“After taking guardianship of Jackson Prescott, Mr. Prescott is prepared to give each of the children their own substantial trust fund that will set them up for their future.”
“Their future? What about their present, Mr. Callahan?” she scorches indignantly. “What about their present suffering? Say nothing of their future-decades of suffering from being separated from each other, possibly never to be reunited? How could any grandfather do—or allow—such a thing?”
“Ms.—”
“No! No deal! They need love… they need each other!” She presses her fists against the table. “You of all people should know what it’s like to grow up in foster homes.”
Her words immediately level me. My expression must expose my shock.
“I know a little about you. You’re a celebrity in this city. I’ve seen the headlines. Just think about it. Those kids are going to be split up and put in the hands of complete strangers with no support, no one to trust, no one to protect them and no one to turn to, Mr. Callahan. Now, you may not have had siblings, but to be torn apart like they’ve been—deliberately because of the selfishness of their powerful grandfather… you must be able to put yourself in their place.”
Siblings. She’s tearing me apart faster than I can catch up. My mind quickly grasps for my brothers. And I realize I feel defensive. I had nothing and no one for so long. I have brothers now. The only family I’ve ever truly known. Even as an adult I couldn’t imagine my life without them.
My pulse speeds up and I can feel the beads of sweat rising between my shoulder blades. She’s right about the kids. And it cuts to the quick.
But… I wince as I interrupt her. “Ms. Hayes, they’ve been on the waiting list six months, and no one’s come forward to take all three children. At the very least, with Mr. Prescott’s offer, they’ll have some compensation.”
“Compensation?” she nearly shouts as she leaps to her feet. “Say their names, Mr. Callahan: Jackson, Max and Lily. Make them human in your cold, sterile world.”
I’m the biggest fucking asshole on the planet.
“Lily is five years old.” Her voice is full of passion and pain as she leans in toward me, imploringly. “She won’t even remember what her brothers look like. They’ll be nothing but whispers of a memory.”
She continues, “It takes just one,” she raises her index finger. “One family hearing about their plight. Tori Gellar at the Star Tribune is going to write a feature story and Tom Beatty from Channel Five News is setting up an interview with me. If we can get enough publicity… there’s still a chance for them to be together. But once guardianship papers are signed, Jackson’s grandfather will never let him go, he’ll never let Jackson even see Max and Lily.
“And Mr. Callahan, there’s more to it.” She drops her voice. “Something more insidious. I have it under good authority that several families came forward months ago and petitioned for the chance to foster all three children.”
She pauses, and I bite. “What happened?”
“Judge Andrews denied them, found some ‘flaw’ with each family. But when I spoke to the investigative social service worker, she was baffled by the ruling and assured me that the families had been outstanding candidates.”
My eyes narrow. “What are you suggesting?”
She lowers her voice to just above a whisper. “That Mr. Whitmore Prescott has rigged your local judicial system.”
“You think he has Judge Andrews in his pocket?” I shake my head. No way. “That’s ludicrous. There must have been some other circumstances you don’t know about.”
“I have the transcript of the social workers’ findings and copies of Judge Andrew’s signatures.” She secures a file folder from her attaché, thumbs through it momentarily then yanks the papers out and sets them on the table in front of me. “If you care to see for yourself.”
My eyes drop to the table and I wonder if, with all his financial freedom, my client didn’t do exactly what Ms. Hayes is suggesting. But the sheer audacity of the idea passes quickly. I trust my boss.
She sighs. “I had hoped Whitmore Prescott would’ve opened his heart to Max and Lily. If he was ever going to, the death of his own daughter should have already blown it wide open. But his heart is the coldest granite. And as for the money? Those children could spend that whole great big trust fund searching for their siblings and never find them.” Ms. Hayes sits in the seat next to me and commands my full attention—not like she hasn’t already had it from the moment she stepped into the room. “Do you know why the powerful Mr. Whitmore Prescott doesn’t want them all?”
The case file vaguely read that he was unable to because of age. “I assume it’s because he’s getting on in years.”
“If that were the case, Mr. Moneybags could simply hire a live-in nanny.”
“Educate me, then.”
“He cares only about Jackson because of who his father was. Clifford Stanton—of Stanton Enterprises.”
Again, I have to hide my surprise and wonder why I wasn’t informed of this in my briefing with Mr. Harrison. Or why that fact wasn’t even in the Prescott file.
She continues, “Whitmore’s daughter Emily Prescott got together with Stanton on her fifteenth birthday. Before her sweet sixteen, she had Jackson. Stanton didn’t want the responsibility and tried to get her to have an abortion. Whitmore agreed to finance a hush-hush abortion in Illinois. Emily wasn’t having it. She ran away, stayed in shelters, and put herself through school. Whitmore all but disowned her. After Jackson was born, Whitmore tried to reconnect. She didn’t trust his motives but forgave him. A couple years after that, she married a mechanic, who fathered Max and Lily. Despite Emily forgiving her father and allowing him to see his all his grandchildren, Whitmore wanted nothing to do with the low-class children and only wanted to make acquaintance with Jackson.”
“How do you know all of this? The gossip columns?” I ask dismissively.
