by J K Franko
He stifled a sigh. “Mr. Senator, the DA is looking at pushing for aggravated assault. That’s a $10,000 fine and two to twenty.” Travers had no doubt that the charges were being pumped up by the DA as a favor to the senator, as no weapon had been involved. Wise had only gotten one good punch in, and all Joe had to show for it was a shiner. “That’s enough to make anyone think twice. Mr. Wise’s lawyer has already offered to pay all medical and to provide a written apology for dismissal of the charges.”
The senator pursed his lips. He was either considering what Travers had just said or pretending to. Harlan Sr. looked at his son next, who might as well have been a mannequin. He sat there looking down at his hands, avoiding eye contact with Travers or his father.
“Well, Detective,” the senator replied, “we’ve thought long and hard on this, and we believe that the right decision is to press charges after all. I know we discussed the possibility of letting this go, but, quite frankly, I cannot see how in all good conscience we could possibly do that. This is not just about Joe. This man’s actions are a crime against the people of the state of Texas. I have therefore today advised our district attorney of Joe’s…” he glanced at his son, “…decision, but wanted to let you know in person, as a courtesy.”
Travers looked at Joe, who just sat there. Travers had seen that look many times. Young men who were either lost, spoiled, or just high. There was no doubt in his mind that Junior didn’t want to be there any more than he did, but most likely he had also been ordered to make an appearance.
The detective looked at the senator and wondered why the fuck he’d had to come in person for this. Was it because the legislature wasn’t in session? Maybe the senator needed to fill his day with important meetings?
The senator tapped the arms of his chair as if to rise, indicating the meeting was over.
“Well, thank you for that courtesy, sir,” Travers said, mustering his best smile of appreciation.
“Don’t mention it, Detective,” the senator said, coming around his desk and accompanying Travers to the door. “How is Chief Manley doing?” he asked, that velociraptor smile back on his face. “Taking care of our men in blue? And the ladies, of course?” Harlan didn’t wait for a reply. “Well, you tell him I said ‘hello,’ and don’t you be a stranger. We are here to serve.”
Harlan Sr. snatched Travers’ hand, shaking it firmly and looked him in the eye. “I personally appreciate everything you do for us all. If I can ever be of assistance in any way, you know where to find me, Art.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Senator,” Travers replied, maintaining his forced smile. The detective was not happy. He’d hoped to be able to put this whole mess to rest. The Wise family had been through a lot. Especially the girl. Tom Wise punching Joe in the face was illegal, to be sure, but Joe probably deserved it, if not worse.
As Travers left, the senator smiled and winked at Meg. She smiled back, biting her lower lip.
Joe was still sitting in his father’s office. He hadn’t even bothered to get up.
CHAPTER SIX
“Sit down, for fuck’s sake! You’re driving me crazy!” Deb exclaimed. Tom Wise was pacing. He had been for a while.
They were still in Beaver Creek, at the condo. It was the day after Tom had met Roy at the bar.
Deb had exploded when Tom came back from the bar and explained what had happened.
“Don’t you sell shit for a living? How the fuck could you not close this deal?”
They’d gone back and forth for some time, him explaining, her attacking. He’d gotten a short reprieve that evening when Kristy came back from snowboarding. She knew nothing about what her parents were up to, and they wanted to keep it that way.
Deb had given Tom the silent treatment while Kristy was there. Later, despite Tom’s protests, Deb insisted had they go to meet Cruise and his wife for dinner as planned so she could show her husband how it was done.
Cruise and his wife stood them up.
Deb was incandescent with rage.
When they got back from the canceled dinner, they’d found a note from Kristy—she’d gone out for a while. This freed Deb to open up on Tom all over again.
Deb was now flipflopping between verbal assaults and the silent treatment. And, to make matters worse, they were both waiting for a response from that asshole of a senator and his rapist son—were they prepared to accept their settlement offer? The last thing they needed was for this thing to get any worse than it already was.
It was almost an hour later when Tom’s mobile phone rang. He looked at the screen.
Harold Riviera, Attorney
“Here we go,” he said under his breath. “Tom, here.”
“Hi, Tom, it’s Harold.”
“Hey, Harold. I’m going to put you on speaker, for Deb.”
“Sure.”
“Can you hear us?”
“Yep. Hello, Mrs. Wise.”
“Hello, Harold. Please, I’ve told you before, it’s Deb.”
“So,” Tom said. “What have we got?”
“It’s what we feared, folks. They’re pressing charges. The DA is going for aggravated assault, which is a real stretch, as we discussed. That’s on the criminal side. On the civil suit, their lawyer rejected the offer to settle. So, it looks like we’re going to have to fight this thing.” The words were delivered matter-of-factly, as if he hadn’t just confirmed that they were going to have to go to court, with all of the stress and financial expense that would entail.
“It makes no sense,” Tom whispered incredulously.
