Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
The elevator doors slide open, and there the golden goddess stands. Marnie looks up, startled, blue eyes wide and wild for a split second before she resets to neutral. “Sorry I’m late,” she mewls, stepping inside. “The Uber took a detour through Gravesend, and I’m not sure why.”
“It’s fine,” I say, and for once, it actually is. “Drink?”
“Wine, please,” she says, “If you have it, that is.” I’m already pouring. The bottle is a syrah, deep and bruised; I hand her a glass and watch the tension go out of her shoulders as she takes the first sip. "Mmm, so good.”
“You like?” I ask.
Marnie smiles sweetly.
“Very much so, thank you.”
I have half a mind to throw her on the rug right now, but dinner’s already ready, so I gesture her through the living room. She runs a finger along the edge of a sculpture as we pass, leaving a perfect fingerprint. “You have an Alexander Calder?”
“I have two,” I say in a low rumble. “I have to admit I wasn’t into the colors at first because they can be freakin’ bright. But my interior decorator convinced me, and now everyone who comes over loves them.”
Marnie shoots me a sweet smile over one slim shoulder.
“I love this one, Brent,” she mewls. “It’s gorgeous.”
Again, the caveman instinct to toss her over one shoulder and ravish her curves is strong, but we’ve reached the dining room, so it’s a bit too late. No matter. We’ll have time later. As Marnie sits, I pour her another splash of wine and gesture to the osso buco in front of her. “I hope you eat veal.”
She smiles sweetly again. “I’m a curvy girl, so I love all food, and this smells absolutely delicious. I bet I’ll have two portions.”
I nod with approval.
“Please do, sweetheart. There’s enough for thirds even, and you know I adore your curves. Hell, if you put on thirty pounds, you’d look even better.”
She blushes.
“Thirty pounds!”
“Hell yeah,” I rasp while eyeing her big breasts. “I love a woman with flesh, sweetheart, and making those tits grow, as well as your ass, would be ideal.”
Marnie giggles.
“Oh my god, you’re so bad, Brent. I can’t put on thirty pounds, not when the doctors are already offering me Ozempic! But this isn’t a topic for dinner, not when the food looks so amazing. So tell me everything. How did you come to practice law?”
I nod while cutting into my own osso buco, and we chat about the usual. A bit about our backgrounds, schooling, work experience, etc. Usually, I find this shit boring as hell, but with the vivacious girl, everything’s interesting. At one point, Marnie tells a story about a TA who hit on her during section, except he was so inept that he ended up tripping over his own shoes. I snort so hard with laughter I almost choke. But the main event, the reason Marnie’s here, sits between us like an unacknowledged guest.
I wait until she’s halfway through her second glass to bring it up.
“About your father’s case,” I say, not quite a question.
Marnie sets her fork down. Her eyes go unreadable, as she bites her bottom lip. “Are you going to tell me I’m wasting my time?”
“Not at all,” I say in a smooth tone, choosing my words. “I want you to find what you’re looking for.”
She cocks her head curiously. “But why?”
I pour a splash for myself, then answer: “Because I was there.”
She inhales sharply, those big tits rising. “Yes, I know, but explain please.”
I set my glass down and stare at the city below, at the endless web of lights and moving cars. For the first time in years, I feel the old acid at the back of my throat.
“I was assigned second chair on your father’s defense,” I say. “Hoffman was lead. He hated me, but the partners forced him to take me on because I was supposed to “learn” from him. Instead, he froze me out of every strategy session, every pretrial meeting. Gave me busywork and ignored every question I asked. I watched as they railroaded your dad, Marnie. Watched the evidence get torched. I tried to flag it, but they shut me down—said it wasn’t my place to question a senior partner. So I didn’t.”
She says nothing, just watches me, the muscles in her jaw twitching.
“I was young,” I say, hating the way it sounds, the excuse in it. “I wanted to keep my job. I wanted to make partner. So I shut my fucking mouth and let it happen.”
The words hang in the air, ugly and sharp.
“I’ve never forgiven myself for it,” I admit in a low voice as heat crawls up my neck. “Not once.”
Marnie sits very still. Then, “So you did nothing?”
I shake my head. “I tried, later. I compiled everything I had, sent it to the Innocence Project. Never heard back. Years passed. I told myself it was out of my hands. Then I made partner, and the first case I closed was a wrongful conviction. But it didn’t fix anything because I still see your dad’s file every time I walk into the records room.”