Muscle

by Lexi Whitlow

  He grins at me. “Sign it,” he says.

  “Okay,” I sign the document beneath Gates’ signature, returning the paperwork to the realtor.

  “I’ll get this to the seller this afternoon, and we’ll move toward a fast closing date. Since it’s a cash transaction, it shouldn’t take more than a week or two.”

  “The sooner the better,” Gates says. “We’re eager to move in.”

  “Great!” she chirps. “Well then, I should probably head back to the office to get this in the works.”

  “Yeah,” Gates says. “How about you give Winter and me just a minute. We’ll follow you down.”

  The realtor is a little confused by his request, and I’m not sure what he’s up to either.

  Gates watches the realtor disappear down the stairwell, waiting for the fire door to close behind her. When she’s gone he steps up to me, taking my hands in his. His expression is unreadable, which tells me he’s got something weighing on him.

  “What?” I ask, hoping there’s nothing wrong. He loves the crew at work. He loves the writing and is challenged by the character he’s playing. Everything’s been going so well.

  “I love you,” he says.

  “I know,” I reply, feeling my brow furrow. “I love you, too.”

  Without any further preamble, Gates drops to one knee before me, still holding my hands in his. The move takes my breath away. I never anticipated this or expected it. I never imagined he’d be so traditional or sentimental.

  “I know I asked before, but I didn’t quite do it right. So now I want to ask you the way you deserve to be asked,” Gates says. “Winter Addison, I love you more than life itself. I can’t imagine ever being apart from you. Will you consent to be my wife? Will you marry me?”

  Tears burst forth from my eyes, stinging them, burning my cheeks. I flush pink and hot. My knees tremble inexplicably.

  “Of course, I will!” I cry. “Of course. I love you so much.”

  He slides a ring on my finger, then kisses my hand before standing up, encircling me inside his embrace. I know it’s cliché, but I can’t help it. I lift my hand up, so I can see the sparkling bauble glittering in the sunlight. It’s beautiful, almost as beautiful as the man who loves me.

  “I am going to do everything in my power to make you so happy,” Gates breathes into my hair, nuzzling my neck. “You’ve already made me the happiest man on Earth.”

  Chapter 26

  Gates

  The hits have been coming fast and furious for Bill Addison. It started just a few weeks after Winter and I moved to Richmond to start work on Downfall, my new Netflix series. Keira Daily filed a lawsuit against Bill Addison, naming the production company as a co-defendant, alleging a months-long pattern of sexual harassment and intimidation that created a toxic work environment on the set of Hearthfires. She announced the suit at a press conference, where she read a lengthy statement about her experiences with Addison, putting everything out for public scrutiny, shutting down any suspicion that she was looking for a payout. When she did that, eight other women came forward with similar stories, and the whole thing just blew wide open.

  Women have been coming forward ever since with details about harassment and coercion going back almost thirty years. The production company’s board of directors removed Addison as chairman and CEO, although he still owns the company, and have temporarily suspended production on any new projects until this and other legal issues get sorted out.

  Winter was ecstatic when she learned about that, because it guaranteed that little Jude Osmond would not get caught up in her father’s web. The kid made an impression on her, and she’s been worried about him ever since leaving Branson.

  Among the other issues Addison is facing is an investigation into money laundering being conducted by the FBI. Two indictments have already come down for human trafficking and facilitation of prostitution, against Miriam Chester and the owner of the employment agency in LA. The reports are that Chester is cooperating with investigators, as are a few others. My buddy Drew Ransom expects Bill Addison is going to go down with multiple felony counts for his high-level involvement in all of this. At the very least it’s going to completely bankrupt him. His offshore accounts have already been seized by the IRS, along with all his domestic investments. His lawyers are complaining they can’t get paid because Addison has no other assets except his house.

  The judge suggested Addison sell his house to pay his attorney, so that’s what he’s trying to do.

  I would almost feel sorry for him, except for the fact of why Winter and I are back in Los Angeles today.

  Today is Bill Addison’s day in court, where—if there’s any justice at all in the world—he’ll face a jury of his peers who will hold him accountable for what he did to his daughter, my wife, and threatening the well-being of our unborn child. Winter is seven-and-a-half months pregnant and looking every bit of it. She’s carrying the baby low, and due to the awkward asymmetry of weight distribution on her small frame, she’s a little wobbly on her feet.