“All of that information came directly from your client, whom I interviewed after Jackson and I first met. He’s unabashedly and brazenly honest.”
It’s as if she just stuck a grenade in my ear and pulled the pin.
I steer the conversation another direction for clarity. “Clifford Stanton never stepped up to the plate, even after Emily’s death?”
“He doesn’t want anything to do with Jackson.” She scoffs. “He has a picture-perfect family now. No, he signed away all parental rights after Jackson was born.” Her face puckers in disgust, as if she’s tasted something very sour.
I don’t blame her. It’s like the universe had it out for those kids.
I have to focus. The universe doesn’t have it out for anyone—especially not three innocent kids. In fact, it seems the only ones who had it out for Jackson, Max and Lily were the adults in their lives. And now the universe is putting them into my lap somehow, or Ms. Hayes’s.
I’ll have to research her story further, and I hope it’s full of loopholes and misinformation. I can’t trust her yet. But… I do. I’ve always had good intuition when it comes to reading people, or so I thought, and I read her as being honest.
Elle captures my gaze. “If those children are separated and the files sealed, they’ll be handed the verdict of a lifetime full of heartache.”
My gut twists, but I say it anyway. “Whether or not I agree with my client’s ethical integrity, the judge has allowed eight weeks for a decision from us, before he makes his own—”
“You just don’t get it.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “He’ll never stop running. He’ll never stop searching.” She swallows so hard it’s audible.
When her eyes open, I see only fire. “I will find them a home within the eight weeks. Just keep your dog of a client off my back and the judge out of his pocket and maybe these kids will have a fair chance—but of course, you may be just as morally bankrupt as the people you’re working for. If that’s the case, then I’ll fight you too. See you in court, Mr. Callahan.” She turns on her heel and swee
ps out the door.
Jesus, fuck! I can’t take being inside my own head for one more fucking minute!
I’m falling off the edge. This isn’t just another war. This is something else entirely.
What the fuck is the universe trying to tell me?
I’m a good man. I turned my life around! I work to save kids nearly every fucking day of my life! And here are these three lives that I’m going to help shatter?
And what’s with the pendant? Right now?
“I need to know!” I shout through the roof of my car to the sky above as I speed my way to the other side of town.
The last time I saw that pendant, I was saving someone with the exact same fire in her eyes. I always thought I’d see her again, I dreamed about seeing her again.
The tires scream as I skid to a stop at the curb and park in front of Talon’s place. I grab my gear bag and sling it over my shoulder. Having a key, I let myself in, and strip out of my respectable suit and silk tie right there in the foyer. I feel like ripping them off, like they’re something dirty.
I feel filthy.
Roughly, I unzip my bag, yank out my thermal running gear, and pull them on.
Christ, the entire situation makes me feel disoriented, unfocused.
Is she right? Are Harrison and Andrews in Prescott’s pocket? Harrison likes to run with the wealthy and prominent. And I’ve heard a few stories about Andrews I’d always hoped were just backlash gossip from disgruntled attorneys.
But I’m losing faith in the system, in my boss. In my fucking self!
Kicking my gear bag against the wall, I lock the door behind me and take off down the sidewalk.
“Say their names, Mr. Callahan: Jackson, Max and Lily. Make them human in your cold, sterile world.”
“Jackson, Max, Lily.” I repeat their names like a mantra as my music pours through my earbuds, my feet pounding the pavement as I run hard.
Run. Like I’m running away, again.
Trying to find my mother.
I would’ve given my life’s blood to have found her. Why should Jackson be different?
The answer is simple. He isn’t.
And all the adults think he should sit and take it?
“Jackson, Max, Lily.” Each name rides between exerted breaths.
I can picture Jackson: a pair of hard-worn Converse, night after night hitting the concrete, racing through neighborhoods for a possible glimpse, hiding when he’s too tired to go any farther, hiding in dark city alleys, between boxes and dumpsters, repeating their names.
I know, because I did it.
Ms. Hayes is right. He’ll never stop running.
No amount of money or security will change that.
Love is always more powerful.
At least for those with integrity and a pure heart. Jackson must have inherited those traits from his mother because his grandfather and father seem completely devoid of either.
My muscles burn and the cold air stings my lungs as I run harder.
Run. Like I’ve been shoved headlong into a future and a shitload of circumstances I’m not sure I fucking understand and don’t have control over.
I want to howl. This was supposed to have been it for me, this case. My win!
My partnership!
I’m angry. Fucking pissed! There are too many injustices I can’t fucking fix!
Fucking Harrison! A small light like a pinpoint resists the dark—maybe he somehow doesn’t know what’s happening. That has to be it.
“Lily is five years old… She won’t even remember what her brothers look like.”
Oxygen presses in and out of my lungs as I breathe deeply, expending the charge that has built inside me. I watch the vapors wisp from between my lips into the cold evening air. The streetlights overhead illuminate the city street on the way to my destination.
God, her eyes… they penetrate me. Pierce me.
I want her to see me! Instead she sees the suit.
I can’t still the burning. I want her to know me.
Why is it so important she knows you?
