White Collar: Shadows of Caffrey

It was the smell of antiseptic that hit me first. The sharp, sterile tang dragged me out of the foggy abyss of unconsciousness. When I opened my eyes, the glaring white light of a hospital ceiling greeted me. My mind struggled to piece together where I was or how I had gotten here. My last memory was... dying. A traffic accident—a truck running a red light, the blaring horn, and the sickening crunch of metal crumpling around me.

And now... this.

"Welcome back," a calm, deep voice said, startling me. I turned my head to see a man in a tailored black suit sitting casually in a chair by my bedside. An immaculately groomed man, with piercing blue eyes and an aura of authority.

"Who... are you?" My voice came out hoarse.

"Call me Michael," he said, standing and approaching my bed. His presence was commanding, and his gaze held a mix of amusement and... something else. "You, my friend, have been given a second chance."

"Second chance?" I frowned, trying to sit up. My body felt off—stronger, leaner, as if I'd spent years in peak condition. The sensation was disorienting.

Michael nodded. "You've been reincarnated. Think of it as a... reward. You impressed the powers that be, and now you're here."

I blinked at him. "Here? Where exactly is 'here'?"

Michael's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Manhattan. More specifically, the world of White Collar."

My brain stalled. That was impossible. White Collar was a show, a fictional universe I had binge-watched more times than I cared to admit. Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Mozzie—the cons, the heists, the witty banter... it wasn't real.

"You're kidding," I muttered.

"Far from it," Michael replied. "You've been placed here with a specific role to play. Neal Caffrey needs someone watching his back—someone skilled, resourceful, and untraceable. Enter Henry Caffrey, the elder brother who doesn't officially exist."

That's when it hit me. I wasn't just in a new world—I was in a new body. A glance at the mirror across the room confirmed it. The face staring back at me was unrecognizable, yet disturbingly familiar. It wasn't mine. It was Henry Cavill's. Or at least, someone who looked exactly like him.

The next few days passed in a surreal blur. Michael disappeared as mysteriously as he'd appeared, leaving me to navigate my new life as Henry Caffrey. I was given fragments of this body's past—an elite thief, a master forger, a hacker who could slip in and out of the digital world like a ghost. But the kicker? Henry didn't officially exist. No records, no fingerprints, no identity in any database.

It was a blank slate, and I had all the tools to write my own story.

I discovered my safehouse in Tribeca—a minimalist loft filled with everything a thief could dream of. Lockpicking sets, counterfeit IDs, burner phones, and a walk-in closet of bespoke suits that screamed "wealthy conman." I didn't just feel like a character in White Collar; I felt like I was better.

But as I pieced together my new existence, one name kept pulling at me: Neal Caffrey. My little brother.

The thought of Neal made my chest tighten. I'd always admired his charm and artistry when pulling a con, but now, as his older brother, a protective instinct surged within me. I knew where we were in the timeline—Season 1. Neal had just been released from prison on a deal with the FBI. He was chasing Kate, walking the tightrope between loyalty to Peter and his own agenda.

And he had no idea I existed.

The moment I saw him, I almost laughed.

Neal stood on the tarmac of a small airstrip, flanked by Peter Burke and Diana. Dressed in a slim-fit suit with that familiar Caffrey smirk, he looked every bit the dashing conman. But I saw the cracks beneath the facade—the lingering pain of Kate's betrayal and the desperate determination to find her.

I parked my car a distance away, watching as they loaded him into the black FBI SUV. For now, I'd keep my distance. Neal had enough on his plate without me dropping the bombshell of my existence. But it wouldn't be long.

That night, I made my move.

Neal's apartment was as impeccable as I expected. The loft-style space was a blend of classic and modern, with an eclectic mix of art and antiques. He had taste; I'd give him that. Breaking in was almost too easy, and I found myself perched on his couch, sipping a glass of wine as I waited for him to return.

The door clicked open around midnight. Neal stepped inside, his movements relaxed but precise. He froze when he saw me, his hand instinctively reaching for... nothing. He didn't carry weapons.

"Who the hell are you?" Neal demanded, his eyes narrowing.

I smiled, setting the glass down. "That's not the greeting I was expecting."

His gaze flicked to the wine, then back to me. "You've got ten seconds to explain why you're in my apartment before I call the cops."

"Call Peter," I said casually. "He'll love this.\u201d I leaned back, steepling my fingers. "Or, you could sit down, and we can talk like civilized people."

Neal didn't move, his blue eyes studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve. Finally, he asked, "What do you want?"

"To help you," I said simply.

He laughed, the sound bitter. "I don't need help. Especially not from a stranger who broke into my apartment."

I stood, smoothing the lapels of my jacket. "You don't recognize me, Neal, but I\u2019ve been keeping an eye on you. Watching your back. Call it a brotherly instinct."

That got his attention. His expression shifted from suspicion to outright confusion. "Brotherly?"

I nodded. "Henry Caffrey. Older by four years. I've been... off the grid for a while."

Neal's jaw tightened. "You're lying."

"Am I?" I stepped closer, dropping my voice. "You always had a habit of twirling your pen when you were nervous. You'd hum Sinatra songs off-key just to annoy Dad. And that time in Paris, when you conned your way into that gallery opening? Who do you think hacked the security feed to cover your tracks?"

Neal's face paled. "That\u2026 that was you?"

I shrugged. "You were too busy charming the curator to notice."

The silence stretched between us, thick with tension. Neal's walls were formidable, but I saw the cracks forming. Finally, he asked the question I'd been waiting for.

"Why now?"

"Because you're in over your head," I said bluntly. "Kate, the music box, Adler... it's a tangled web, and you need someone who can operate in the shadows. Someone who doesn't exist."

Neal's lips curved into a wry smile. "And that's you?"

I smirked. "You have no idea."