  The district attorney said that we’d earn a good deal of sympathy from the jury before the case even starts, due to Winter’s condition. It seems that it’s almost impossible to find anyone who will give a pass to a man who beats on a pregnant woman. The fact that we have pictures, vividly colorful ones, of the bruising should make this an open-and-shut case.

  Winter hasn’t seen her father in person since that day so many months ago, but we’ve both had plenty of opportunities to see him on television. He went on the offensive in the press against Keira when she filed her lawsuit and made her statement, but when other women—and even a few men who witnessed some of the events—came forward to support her, he went quiet.

  After he was removed from Addison Productions and news leaked that he was under investigation by the feds and the IRS, he went to ground.

  Today is the first time he’s been seen in public for months, and the cameras are out in force to greet him as he comes into the courthouse, flanked by his attorneys and a small group of body guards.

  Winter fidgets beside me on the bench in the courtroom. She’s uncomfortable and understandably anxious about what’s about to take place. She has to take the stand and testify about what happened. She’s got to face her father, then face his lawyer’s questions.

  I have no idea what they’re going to use as a defense. The district attorney suspects they’ll take the route of attempting to discredit Winter, paint her as a liar, and then list all the reason’s she would make up a story like this.

  Given all the news about Bill Addison’s other criminal interests, it seems unlikely to me that this will hold any water, but we’ll see.

  When Addison and his lawyers come into the courtroom, he looks right at us, staring with an expression of ice-cold rage. He’s thinner than when I last saw him, less tanned. I guess none of his golf buddies want to hang out on Pebble Beach with a man who is arguably, the worst serial sex offender in American history, who also beats up on pregnant girls.

  I feel Winter stiffen. She shakes her head in disgust, then looks away from him. I don’t. I hold his gaze, giving him my well-practiced, most malicious serial-killer gaze. It’s a look, so I have been told by people on the set of Downfall, that literally gives them chills, and they know it’s just a television show and I’m just an actor.

  I hope Bill Addison looks into these eyes and thinks about how many people I’ve actually killed. Before I was an actor or a model, before I met and married his daughter, I was a SEAL. The United States military paid me to kill people. They wouldn’t have to pay me to kill him. I want him to know it, to feel it in his bones.

  I see it when the idea dawns on him. He swallows hard, blinks, blanches to a dull, dishwater gray, then rapidly looks away.

  The judge comes in and we all stand up, with me helping Winter to her feet. The proceedings are read and then the district attorney begins.

  It all goes smoothly until the DA finishes interviewing Wint
er and turns her over to the defense.

  The lawyer’s name is Bolton. He’s wearing a custom-tailored suit and Italian loafers, with his hair slicked back like a Mafioso. As I think on it, Bolton really is a mob lawyer. Bill Addison’s crime syndicate puts John Gotti to shame.

  “Miss Addison, is it true that you lied to your father on numerous occasions about your whereabouts in the weeks between September first and October first of last year?” he asks.

  “Yes,” she replies.

  “And is it true that you also conspired with Miss Margot Templeton, your best friend, to lie to your father about your whereabout and activities during this same time?”

  Winter smiles coolly. “Yes,” she says again.

  “And is it also true that you lied to your father regularly, prior to this period, to conceal from him activities such as drinking alcohol, visiting night clubs, and participating in sexual activities with strangers, that—”

  “Objection!” the district attorney calls out loudly. “Mrs. Vaughn’s reputation is not on trial here. This line of questioning is not pertinent to the case, nor is it appropriate.”

  “Sustained,” the judge says. “Mr. Bolton. Try to keep your focus on what’s relevant to the trial, rather than leading us down a merry path. I’m sure we’ve all told our parents a fib or two. I’ll remind the jury to ignore the last question, and also keep in mind that Mrs. Vaughn was twenty-six years old at the time of the alleged assault, so her father’s opinions of her activities hold no authority. She was an adult. Carry on, counselor.”

