by Lisa Henry
Alexandra, passing behind the desk, reached out and squeezed Cal’s shoulder. “The moment we’ve been waiting for, sir. What was it you told me the other night? We’re going to nail that fucker.”
Cal huffed. “I’m sure I would never use such language.”
“I’m sure you did.”
He snorted, and then he smiled. “Maybe.”
It was no victory, but they had hope at least.
t was shocking for Rory to see Lowell sitting in the courtroom. Not at the prosecutor’s table, with Ruth and Zac, but at his own little desk between the prosecution and the defense, as though nobody knew where he ought to sit. That was fine. In a few weeks, it would be Lowell up in the dock, and then he’d know what it felt like.
The prosecution, as Cal had predicted, was halfhearted at best. Any evidence they’d tabled had easily been debunked by the investigation. It had all obviously been manufactured by Lowell, who Rory guessed wasn’t as smart as he thought, or at least wasn’t smart enough for his plots to succeed without the power of the chief justice’s office behind them.
Because once people started to ask questions, it all fell apart so very easily. Not that a man of Lowell’s ego would allow that to happen. Not without demanding the right to cross-examine Rory, as though he thought Rory would collapse under the force of Lowell’s personality and retract everything he’d already said.
But Rory wouldn’t. Even Aaron—quivering and crying a little as he’d given his testimony about his supposed credit card theft—hadn’t.
This, Cal had told them, was like a practice run for when Lowell was on the stand. A man like that, when he was crashing in flames, would try to take everyone else down with him. Except even Rory could tell that the court was against him. Not just the press and the public gallery but the justice, and even Ruth and Zac.
“Rory.” Lowell smiled, pacing up and down in front of the dock as though the courtroom was his own personal theatre. “You were my personal assistant, is that right?”
“Your executive assistant.”
“My apologies.” Lowell’s smile broadened. “But things got fairly personal, didn’t they?”
Rory didn’t answer that.
Lowell chuckled. “With us and our rezzies, I mean. You had a sexual relationship with your rezzy, didn’t you?”
“Relevance?” Cal called. “Mr. James is on trial for fraud and theft, not for anything else.”
“Not yet.” Lowell winked and held up his palms. “Character. It’s all about character. I just want to show the court exactly what sort of man Mr. James is.”
“Yes,” Rory said. It would all come out at Lowell’s trial anyway.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I had a sexual relationship with my ‘rezzy,’ Tate Patterson,” Rory said.
“Did he want it?” Lowell asked with a smile.
Rory opened his mouth and was suddenly unsure how to answer. Yes? Because Tate had, or at least the chip had. But if Tate had wanted it, then so had Aaron. This was nothing more than Lowell playing the long game. He didn’t give a damn about whether or not Rory was convicted of theft. He just wanted it on record somewhere how much Tate had begged to be fucked. He just wanted to show, a few weeks down the track, that he was no abhorrence. Well, fuck that. Rory wasn’t going to give him any help there.
Rory’s stomach clenched. “No. It is my understanding that he didn’t want it. The chip made him incapable of meaningful consent.”
“Ah,” said Lowell. “And you did it anyway?”
“I didn’t know about the chip,” Rory shot back. “You did.”
“Irrelevant,” Lowell said.
“If Justice Lowell wishes to examine my client’s character, he can examine his own, as well,” Cal said, and a murmur ran through the public gallery.
Lowell’s smile slipped a fraction. His once-toothless pet public defender suddenly using the law to destroy him. “Well then,” he said, recovering quickly, “you had a personal relationship with your rezzy, Tate Patterson.”
“Yes,” Rory said.
“He knew you well,” Lowell said. “And you trusted that he would keep your secrets. In fact, you were so sure of yourself, that you told him that you were diverting funds from my department into your own accounts.”
“No,” Rory said, at the same moment as Cal called out, “Hearsay!”
“Of course,” Lowell said. “It’s hearsay since Mr. Patterson, a key witness in this matter, was granted bail!” He laughed. “An astonishing decision! And one very convenient for you, Rory, isn’t it? Because we both know that Mr. Patterson was intending to testify against you, don’t we?”
