Chapter 8
The holding cell was cold.
Concrete floor.
Metal bench.
A single fluorescent light that buzzed and flickered, making my eyes hurt.
There were three other women in the cell with me. Two were asleep on the bench. The third was sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth, muttering to herself.
I sat down on the end of the bench as far from everyone as I could get.
I folded my hands in my lap.
I breathed.
In.
Out.
I’d been in worse situations.
When I was building the company, I’d slept in my office for three straight months. I’d been threatened by competitors. I’d been audited by the IRS. I’d faced down men twice my size who’d tried to bully me into selling.
This was nothing.
A minor inconvenience.
Sarah would be here in the morning.
She’d get me out.
She’d get the charges thrown out.
And Helen would be facing a whole new set of problems—filing a false police report, perjury, obstruction of justice.
I closed my eyes.
I thought of Leo.
His laugh.
His messy hair in the morning.
The way he still reached for my hand when we crossed the street, even though he was getting too old for it.
I thought of David.
How he’d looked when he saw the bruise on Leo’s face.
How he’d chosen us.
Chosen his son.
Chosen me.
Over his own mother.
I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, the cell door was clanging open.
A guard stood there.
“Carter,” she said. “You’re out. Bail’s been posted. Your lawyer’s waiting.”
I stood up.
My back ached from the hard bench.
I followed her out through the maze of corridors.
Sarah was waiting for me at the front desk.
She was wearing a tailored navy suit, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, holding a stack of papers that looked about a foot thick. She looked like she hadn’t slept.
“Took you long enough,” I said, smiling.
She didn’t smile back.
“It’s not over,” she said. She handed me a coffee from the vending machine. It was lukewarm and tasted like cardboard, but I drank it anyway. “The judge who signed that warrant? Judge Holloway. He’s been on the bench for twenty-two years. And for the last eighteen of them, he’s been a close personal friend of Helen Carter’s late husband. They were in the same Rotary Club. Same country club. Their kids went to the same private school.”
I stopped walking.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” Sarah said. “Helen didn’t just get lucky. She called in a favor. A big one. Holloway signed that warrant at ten o’clock at night without reading a single piece of evidence we submitted. He didn’t look at the video. He didn’t look at the medical records. He just took her word for it and signed.”
We walked out the front doors of the station.
The sun was just coming up.
Pink and orange streaked across the sky.
David was leaning against the hood of the car, waiting for me. When he saw me, he pushed off and ran over. He pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe.
“I was so worried,” he said into my hair. “I didn’t sleep at all. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I said. I kissed him. “Just tired. And ready to end this.”
We got in the car.
Sarah got in the back.
“Here’s the situation,” she said, opening her folder. “Holloway is assigned to our civil case too. That’s the bad news. He’s going to do everything he can to drag this out, to rule against us on every motion, to make this as expensive and painful for you as possible. He’s in Helen’s pocket, and there’s no way we’re getting a fair trial with him on the bench.”
“So what do we do?” David asked.
“We get him off the case,” Sarah said simply.
“Can we do that?” I said.
“Judges are required to recuse themselves if there’s a conflict of interest,” Sarah said. “A thirty-year friendship with the defendant’s late husband? That’s not just a conflict. That’s a judicial ethics violation waiting to happen. I’ve already drafted the motion. I’m filing it today. Along with a complaint to the State Judicial Conduct Commission.”
She pulled a piece of paper out of her folder and handed it to me.
It was a photo.
Judge Holloway.
At a charity golf tournament.
Standing arm in arm with Helen.
Both of them smiling.
The photo was dated—three weeks before the party.
“Where did you get this?” I said.
“Your security team,” Sarah said. “Marcus has been doing some digging. He’s got photos of them having dinner together twice a month. Emails. Text messages. Holloway has even been advising Helen on her legal strategy for the last month. All while he was assigned to our case.”
I looked at the photo again.
Helen’s arm was looped through the judge’s.
She looked triumphant.
Like she already knew she’d won.
She’d thought she was so smart.
Calling in favors.
Fixing the game.
But she’d made a mistake.
She’d gotten greedy.
She’d left a trail.
And now we had it.
“File it all,” I said. “Every photo. Every email. Every text. I want Holloway off the case. I want him investigated. And I want Helen charged with every crime she’s committed. Perjury. Subornation of perjury. Bribery of a public official. Whatever you can make stick.”
Sarah smiled.
May you like
It was a terrifying smile.
“Already on it,” she said.
