“What show? What friend?” Cynthia took a pen out as well and started scribbling on a pad she had tucked into the folder with my father’s case in it.
“A female friend,” Dad said. Cynthia gave him a long look. “Her name is Pamela Hayes.”
“Give me her phone number,” Cynthia told him.
As she went through the questions she had for Dad, even I was surprised at how thoroughly she’d already thought about things. I could see and hear, in Dad’s voice, that he was starting to respect her, just a little bit, at least.
“Who do you think is framing you? There have to be at least a few different candidates,” Cynthia said, towards the end of the time she had with Dad.
“The most obvious ones would be one of my partners or associates,” Dad replied. He rattled off the names.
“Throw Garrison Bunting onto the list, too,” I said.
“Really?” Dad looked at me in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. Garrison was someone Dad had started working with about three years ago, and he’d never seemed quite right to me, even by the loose standards in the industry.
“Okay,” Cynthia said, nodding. “I’ll look into the list and into your alibis.” She looked at my father for a moment before adding, “If I find out you’ve lied to me, it’s going to screw up my ability to defend you. So if you did lie, you need to tell me now.”
“I’m telling the truth,” Dad said.
“I’ll get started on our defense, then,” Cynthia said, rising to her feet. I watched her leave and said a quick goodbye to my father.
“She’s not bad,” Dad remarked, as I was leaving. I thought about telling him that Cynthia was the girl he’d made me dump, but I decided against it, There was no point to it.
I headed out of the jail and towards my car, and as I was walking towards my car in the lot, I looked around a bit. I saw Cynthia, and almost decided to try and talk to her--to ask her if she really was serious about figuring out how my father had gotten framed. But then I noticed that she was talking to a guy; he was maybe 6’1”, with a skinny frame, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt with a blazer. He looked vaguely familiar, but not so much that I could place him. Cynthia grinned at something he said and hugged him. What’s a girl like her doing with a loser like that? The guy had the same kind of style that the company IT guy did. I would have thought that Cynthia would be dating someone with some prestige--some kind of contract lawyer or banker or someone like that, who could enhance her status.
I kept walking, since it was pointless to try to talk to her if she was wrapped up in her sweetie--though I thought to myself, as I got to my Tesla, that it was a little weird for her boyfriend to meet up with her at the jail, of all places. I put it out of my mind and climbed behind the steering wheel. It was just as well, I thought; if she was dating someone, I was less likely to get distracted. And considering how hot she’d looked giving Dad the third degree, getting distracted was definitely a problem I wanted to avoid.
Chapter Three
“Yo, sweetheart!” I looked up from the documents I’d been reading as Nathan came into my office. It had been a little under a week since I’d met with Shawn Peterson Senior to discuss his case, and I was still looking into the details that I’d asked from him.
“Come on in, Nate,” I said. He had carte blanche to come into my office as soon as he got information for me regarding any case that I was working on--that was our agreement. And anyway, after knowing him for so long, he was one of the few people I had almost no boundaries with. We’d been friends since high school, and he was one of the friends who’d helped me get through the breakup.
Nate threw himself into the chair on the other side of my desk and fished a USB out from his pocket, sliding it towards me. “So my initial assessment of the situation is that it’s weird as hell,” Nate told me.
“What do you mean?”
Nate shrugged. I’d asked him to investigate the electronic and banking aspects of the crimes that Shawn Peterson was accused of. I plugged in the USB drive and opened up the files on it, looking to see what Nathan meant in more detail.
“The transfers clearly happened, but the way they happened seems weird to me,” he said. “Tracking the information I was able to get, I don’t know how it would have been possible for Peterson to have done them in New York.”
“So either he wasn’t in the city, or he didn’t do them,” I concluded. Nathan had tracked the transfers and somehow--with skills I couldn’t even begin to comprehend--had managed to find out the locations of the computer or computers that had done them. They were local, while Peterson had--according to his alibi--been in New York.
“I mean, there’s a possibility that he did do it, from New York, with a VPN, but that would take more digging, and potentially some slightly illegal digging, to find out,” Nathan explained. “Could be time consuming.”
“I’m charging them more than enough to be able to pay your fee,” I told Nate with a grin. When I’d asked for his help, he’d wanted to know why on earth I’d even take the case of a guy I still hated after ten years, and I’d told him--broadly--about the payment I expected from them. I could charge expenses separately according to the contract I had with Shawn, so Nate’s fairly high rates for cyber-investigating were perfectly in order. I didn’t use Nathan’s services all that often, since most of my cases didn’t have such a strong digital component, but if I was going to try and prove that Peterson was being framed, then I would have to have all the details about not just his situation, but also about the crimes themselves.
“As long as you’re sure,” Nate said. I nodded, turning my attention back onto the records that Nate had managed to dig up on his first run-through.
“Okay,” I said, sitting back after a moment. “What’s your instinct on this?” I tended to trust Nate’s instincts when it came to information he gleaned digitally; he was an in-demand freelancer for a reason.
“I’ll have to see what kind of tech intelligence Peterson has, but I would generally expect that this level of sophistication, in terms of managing the fraud and the embezzlement, would come from someone with skill,” Nate said.