I don’t bother to slow down as I reach The House of Ink and Steel, grab hold of the handle on the front door of the tattoo shop and yank the fucking thing open.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Adrienne sits behind the large front counter, glass panels framed in black, full of body jewelry.
“Are any of the artists available?”
“Connor, you look like you were hit by a truck,” she says sympathetically.
“That good?”
She frowns, comes around the counter and brings me into a hug.
“Thanks, A,” I whisper against her shoulder.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a smile on that gorgeous face.” She leans back, studies me and rubs her thumb against my cheek. “Can it be fixed?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty fucking broken,” I say, my heart hurting.
She kisses my cheek. “Talon’s in the back.”
I nod and walk to Talon’s alcove. “Tal.”
“Hey, Connor.” He frowns. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I lift off my shirt and sit on the table. “I need blood and ink, and the pain and resolution of the needle.”
Talon doesn’t pry. “What are you thinking?”
“A compass with sacred geometry,” I tell him. “Because right now I need directions. And a fucking map.”
“I got you, man.” He’s already getting the ink and needle prepared.
“Talon?”
“Yeah, Connor?”
“I’m so fucking grateful that you’re my brother.”
Elle
“THAT BAD, HUH?” Anya asks as she riffles through her drawers for her favorite jeans. Her hair is tied on top of her head in a messy bun.
“It couldn’t have gone worse.” I fall, arms outstretched onto her bed, wondering if I’m dead in the water.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. What was the outcome?”
“There wasn’t one. We’re in the same exact situation as before. Even though Callahan knows the facts, he’s going to fight for them to be split apart, and I’m going to fight him right back.” I can’t bring myself to say out loud what I’m truly feeling despite all the courage I mustered in front of Callahan: that he’s going to crush me in court; I’m going to be heartbroken; Jackson, Max and Lily’s lives will be destroyed even more, and there will be nothing I can do about it.
Suddenly the bed shifts as Anya throws herself down next to me, the black jeans she’d been hunting for draped over her lap. “What about the newspaper article with Gellar?”
“I think my anger with Harrison’s right-hand man, made me plead an even more passionate case during the interview. Tori was brought to tears as she took her notes for the story.”
“Good! And you still have your interview coming up with Thomas Beatty from Channel Five News,” she reminds me with excited expectation. “He’s a hottie, too, one of the Twin Cities’ most eligible bachelors.”
“Anya!” I laugh. He is hot, but not as hot as Callahan. The thought floats into my consciousness before I can catch it, and I’m furious I could even think it! “You’re right. Maybe I’ll borrow that slinky red dress you save in the back of your closet for special occasions.” I sit up and lean onto my elbows.
“Oh, that’s a great idea! We’ll have to get you a new pair of shoes. Penny’s is having a sale!”
“You know, shopping just might cheer me up after such a sucky meeting. Let’s do it!”
We both hop up from the bed to get ready to go.
“I’m happy you’re home this week,” I say.
“Me too.
Anya is a CNS, clinical nurse specialist, in acute care settings. She’s been traveling to refugee camps in Chad and Syria with the Red Cross and World Health Organization the past few years. She’s getting burned out, though, and has recently applied to the Mayo Clinic.
I tell her, “I’m just goi
ng to put on something comfier.” But as I walk into my room, the guilt of hiding something from my friend presses me. I can still see Connor Callahan taking on the guy who came at me in the courthouse parking lot and knocking him on his ass. My mind flip-flops, trying to figure out what really happened there.
“I saw him again,” I confess to Anya.
“Saw who?” I can hear the alarm in her voice and suddenly she’s in my doorway staring at me wide-eyed. “The thug?”
I nod slowly. “Outside of The Defender. He was lurking down the street when I left to take my lunch break. Which makes total sense considering I was going to be meeting with Callahan about the kids later today. Maybe they’re buddies.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“No. The minute I saw him he ghosted off.”
“Elle, you need to get a restraining order.” Glaring at me, she folds her arms across her chest.
“He’s just trying to intimidate me. I’m not going to let him think it’s working. Besides, how would an officer deliver it? I don’t even know who the guy is, let alone where he lives.” Under my breath I add with a sarcastic grin. “They could always deliver to Harrison and Smith law firm.”
“Really? That’s your reasoning?” Her voice cracks incredulously.
“What does it matter? The whole thing is crooked! Who’s going to help me? Crooked law firm, lawyer, judge… Whitmore Prescott is so wealthy he probably owns a few cops on the force too.”
“Elle, this guy accosted you in the courthouse parking lot! Now he’s stalking you at work!” She flails her arms for emphasis, her tone demanding. “You need to get a restraining order on the guy! Immediately! Maybe he’s done this kind of thing to someone else and has a mug shot you can identify.”
Her words ring true, but… “I still think the attack at the courthouse was probably staged.”
“Think and probably are two very weak words to support your position.” Anya shakes her head at me. “You’re assuming too much and that’s dangerous.” She adds, “When you first told me about what happened, you were still trying to make sense of the opposing lawyer going all bad boy and kicking the guy’s ass. You kept saying how you thought Callahan was a really good actor.”
Risk: An Enemies to Lovers, Second Chance Romance Standalone (Brothers of Ink and Steel) Page 4