“I don’t know that. I know he was intending to testify today but not to what end,” Rory said firmly.
So where is he? Where is he to end my waiting? Where is he to condemn or absolve me? His lips tingled, as if Tate had just kissed him a minute ago, instead of a month ago. Where is he to tell me where the fuck I stand?
Lowell smiled. “Of course you do, Rory. You told him you were stealing, he told me that you told him that, and suddenly, he’s gone. I wonder who’s really pulling the strings here, hmm?”
Not you. And don’t you fucking hate it?
“Relevance?” Cal asked. “If Justice Lowell has a conspiracy theory to share, perhaps he should just put all his cards on the table. Because from what I remember, Mr. Patterson’s last attempt at testifying against Mr. James didn’t play out the way Justice Lowell wanted.”
“No, no conspiracy theories,” Lowell said, fixing his gaze on the media gallery. “I’m just wondering why the one man who could tell this court that Mr. James is guilty was suddenly allowed to leave Beulah.”
“Because an independent panel ruled it so.”
“An independent panel!” Lowell roared with laughter. “Headed by a woman whose promotion I reluctantly turned down last year. You might not have known that, Rory, since you’re an outsider.”
This time the murmur that ran through the public gallery felt less hostile toward Lowell.
We’re losing them. The bastard’s actually bringing them around to his side.
Maybe Lowell was a little smarter than Rory had given him credit for.
Shit.
“Records,” Lowell had told Rory once, “are useless to juries. You might as well try and get a cat to read Chinese. It all comes down to performance.” And Lowell knew how to perform.
For a moment Rory wondered if he was actually going to be convicted of embezzlement. And then anything he said against Lowell when it came to the way he’d treated Aaron would sound like he was chasing petty revenge. Lowell could actually destroy Rory’s credibility here, and Aaron wasn’t strong enough to stand alone against Lowell. And then Lowell might even walk free of his charges of rape and assault.
Tate, where are you?
And here Rory was thinking the worst-case scenario was Tate showing up in court to condemn and denounce him. How wrong he’d been.
“This is hearsay,” Cal said again.
“The jury will disregard any mention of Mr. Patterson,” the presiding justice said at last.
But they wouldn’t, of course. Nobody could un-hear something.
“I apologize,” Lowell smiled. “I am only, as I said, trying to get at the defendant’s character.”
“My character!” Rory blurted. “I’ll tell you my character. I thought my character was unassailable until I met you.” He could see Cal shaking his head in warning, but Rory couldn’t stop. He knew it was a mistake, but fuck Lowell and his smug smile. “I spent my whole life dreaming of something better, a better place, a better life, a better way of being. And then I got here, and I thought I’d finally made it.”
Lowell’s smile grew. “And you wanted what we have? You wanted wealth, Rory.”
“No. I wanted happiness. And I thought I had it too. Being here in Beulah, I thought I finally had it.”
“Happiness?” Lowell asked. He shook his head pityingly. “No, Rory, like so
many pathetic outsiders you looked on us with envy. Jealousy. Covetousness. You wanted to take the things that we worked hard for. You stole, Rory, and you took advantage of Beulah’s wealth just as surely as you took advantage of Tate Patterson. To be perfectly blunt, Rory, you fucked him, and you fucked all of us too.”
The courtroom erupted, drowning out any reply Rory might have made.
“Your honor!” Cal appealed over the noise.
Rory just shook his head silently. He spoke softly, and the courtroom went silent straining to hear. “But being in Beulah didn’t make me happy. Beulah’s wealth didn’t make me happy. Only Tate did that. Not Tate’s service, not Tate’s body, not Tate’s obedience. It wasn’t the chip. It was Tate. It was . . . loving him.”
“He was your prisoner!” Lowell laughed as if it were all a hilarious joke. As if he couldn’t believe what was coming out of Rory’s mouth. Couldn’t believe the gall of him.
