn't to Gotham University. It was very clearly a private account. Okay, maybe she had messed up. Maybe she inverted a couple of numbers or something in the rush to try and help. The rest of the papers? It was almost convincing enough to make Donna believe she had done it, but every last bit was falsified. "I didn't do this..." she muttered with a shake of her head, disbelief in her voice.
"That's right. You didn't. But you did upset someone by taking what doesn't belong to you, and reparations need to be made." He stared her down, and Donna instinctively shrinked in the chair. "The charges you're looking at put you behind bars for over two hundred years. Maybe they'll take pity on you, and you can be out in fifty with good behavior. Or you don't have to be charged with any of it. My boss is intrigued and even a little impressed. He'd be willing to forget about pressing charges, and this evidence can conveniently disappear, if you're willing to do some work for us."
It took a moment for the severity of the situation to sink in for Donna. This wasn't right. This was completely and totally unfair. There was no way for her to get out of it. He was forcing her hand, and she was only a kid. This is what it felt like to be up a certain fecal waterway without a certain rowing instrument. "This is extortion!" she exclaimed, eyes narrowed in anger "No," he responded so calmly it was unnerving to the young girl. "This is negotiation. You have until Saturday night to decide if you want to spend the rest of your life in prison or if you'd like to go back to classes."
Donna stormed out of her chair and banged on the door three times, hard, every jolt reminding her of the harsh purple bruising on her wrists from struggling against the tight binding of the handcuffs the day before, "We're done in here!" The lawyer smirked as if he knew more than she did (he did) and left a business card on the table, "I'll tell Mr. Falcone we should expect your call." With that he swept smugly out of the room, replaced by creepy cop to throw those handcuffs on once more, returning Donna to her cell.
Falcone. Okay, that name struck a chord, and her heart was racing in her throat. She knew enough to be scared now, and she was even if she couldn't quite place why. Once she was left alone, Donna curled up on the horridly uncomfortable bed, arms wrapped around her knees to make herself as small as possible. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes, overwhelmed with helplessness. She didn't have a choice. She would have to agree to whatever these guys wanted her to do if she wanted to get out of here.
Not today, though. Today was supposed to be her day. She was supposed to be happy. No one was going to get the satisfaction of making her cry. Her head dipped down, forehead on her knees, hair curtaining the light away from sight, and she tried to think about anything else, anything good, until she finally passed out from exhaustion into a dreamless sleep.
Sigh. Happy Birthday, Donna.