“Sure, it does,” Deb spat. “Harlan doesn’t give a shit about his son. Like they say, ‘there’s no such thing as bad press.’ This’ll keep his name in the papers, and it’ll also serve to diffuse the bad press his son got. Makes us the villains.”
“Again, as we discussed, folks, the ‘why’ doesn’t matter so much here. The key is going to be a solid defense. There is still a ton of animosity out there against Joe Jr. It’s going to be damned hard to find a jury that will fault Tom for punching this guy in the face. I know it’s not what we were hoping for, but I hope you can at least put it on the back burner until you’re back from Colorado. There’s no point in worrying about it. After all, it’s a straightforward case. The whole thing’s on film. So, it’s not going to be a question of what happened, it’s going to be a question of whether the jury faults you for it, Tom, along with just how serious they believe his injuries were. There’s a lot of sympathy for you folks out there, which means that there’s potentially going to be a lot of sympathy on the jury.”
Tom and Deb exchanged glances and sighed.
There was a long silence broken by the lawyer. “Like I said, try not to worry about it right now. Make the most of your time there and just come and see me when you get back.”
“All right, Harold,” Tom said. “Thanks for getting back to us.”
“No problem, folks. Y’all take care.”
Tom disconnected the phone.
“Well, hell,” Deb said.
Tom was about to say something, but when he turned to his wife he noticed Kristy standing in the hallway behind her.
Deb caught his gaze and looked up over her shoulder.
Kristy had just come back from the gym. She was sweaty and glowing, healthy. The tension dissipated from Deb’s shoulders at the sight of her daughter. “Oh, hi baby, you back already?” she asked with a big smile. When Kristy didn’t react to her mother’s greeting, it became obvious. “You heard?”
Kristy nodded. Deb expected her daughter to launch into a barrage of questions. Instead, she drank from her water bottle, swallowed hard, and then said, “Fuck. Them. I’m gonna take a shower.”
Deb smiled and thought to herself, That’s my girl... What goes around comes around, sweetie. What goes around comes around.
CHAPTER SEVEN
T
hree Months Later
March 29, 2018
As time passed, Susie and Roy put Tom Wise’s bizarre murder proposal behind them. It was the kind of thing that, when it happened, seemed shocking and distressing, but over time decreased in importance. In the end, they came to view it as an odd anecdote.
Roy admitted to me that he thought back on it a few times over the following months. And that, the more he did, the more he began to feel sympathy for Tom and Deb. He wondered whether he might have overreacted that night at the bar. The man had probably just had too much to drink.
But then, what alternative had Tom given him? Have dinner with them and discuss killing Harlan? Or try to talk them out of it? Roy’s response to the proposal was not unreasonable. At least, that’s what he told himself.
As you may well imagine, Roy walking out on Tom at the bar was not the end of the story. Harlan was by no means out of the woods.
After returning to Miami from Beaver Creek, both Susie and Roy made a concerted effort to get back to their routine. To life as normal. Or whatever semblance of normality they had managed to carve from their existence after Camilla’s death.
On this particular day, Roy was at the Austin Airport. He had gone on a business trip to Austin and was heading home. This trip is significant because the next day, March 30, 2018, would mark the third anniversary of Camilla’s death. Though Roy didn’t know it at the time, that anniversary would also mark a turning point for us all.
Roy was traveling with David Kim, a junior partner and head of due diligence at Cruise Capital. Roy had started Cruise Capital twenty years earlier in Texas when he decided to change careers from practicing law to investing in startups. Though Susie and Roy (and Cruise Capital) had moved to Miami in 2003 to be closer to Susie’s parents in Charleston, S.C., Roy still returned to Texas regularly to meet with promising new startups.
David and Roy were waiting to board the last direct flight from Austin to Miami that day, departing at 5:08 p.m. and arriving at 8:49 p.m. They’d checked in online, taken the shorter and faster TSA pre-check line through security, and were waiting at Gate 14 to board when Roy’s phone rang.
“Hi, Suze. On my way home. At the gate. How are you?”
“Better, now that I’m talking to you. How was the trip?” Her voice sounded huskier than normal.
“Same old, same old. You know. You gotta kiss a lot of pigs...”
“How’d David do?” Susie asked.
“Good, very good,” Roy answered, glancing at his junior partner. “We saw a couple of good companies. A lot of back-end stuff. And we eliminated a few based on some of David’s insights. So, yeah, very good.”
“That sounds great.” Susie cleared her throat. “Well, I confirmed with Roni. Everything is set for the interview tomorrow morning. And I finished up the blog post—it’s in your inbox, or should be shortly. Even got my hair done,” she laughed nervously.
“Hairdo? Isn’t it... a radio interview?”
“So?”
Roy smiled. “How are you feeling about it?”
“It’s... hard, Roy. I’ve cried... a lot.” She breathed in deep. “I’ve done a lot of thinking about the interview. Writing the blog really helped. I feel like I really distilled everything I want to say in the interview into the post. So, the messaging will be consistent, but it also helped me kind of... get centered, you know, focused. I don’t know…”
“Suze. Babe. I’m sure it’s great,” Roy reassured her, picking up that his wife was struggling not to cry on the phone.