“So you think he’s innocent,” I suggested. Nate grinned.
“I mean, innocent of this, probably,” he said wryly. “He could be someone who knows how to do this kind of thing--I wouldn’t necessarily put it past him--but I kind of tend to doubt it.” We talked for a bit longer, catching up on things; but I had a dinner meeting with Shawn to go to, and Nate had a girl waiting for him on the other side of town. I wrote up a quick summary of what I’d managed to confirm so far, printed it, and freshened up my makeup.
I drove to the restaurant that I’d agreed to meet Shawn and quickly took off my jacket and changed my shoes in the car. I checked my makeup again, making sure that I didn’t have a single hair out of place. I’d decided, when I found out Harrison was going to make me take the case, that I would make sure I showed Shawn, at every opportunity, that I was doing great without him.
Shawn had gotten to the restaurant--an expensive place with a wait list that was usually about three weeks booked solid--before me, so the hostess showed me to the table. I hated to admit it, but he looked good. He was dressed in designer-casuals, his dark hair brushed back from his face, bright green eyes framed by groomed eyebrows. He was impeccably clean-shaven, and I was pretty sure he’d gotten a manicure at some point in the last couple of days. He stood as the hostess came towards the table with me, smiling, looking just as confident as ever. I glanced around the dining room, taking in the impeccable white table cloths, the gleaming crystal glassware, the dull shine of the silverware and pristine china. The conversation around us was subdued but active, mostly people conducting business deals over meals, which I was fairly certain were worth a good half-week’s pay, at least for me.
“Sorry I’m late--I was working on my summary for you,” I said as I sat down. Shawn dismissed my lateness with a wave.
“You’re not e
ven late, you’re just not early,” he pointed out. I’d arrived at the restaurant exactly at the time we’d agreed on. “So what have you got for me?”
“I’m still sorting through the information your father gave me, but I’m beginning to think that your dad might actually be innocent, for once,” I replied. Shawn laughed.
“I wouldn’t have said he was if he wasn’t,” Shawn said.
“I guess I can agree with you there,” I told him, after a moment’s thought. “I would assume that if you knew he’d done it, you’d have come to me saying that you needed me to get him off--not to clear his name.”
Shawn nodded. “So what’s changed your mind?”
I explained what Nathan had managed to find in his preliminary investigation, and what I’d, so far, managed to find out. I was still waiting to hear from Peterson’s woman friend, but I’d started looking into the people on the list who might have participated in framing him if, indeed, he was completely framed.
“Do you think that he might have been framed for this to hide some larger crime?”
We had to stop for a moment because the waiter came to the table, and I hurriedly looked over the menu to try and figure out what I wanted. At least I can put the bill on my corporate card, I thought as I realized there were no prices listed for anything--the true sign of an expensive restaurant.
“I’ll start with the lobster bisque with shrimp,” Shawn told the man, setting his menu aside as he came to a decision. “And for my main dish, I’d like the duck filet, medium-rare, with the house puree and charred asparagus.” I pored over the menu for a few moments longer.
“I’ll start with the lobster salad cups with tomato granita,” I said, glancing over the main courses once again. “And the escalope of chicken with morel mushrooms, roasted potatoes, and spinach custard.”
“And to drink?” I looked at Shawn, wondering if I dared go for a glass of wine. I was sure they had some very good ones available.
“I’ll have some of your Malbec to go with the duck,” Shawn said. “And I think an Aperol spritz to start, with a glass of water on the side.” I debated between staying fully sober and going with convention for a hot minute in my mind.
“I’d love a Campari-coke to start, with a glass of water, and for my main dish…” I glanced at the wine list. “A glass of your pinot noir.” Shawn looked at me appreciatively as the waiter nodded and left.
“I didn’t know you’d developed any kind of taste for wines,” he said. I rolled my eyes.
“I took a class when I started having to go to business dinners,” I explained. “Now, what about what I was asking before? Would someone be framing your Dad to cover a bigger crime?”
“It’s definitely a reasonable explanation for why they’d frame him,” Shawn said. “And I mean, it happens enough in the industry.”
“Have either of you ever done anything like this?” I had to admit I was curious.
“Not this, exactly,” Shawn said, shrugging. “We have made it public about people being involved with prostitutes and things like that.” I stared at him for a moment, stunned at the admission. Of course, I’d known for a long time that Peterson and his corporation were engaged in shady practices, but I hadn’t expected Shawn to be so upfront about it.
“If that’s what you’re willing to admit to, I am pretty sure I don’t want to know about the secret stuff,” I said. Shawn chuckled.
“Winning is important,” Shawn pointed out. “In your field, you wouldn’t be in the position you are in if you didn’t have a similar attitude.”
“Yeah, but there’s ethics,” I countered.
“Ethics are subjective,” Shawn said with a shrug.
“I don’t really agree with that, since there’s an actual ethics board for lawyers,” I said. But I didn’t want to hear more. “In any case, in this one instance, I can say that I think your father might actually have been framed.”
