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)
“Here.” She pulls an envelope from her pocket and tosses it across the table.
It’s my fucking personal mail with his potential upcoming charges laid out in black and white.
“Good people don’t open other people’s mail.” I can’t believe she opened my shit. “You’ve officially lost any standing on your fake moral high ground.”
“I can’t be with you if you represent my father.”
“You think I’d give up an eight-figure client for you?” I hiss. “Because of your feelings?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Oh.” I lean back. “You do think that, don’t you?”
Her expression says it all.
“Well, I won’t, because contrary to your non-fucking legal brain, there are these things called ‘evidence’ and ‘trial,’ and you have to get through those before you get to a not guilty verdict.”
“I’m sure my father is guilty of other terrible things.”
“You’re not a lawyer or a juror, Scarlett.” My blood is boiling. “Sometimes the guilty people get set free and the innocent people get convicted. Sometimes it takes men like me to make the system balance for all the mistakes it made in the past.”
“So, that’s what you’re doing by helping people like my dad?” She grits her teeth. “Evening the scales until you feel like the system has paid you back?”
“It’s not about me.” I glare at her. “And last time I checked, I don’t have to answer to you.”
“How many guilty-ass people do you need to get off before enough is enough?”
Nine hundred sixty-seven. “I think you need to leave.”
“After you tell me, Jameson.” She shakes her head. “What’s the fucking number?”
“Scarlett… Leave.”
“Is there one?”
I stand up from my chair. “I’m not going to ask you again.”
“You’re not going to see me again either.”
“I assure you I won’t cry about it.”
“Neither will I.”
“I doubt it.”
She storms past me and slams my door shut on her way out.
ADMISSION OF GUILT (N.):
A STATEMENT BY SOMEONE ACCUSED OF A CRIME THAT HE/SHE COMMITTED THE OFFENSE.
SCARLETT
“You think I’d give up an eight-figure client for you?”
Jameson’s words are playing in my mind on a loop as I pace my dorm room later that night.
Fuck him… I try to ignore the hot tears streaming down my face and the aching in my chest, but it’s no use.
“Please pick up, Francis. Please pick up…” I hold my cell up to my ear.
Francis has never let his phone ring more than twice before answering, and I don’t understand why it’s taking him so long now.
Maybe he’s with my mom.
When his voicemail sounds, I try again.
It rings once.
“Hello?” A muffled voice answers.
“Francis, it’s me, Scarlett,” I say. “I know you have a loyalty to my dad, but I need a favor and—”
“What favor would you need from Francis that you couldn’t ask me for?” My father’s voice is now loud and clear.
I gasp.
“Scarlett?” he asks. “Are you there?”
“Yes.” A lie rolls toward the tip of my tongue with ease. “It was just a personal thing I needed to talk to him about.”
“Oh, I see,” he says. “Well, unfortunately, Francis is no longer with us.”
“What do you mean, no longer with us?”
“He doesn’t work for this family anymore, Scarlett,” he says. “Perhaps I can help you with this ‘personal’ thing?”
“Yeah, um…” I stop pacing. “He mentioned that I left some really important notes in the town car, and I’m just now remembering.”
“Hmmm. Well, I’ll contact our new head of security and see if he remembers Francis saying something about that before he left us.”
“Is there a chance that Francis will come back someday?”
“I doubt it,” he says. “That’d be almost supernatural for him to do.”
I blink, certain I’ve misheard his words, but I know I haven’t.
“Anything else you need, Scarlett?”
“Yes, actually,” I say. “I wanted to know if I could sit in on your next meeting with your lawyer.”
“I’m afraid not,” he says. “It’s just boring tax things and accounting.”
“Oh. So, nothing criminal?” I’m pushing my luck and I know it. “It’s just light things?”
“If you ever hear anything different, it’s a lie, Scarlett.” His voice is terse. “People lie about successful businessmen like me all the time. It’s exactly what I told you it is.”
I nod. He’s not as convincing of a liar as me, and I can’t believe it’s taken me all these years to see it.
“Okay. Thank you very much, Dad.”
“You’re very welcome, Scarlett.”
Neither of us hang up the phone, and I can hear my mother humming something in the background.
“Did Mom tell you we ran into each other in New York a few weeks back?” I ask.
“Yes.” He lets out a low laugh. “She called Harvard and asked them exactly where you’d be for your field study. I heard you two had a wonderful lunch.”
“Right.” I swallow. “Well, I have to go back to studying.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
I end the call with my emotions hanging by a thread, but I don’t dare dwell.