Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
“Do those pay better?”
“Only if you’re willing to move to Los Angeles.” I unlock the door and walk into his kitchen. “I might have to consider that someday.”
“I wouldn’t appreciate that.”
“I’m sure.” I laugh. “Want to tell me about what’s going on with my father’s case?”
“Nice try.” There’s a smile in his voice. “You can tell me about your upcoming rehearsal schedule, though.”
“Of course…” I roll my eyes. “Give me one second.”
I put my phone on mute and set my bags on the counter, knocking a stack of mail to the floor.
Shit.
I stoop down to pick it up, but the names on the envelopes make me pause.
Peter Hansel. Elizabeth Grisham. Damien Knight. Lucas Hunter. James Tate.
I chalk the latter one up to a misspelling, but the other four definitely aren’t, and these parcels weren’t forwarded like my mail was.
They weren’t even marked with this address or this city.
It’s like he stole them from their real addresses.
Or maybe they’re clients like my father…
Tucking the one with my father’s name under my arm, I return the others to where they were.
I unmute my phone and plop onto the living room couch.
“Hello?” I say.
“I’ll have to call you back, Scarlett,” he says. “I have a client waiting on my office line.”
“A guilty one?”
“Not when I’m done with him.” He laughs and ends the call.
I stare at the envelope with my father’s name, pressing my pinky against the letters, wondering what exactly he needs help with legally.
“Opening someone else’s mail is a crime,” I whisper to myself. “Opening someone else’s mail is a crime.”
I wait for ten minutes, vowing to put it back where it belongs, but I can’t help it.
I gently slide my finger under the flap and tear it open.
It’s a short letter, and the letterhead—Hamilton & Associates—takes up most of the page.
Jameson,
I’ve looked into this as you requested.
You have most of the expected charges correct, but you missed a few below. Expected to be announced next month.
Until you decide to switch sides, good luck.
Client: Lucas Hunter III
Illegal Gambling & Racketeering (Main Charges)
Wire Fraud (Sixteen Counts)
False Imprisonment (Three Counts)
Attempted Murder (Eight Counts)
The paper slips from my hands, and everything around me fades into a blur.
What the fuck…
OBLIGATION (N.):
A LEGAL DUTY TO PAY OR DO SOMETHING.
JAMESON
Friday
“What part of ‘Never talk to the police without your lawyer’ is hard for you to understand, Mr. Grisham?” I glare at my latest client. “Not a fucking word.”
“They were being so nice.” He smiles. “They brought me my favorite donuts.”
“To coerce a confession out of you.” I slam my hand against the interrogation table. “How do you not know this?”
“They were cinnamon and cream filled,” he says. “You probably wouldn’t have been able to resist either.”
I shut the pink box he’s staring at.
“You have a lawyer,” I say. “A very fucking good one who you pay a shit ton of money to every month. You do not talk to police, and you never ever speak to a detective without me being right beside you, clear?”
“Clear…” He nods. “Am I screwed now?”
“No.” I look at my watch. “Luckily for you, they didn’t read your Miranda rights, so nothing you said can be used. You’ll spend tonight in jail, though. I’ll be sure to get you out tomorrow.”
“Okay, great.” He pauses. “Do you think I stole all that money from my boss?”
I know you did. “My job is to make sure the jury doesn’t, Mr. Grisham.”
“That’s fair.” He looks at the donut box. “Can I have those back until they formally arrest me?”
I slide it to him and leave the room.
Rushing across the street to the courthouse, I make it through security and hear a loud, piercing, heart-wrenching scream sift down the hallway.
I move closer, seeing security guards escorting a heavy-set man out of the farthest courtroom.
“Shhhh!” One of the guards says. “You can’t act like that in the courtroom. You’re lucky the judge isn’t holding you in contempt.”
“It’s not fair!” The man wails. “That man is a murderer and he’s getting away with it!”
“Sir, calm down or—”
“Or what?” He yells. “I don’t have anything to live for anymore. Fuck you!”
“Sir, the jury has spoken.”
“They got it fucking wrong!” He swings at the officers. “The jury got it wrong!”
I watch them carry him away in cuffs and tears, feeling my chest ache at a scene I know all too well.
Nothing like Lady Justice fucking someone over…
When the hall is quiet again, I walk toward the lead clerk’s office.
Scarlett
Hey…
It’s Friday now. I need to talk to you about something important.
“Shit.” I sigh and make a mental note to call her later.
“Is there any moral line you won’t cross, Jameson Fucking Tate?” Julia steps in front of me as I approach the clerk’s office. “Like, any?”
“We really don’t have to talk every time we run into each other, Julia…” I say. “I have some business to handle.”