“So it should be fairly easy to defend him,” Shawn said. “Does your boyfriend come to watch you in court?” I frowned. I’d been single for over a year. The first course arrived, and I had to admit--it was hard to decide which of our dishes was prettier. The tomato granita topping the lobster on my plate was a pale orange-yellow with a shimmer of glinting ice, whereas the bisque that Shawn had gotten was the perfect creamy salmon-pink.
“Boyfriend?”
Shawn dipped his spoon into his soup and brought up a plump shrimp along with the liquid, and I picked up the first of the three lettuce cups on my plate.
“Yeah, your boyfriend,” Shawn said, after he’d finished chewing and swallowing. “I mean I didn’t figure that a hot, successful lawyer would be single, but I’d figure you’d go for someone with some prestige behind his name.” It was such a bizarre statement that all I could do was laugh.
“First of all, prestige has nothing to do with my dating choices,” I told him, firmly. “When we dated, it was because I liked you, not because you were the rich kid. Secondly. I am way too busy to have someone involved in my life right now.” That was what I’d been telling myself for the past year, since I’d broken up with my last boyfriend. I laughed again, unable to help myself. If nothing else, the dinner had brought the benefit of breaking up some of the tension I’d felt while investigating the Peterson case. “Let’s stick with business.”
Chapter Four
I was just leaving the club; it was a little before two in the morning. I’d been there hoping to find a hookup, someone to take my mind off Cynthia. I knew I would probably regret it later the following day but I didn’t have any formal work to do. My father had always impressed on me that the business world never stopped--it didn’t take a day off, even when the markets were nominally closed, so neither should we. But after my dinner with Cynthia, my head had been way too full of memories, and I’d known I needed to find someone to take my mind off of her, if I could.
I’d gotten to the club by about ten; a friend of mine owned it, along with some other guys. So I didn’t even have to stand in line. Normally, all it took for me to find a girl was to camp out somewhere with bottle service and wait for them to come to me, interested in getting drunk on the cheap. But while I’d been sitting, listening to the music and watching people dancing, every woman who came up to the table just didn’t seem all that interesting. You’re not looking for someone to talk to about life philosophies with. You’re just looking for someone to take back to the apartment and hook up with, I’d reminded myself, over and over again. But it hadn’t worked. I kept realizing the only girls I seemed to actively hit on were all, in some way, like Cynthia; dark haired, with that stern look in their eyes. And as soon as I noticed it, I made myself disengage and try and go for a blonde, or a redhead.
I’d come up empty. Even with drinks in my system I couldn’t quite shake off the girl I’d been in love with in high school, or the awareness I had, in the back of my mind, of the delicious person she’d matured into while we’d been apart. I couldn’t stop myself from picturing what it’d be like to get her naked again; what the curves of her body--now fully fleshed out since we were both adults--would feel like under my hands. Would she still be as vocal as she’d been our first two times? She was a natural even the first time the two of you had sex; you had to really try to hold back. So I left the club thinking that I’d have to find another way to get her off of my mind. At the very least, I could go home and look up some old standbys on my favorite porn site.
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, which was weird because I couldn’t imagine anyone calling me at two in the morning. At most, I would have expected a text from someone I knew. When I took my phone out and looked at the lit screen, it only made me more confused. The the number was “unknown,” which was not all that unusual for me. But still, two in the morning wasn’t exactly the time I’d expect those kinds of calls.
I decided to answer it, while I continued walking across the lot to the paid parking. I was curious. “Shawn here,” I said, when the line connected. There
was a crackle of static and then an automated voice.
“Shawn Peterson. You are scum, just like your father. And if you know what’s best for you, you’ll let him go to prison the way he deserves to.” There was another burst of static and then the computer voice continued. “If you don’t let it go, we will have to come after you the same way we did to him. Learn from his mistakes.” I heard some beeps and then the call ended, leaving me standing in the middle of the parking lot with my phone in my hand.
I’m no stranger to threats; it’s a part and parcel of operating at the level that Dad taught me to. But that kind of threat was a new one. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to get it across to me without making it easy for me to figure out who they were. After my surprise evaporated, I thought about Cynthia. I needed to tell her about the call, since that, more than anything, would prove that my father had to be innocent. There had to be a way for her to track down who had been behind it, the same way she’d managed to get information about the transfers and transactions that had been used to frame Dad in the first place. I got into my car and looked up her address.
It didn’t surprise me to find out she lived in one of the nicer parts of town, in an apartment building where a couple of members of the state legislature tended to stay when they had to work. I pulled into a guest spot and thought about the fact that I was showing up to my lawyer’s place at two-thirty in the morning, and for a second I thought about not going through with it. Maybe I should wait until the morning. But I wanted to get to her as soon as possible.
I got out of my car and walked up to the entrance of the building. I thought about calling Cynthia first to wake her up because I was pretty sure that someone like her would be asleep already, even on a Friday night. But I decided against it. I looked for her last name on the directory posted on the ground floor and saw she was in 3A, and started up the stairs, taking them as quickly as I could. I spotted her door on the right hand side and rang the doorbell.
Redeemed: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance (Lost Love Book 1) Page 2