“Hmm. Yeah. I think so. Will you read it? Please? Text me what you think, I mean, if you can, before you take off. I’ve still got time to make changes.”
“Sure, Suze. Happy to.”
She took a deep breath. Talking to her husband both helped and made her more emotional in equal measure. He was the only person who really knew her and knew how she felt, what she was feeling, and what they’d been through. “Should I wait for you, for dinner?”
“Nah. We ate a late lunch with a bunch of guys that want to be the Facebook for rescue pets. Eddie V’s—I’m stuffed. You go ahead. I’ll join you for a drink before bed.”
“Okay. Well, try to rest on the plane, will you?”
“I’ll try. I gotta board now.”
“Okay, love you. Bye.”
“Love you, too, Suze. B-bye.”
* * *
Roy sat in business class. David was one row behind and across the aisle.
Roy has his quirks. One is that, for business travel, he prefers not to be seated next to traveling companions. He sees enough of them on the ground and would rather use flight time to read and think. As an introvert, being with people is a drain, and the only way he can truly recharge is with an adequate amount of solitude.
As the flight attendants went through the safety dance, he checked his email, but there was nothing from Susie. Then, just as he was getting ready to put his phone in flight mode, an email alert sounded.
His stomach turned, and he looked out of the window trying to suppress the unease that had washed over him. He felt hot, flushed. He loosened his seatbelt, which suddenly felt too tight, confining.
Roy knew what was coming, and the thought of it made him ill. Not the takeoff. He had done plenty of flying in his lifetime. Flying was something he enjoyed.
No, it was what he knew was in Susie’s email that was making him queasy, and if he hadn’t promised, if he wasn’t committed to being supportive of his wife, he’d quite happily delete the thing.
But he couldn’t.
From:[email protected]
RE:Blog Post
To:[email protected]
_____________________________________
Hi Roy,
Let me know what you think.
Love you!
Susie
Then he downloaded the attachment and read.
Three Years Past, But Not Gone
By Susie Font
As a former journalist, I still remember how it felt to cover breaking news. It was an adrenaline rush. When you get the call about a new story, everything kicks into gear and the “work” begins—verify information, contact witnesses, investigate leads, and define how you will clearly and succinctly tell the story in order to inform and to educate.
What is easy to forget is that “news” starts with people: real people with real lives that have been derailed by an unexpected event. And while their story may have ramifications for us all, it is still their story. Their experience to survive and to remember.
All of that changed for me on March 30, three years ago. On that day, my daughter Camilla was driving, following the rules, going to ride her horse. Liam Bareto, a name I had never heard before but that is now seared into my memory, chose to send a text message while driving and, as he did, drifted out of his lane and into hers.
They collided head-on.
Camilla died on impact.
When the police officer came to our door and told me what had happened, there was no adrenaline rush. Nothing kicked in. Instead, I went numb. I opened that door, looked at the officer, and heard the words. Then there was nothing.
It was as if someone had turned off the volume in my world.
The next thing that I recall is my husband’s face. He had just returned from a business trip. I remember him sitting next to me, holding my hand, speaking softly as I lay on the sofa staring at a spider web in the corner of the room. Just watching it move lightly as the AC blew on it.
To this day, I still don’t know what my husband said to me. All I knew was that our baby girl was gone.
They say that no parent should bury their child. But to me, I haven’t buried her. Camilla will now and forever live in my heart and the hearts of everyone who was blessed to know her. And, as ethereal as this may sound, I believe she watches over me. Sh
e can see everything I see and do. And, she is most likely reading these words, just as she was forever peeking over her mommy’s shoulders, especially when I was writing some of my best articles.
Mommy loves you, baby! Mommy loves you so very much.
After what happened, I wanted my little girl to know how much she meant to us, that she hadn’t been and would never be forgotten. So, I chose to take action.
I left journalism and now devote the hours that I used to spend on research and reporting to lobbying for changes in the laws that deal with texting and driving, along with advocating for awareness of the dangers of texting while driving.
Three years ago, my daughter was murdered by a kid who chose to put a text message before the life of another human being. A few months later, that same kid succumbed to the injuries he sustained during that act. Two lives senselessly lost—two families changed forever—and all of it avoidable.
This is my story. It is my family’s story. And the Bareto family’s story. But it’s also the story of all of us.
By taking action, we help others to understand that when you are behind the wheel of a vehicle, you are wielding a lethal weapon just as devastating as any firearm.
We are changing the stories of many families for the good.
Thank you for your support. Together, we’re stronger.
Roy looked away from his phone and out the window, discreetly brushing the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt a lump in his throat that he fought to keep from progressing into outright weeping.
As he stared through the heat shimmer on the tarmac and watched the plane next to his pull away from the jet bridge, it all came flooding back to him.
