*****
Becky was usually soft spoken, mild mannered, and whatever other words apply to a humble servant. But she was a zealous protector of her boss’s time and reputation, and she would get downright feisty if a demanding client insisted on barging in, either by telephone or in person, when Charles had more pressing matters on his mind and schedule. She also didn’t hesitate to put Charles in his place when circumstances demanded, or to delay problem appointments when Charles’s mental state wasn’t quite up to the task. This situation, she knew, was by far the worst, and she did not want her own actions to cause more heartache and stress, which she sensed had just happened. Charles needed to deal with his family, not the typical scumbag who needed a quick legal fix, especially when “getting him off” meant letting the almost killer of Charles’s own grandson go free.
I am such an idiot, she thought, reconsidering the wisdom of giving him Michael’s message. I should have referred him to Jackson. Jackson Bailey was a fellow attorney who office-shared with Charles and who covered for him when he wasn’t in town or was otherwise indisposed.
“Probably,” he replied to her question, interrupting her thoughts as he did. “You regret everything,” he continued, sounding almost spiteful that she would question his actions. “But don’t you worry about it. It’s time to put the fear of me into that scumbag.”
Betty knew her boss, and she suspected his darker demons were beating down the humility he felt just a day before.
“Charles,” she replied with a huff as she sat at her desk in the front of the office doodling on a Post-it note with the pencil in her right hand. The “doodles” started out as well-drawn circles, squares, and triangles, but degenerated into barely discernable shapes and the word stupid written in various forms, from block print to a mix between Old English and calligraphy, as Charles made it clear that his reputation as a consummate professional might soon take a devastating hit. Do attorneys get disbarred for intentionally meeting with defendants when clear conflicts of interests exist? She considered. She shook her head back and forth and felt her irritable bowel syndrome churn in her gut for the first time in several weeks. I don’t need this stress. “You’re gonna mess up the case if you’re not careful.”
“I know what I’m doing, so don’t worry about it.”
“Darn it, Charles, are you gonna force me to call the sheriff and tell him what you’re up to?”
“Do that and you’re fired,” Charles said, raising his voice enough to tell Becky that he might actually mean it. As if reading her thoughts, he added, “And I mean it this time.” He didn’t, really, and Becky knew it. He had made that threat countless times before when his flesh and blood conscience in the form of a five foot tall legal assistant told him to calm down so he wouldn’t ruin his pristine reputation when he felt compelled to leap before looking. “Fine.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll check in again around five, got it?”
“Got it.”
Becky hung up the phone and started scratching her arms, a nervous habit she exhibited whenever she lost control of a situation and felt the repercussions of such loss of control were potentially catastrophic. She stared at the phone, considering whether she should call the Darkwell County Sheriff, or let it lie, hoping that perhaps Charles might come to his senses and cool off.
“He won’t do it,” she finally said to herself as she got up to go to the restroom. Her IBS had reached critical mass. “He’s not stupid.”
Broken: A story of hope and forgiveness Page 31