The people gathered in the courtroom laughed along or made expressions of disgust.
At Rory. But God, it didn’t matter. It didn’t. This was Rory’s truth, and he was going to speak it. “I know that now,” Rory said. “And it’s true, I don’t know what was him and what was the chip. I don’t know if he would have consented, if he actually had a genuine opportunity to. But I do know that I loved him, and that was something the chip couldn’t fabricate.”
“Ah yes,” said Lowell, growing serious suddenly. “Of course, I loved Aaron, as well.”
And even though Rory had known this was a trap, even though he’d known that Lowell was leading him somewhere, right until that moment, he hadn’t seen it. Lowell only had to discredit Rory and then claim he was in exactly the same unfortunate position: he hadn’t known his rezzy’s chip made him act that way. He’d loved his rezzy too. Maybe he might be convicted of fabricating evidence, and maybe he’d lose his job and his reputation would be ruined, but he wouldn’t be put in that jail that they were building. He wouldn’t be convicted of rape in his upcoming trial. He’d slip away with his accumulated wealth, live a quiet, comfortable life, and all the while, Aaron, his witness testimony ripped to shreds on the stand under the force of Lowell’s rhetoric, would live in fear, live with the knowledge that justice had been stolen from him.
It wasn’t fucking fair.
Some fucking doctor or inconsequential peon working for the induction program would take the fall for the chips and Lowell could pretend he was as oblivious as everyone else.
“You didn’t love Aaron. You weren’t even his friend!”
That voice. Rory twisted around and saw him standing in the doorway—Tate.
“Rory was my friend, and he didn’t steal anything.” Tate strode forward, walking through the chaos of the courtroom like he was parting the damn Red Sea. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to arrange childcare. But I’m here now, and I want to testify.”
Lowell went white.
There were only a handful of people that Tate trusted to look after Emmy, and with Cal and Alexandra tied up with court, that had left Aaron. He was taking Emmy to the park.
Cal caught him as he reached the defense table. “What are you going to say up there?” he asked under his breath.
“The truth,” Tate said.
Cal still looked worried, but he nodded at the courtroom. “Well, Justice Lowell, it appears your star witness has arrived after all. I’m sure everyone here is dying to hear his crucial testimony.” Now, he smirked.
Tate headed for the witness box. It was a lot easier to give testimony without some chip trying to tear his skull apart. He wasn’t afraid of Lowell. He figured he wasn’t afraid of anything anymore, not after finding Emmy okay. Better than okay.
Because rather than his disappearance causing things to go off the rails back at home, it had actually been the catalyst for Paula to reevaluate her life. Or, like she’d said, to get her shit together. She’d taken Emmy to her stepmother’s house—a stepmother who had been out of her life for so long that Tate hadn’t even known about her. Paula had gotten a part-time job. Gotten clean. Taken care of their child and kept her safe, and Tate was eternally grateful for that.
They’d talked it out. Talked about their past, talked about what had happened in Beulah, and talked about what Tate ought to do next. What they should do next, as a family. So here they were. Paula was getting their paperwork sorted so they could stay in Beulah, and Tate was in court. Doing what was right, for once in his life. And after those horrible weeks when all he could see when he closed his eyes was a fucking slideshow of terrible things happening to Emmy, Tate wasn’t afraid of Lowell or Beulah or even that look in Rory’s eyes, the one of guilt and sorrow and hope all mixed together.
Rory, who’d just admitted to a courtroom, under oath, that he loved Tate.
Tate took his seat, read the oath from the little card, then stared at Lowell. And Lowell stared back. Tate wondered if the man had ever been lost for words before in his life.
“Sorry,” Tate said at last, “was I not supposed to come back?”
Someone in the public gallery smothered an incredulous laugh.
“If Justice Lowell won’t ask the witness any questions, I certainly will,” Cal said. “Mr. Patterson, did Rory James ever tell you that he was stealing from Justice Lowell’s department?”
“No, he did not.”
Cal smiled. “And did Justice Lowell tell you, when you were under the influence of the chip, to lie to this court and say that Mr. James had made that admission?”
