“And Aunt Katherine?”
“Elisabetta said the last she knew, she was heading to an overnight spa place and hadn’t come back yet. She didn’t remember which one. I’ve got Cannon trying to track her down.”
So once again, my brother had everything under control, down to checking with the housekeeper. “Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything from me.”
“Just stay out of trouble, Greer.”
Again, the fuckup feeling grew exponentially.
“Will do. Glad you’re okay, Creighton.”
Recalling the conversation while in the back of a cab headed for Rikers Island almost surely makes it a little more ironic.
“Just stay out of trouble, Greer.”
That’s what I’m working on, brother dearest.
I’ll be in and out, and no one will be the wiser. All I need is my client’s signature on the letter requesting my withdrawal from the case, and this will all become a bad memory.
The process to get into the prison is almost as hard as getting out. Because I don’t have a formal appointment, I have to wait longer than I hoped, and the Saturday crowd waiting to visit loved ones is out of control.
One woman waits with a baby bouncing on her lap. She’s dressed neatly in black pants and a pink-and-white striped shirt that matches the baby’s onesie.
Is she visiting the father? I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have to stare at the man you loved through inches of bulletproof glass or across a table while he’s wearing a prison jump suit.
I glance down at the clock on my phone for the seventy-seventh time. I told Cav this morning that I was going to meet someone from work because there were still some loose ends to tie up on my exit from the firm and handing over the case. I don’t know if he didn’t realize today was Saturday, but he didn’t ask any other questions.
It isn’t a lie, I tell myself as the guilt creeps up again. But it definitely isn’t the whole truth either.
Cav’s preoccupation could probably be chalked up to the fact that he was heading to meet Dom, which sounded more than a little ominous to me.
Finally, an hour later, I’m called in to meet with Stephen Cardelli. A rush of relief sweeps through me because for the last thirty minutes, I truly thought he was going to decline to meet, which would screw me on multiple levels. But he didn’t.
As I walk into the interview room, I’m mentally rehearsing the very apologetic and persuasive conversation I’m about to have with Mr. Cardelli. I’m seated in the molded plastic chair bolted to the floor and table when the guard brings him in.
His gray hair is greasy and falling over his forehead in chunks, and his skin is flushed red, either from exertion or something else. His faded blue gaze fixes on me and intensifies.
I’ve never truly understood the real meaning of feeling my skin crawl until now. But under the scrutiny of Cardelli, I absolutely do. Both Jade and Cav’s warnings run through my head, highlighted in bright colors and underlined several times.
“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” the guard says, locking Cardelli’s shackles into the bolts on the floor and table.
This is new—and disturbing. Did something happen since last time to necessitate the extra security precautions?
The man in front of me gives me a cruel, disgusting smile, and I know I’m not going to pose the question to him.
He hasn’t even opened his mouth yet and I already know I’ve made a horrible mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. I should have let the firm deal with it.
My belly flips with the premonition from earlier.
“You got some good timing in some ways and shit timing in others,” Cardelli says.
I launch into my rehearsed spiel right then. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cardelli; I owe you an apology. I missed the filing deadline on your case, and I’m not certain whether or not the court is going to waive it. They should because it was my mistake and not yours, but either way, it happened and the firm is going to try to fix it. Everyone agrees that the best alternative is to have another lawyer take over your case.”
His expression grows thunderous. “You fucked my shit up? What the hell? You’re the fanciest lawyers in town. That ain’t right.”
Sitting in front of this disgusting man, I actually feel guilt. He’s the one trapped behind bars, and I have the professional obligation to discharge my duties according to the rules of the court, and I couldn’t even do that. Now my solution to him is please let me off the case and maybe someone can fix it. This is his life, and all I care about is getting myself out of this situation. Nice, Greer.