“Yes, he told me to lie,” Tate said. “And I wanted to do it too. I tried to, the last time, but I couldn’t in the end.”
“And why is that?” Cal asked.
“I don’t know,” Tate said. “The chip was trying to rip my head apart, but as much as I wanted to please Mr. Lowell, I couldn’t tell that lie. Because Rory wouldn’t steal. He’s a good man. He’s an honest man. I knew that, and even the chip couldn’t convince me otherwise.”
“So you’re saying he’s innocent of the crimes he’s been charged with today, that is, fraud and theft?”
“Completely one hundred percent innocent.”
“And when today’s trial is concluded, do you intend on pressing charges against him for rape, due to the nature of your relationship while you were a part of the restitution program?”
Tate looked to Rory. Looked him right in the eye. “No. I don’t.”
Cal dusted his slacks. “Well then, it seems the only thing to do now is to acquit Rory James of all the charges against him. Unless, of course, Justice Lowell has any questions for the witness?”
Tate looked at Lowell.
Lowell’s eye twitched. “No, no questions.”
Tate smiled at him.
“Well, that’s you, Rory,” Cal said, squeezing Rory’s arm. “Go home, get some rest, and don’t answer your door. The media will be all over you. I’ll see you tomorrow, and we’ll start working on the case against Lowell.”
Rory’s head was still buzzing. He’d tried to see where Tate had gone after the court had cleared, but he’d lost him in the flood of people. He wanted to talk to him. To ask if he was okay and if the mention of childcare back in the courtroom meant that he’d found his daughter. To ask why he wasn’t going to press charges for rape.
“Did you know?” he asked.
Cal slid a stack of papers into his briefcase. “Know what?”
“When you asked Tate if he wanted to press charges, did you already know the answer?”
“I had a very good idea,” Cal admitted. “A little birdie at the Hall of Justice told me that Tate was there last night and was asked that exact same question in front of the panel.”
A panel in the Hall of Justice? “He came back,” Rory said. “What for?”
“He’s a smart one,” Cal said. “He wouldn’t even step foot over the border until he had a letter signed by three different government officials stating he would be pardoned and not put on trial again.” He straightened up. “So I can only
suppose he came back to testify against Lowell at his trial, and to make sure that you weren’t going to get convicted today. Although my little birdie also tells me that his compensation payout is extremely generous.”
“Payout?”
“For his suffering, yes. And for his silence.”
“They want all this to go away,” Rory sputtered.
“They’re politicians. Of course they do. And Tate has a family to care for and a new life to build. He deserves that, don’t you think? So don’t judge him too harshly for making the deal.”
Cal touched Rory’s shoulder gently, encouragingly. Maybe mistaking the reason for Rory’s frown. As if Rory had any right to be disappointed that Tate wasn’t willing to drag out his pain and suffering when a quiet life was in his grasp. Oh, but you do have the right to be disappointed he has a family that doesn’t include you?
“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t others out there willing to give the establishment hell!”
Rory forced a smile. “Yeah, of course.”
Cal had told him to go home, but sitting around in that empty house didn’t seem like any way to celebrate his acquittal. No, not celebrate exactly. Rory should have been more relieved, should have felt something, but he was still numb. He didn’t want to sit by himself in his house. He wanted to be somewhere there were people. So instead of heading for the station, he walked in the other direction toward the river. There were always people in the beautiful parklands along the riverbank, and Rory didn’t want to feel alone right now.
It was providence that took him to this place where a sloping length of neatly trimmed grass met the riverbank, shaded by wide trees that dropped blossoms to the ground. The air smelled sweet, but there weren’t as many people around as Rory had expected.
That was when he saw them: a man and a little girl tossing bread into the water for the ducks. Tate. And Emmy. She couldn’t have belonged to anyone else. She was just as he had imagined her, with Tate’s curls, and Tate’s skin, and Tate’s brilliant smile. Rory could hear her shrieking with laughter from where he stood hidden in the shade of the trees.