  Bolton begins again. “Miss Addison, is it—”

  Winter raises her hand. “It’s Mrs. Vaughn,” she corrects him. “I let it slide the first time, but try to get it right from here on out. It’s a simple thing. It shouldn’t be hard.”

  God, I am so proud of her.

  Bolton clears his throat and takes a step back. “My apologies, Mrs. Vaughn. Let’s go to that day on the first of October that you claim your father assaulted you. You stated that he struck you with his fist, and then he slammed you against the door.”

  “That’s right,” Winter says.

  “Isn’t it the truth that you attacked him first. That you hit him and shoved him multiple times—”

  “No. That’s not true. He hit me. He threw me on the ground.” Winter interrupts.

  “Isn’t it true that when your father moved to the door to leave the apartment, you threw yourself at him, and when he went to defend himself, you fell into the door and hurt yourself?”

  Winter breaks out laughing, shaking her head. “You’re saying that I managed to give myself a black eye, put fingerprints on my own arm, and bruise my own back, all by myself?” She pauses and takes a breath, looking the aggressive lawyer in the face.

  “Isn’t that exactly what happened, Mrs. Vaughn?” Bolton asks. “Isn’t it true that you were so enraged when your father threatened to cut off your allowance, cancel your charge cards, take away your Range Rover, that you flew into a rage and attacked him?”

  “No, Mr. Bolton. That’s not what happened,” Winter says again. “If that’s what my father has told you, he’s a liar.” She leans forward to the mic. “My father, Bill Addison, hit me when I told him I was pregnant. And then he threw me to the ground.” She looks across the courtroom, staring straight at her father. “You’re a liar, and a shitty human being.”

  “Watch your language Mrs. Vaughn,” the judge warns Winter.

  When Bolton is done, we hear next from the two first-responding police officers, and the EMT who examined Winter after the assault.

  Bolton attempts to get them all to agree Winter’s injuries could have been self-inflicted or sustained accidentally from a fall, but none of them will cooperate. The EMT, especially, blows this line of defense apart.

  “I’ve seen a lot of bar brawls and fist fights. I’ve treated a lot of accidental falls. I know the difference. It takes real force to leave fingerprints on a young, healthy body. And it takes a tightly balled fist, swung with intentional force, to leave clearly discernible knuckle marks on a face.”

  He holds up the image of Winter’s bruised face. “See right there?” he says, pointing. “One, two, three, four distinct points of impact. That’s from the knuckles of a closed fist, not a doorframe.”

  We break for lunch at noon, which gives Winter a chance to walk a little and stretch out her aching back. The break gives me a chance to tell her how proud I am of her for standing up for herself against her father’s bullies.

  “I knew it was coming,” she says, rubbing her back. “I don’t care what they say. He knows what happened. He’ll always know he’s a liar, no matter what the jury does or doesn’t believe.”

  Her wisdom on this is admirable; I want the jury to believe her.

  Just as we’re about to go back in to court, I see the DA speaking to a woman in the hallway. She hands him a folder, pressing it towards him. He opens the folder and looks inside. The woman is vaguely familiar to me, but I can’t place her until she looks up and sees me staring at her.

  She’s got long red hair, unevenly streaked with threads of steely white, and blue eyes the color of arctic ice. Her heart-shaped face is the same as Winter’s, but older, with those familiar freckles darkened and deepened with the thin lines of middle age.

  She’s Winter’s mother.

  I don’t dare say anything to Winter because I have no idea why her mother is here, or what she intends. The last time Winter mentioned her, it was to point out that she left Winter with him, abandoning her when she was just a small child.

  Back in the courtroom the district attorney stands to address the judge.

  “Your honor, this is unexpected, but I’d like to ask your permission to call a witness who isn’t on the schedule. Mrs. Elizabeth Sayers, formerly Mrs. Elizabeth Addison. She’s the defendant’s ex-wife and Winter Vaughn’s mother.”

  Winter audibly gasps. She turns, looking around the courtroom for a familiar face. I slip my hand into hers, squeezing.

  Bolton nearly loses his mind objecting. “Your honor, this is uncalled for. Defense has had no notice and no time to prepare a cross-examination! Further, Mrs. Sayers is not a witness to the events of October first. She can have nothing of substance to contribute.”

  I see Bill Addison squirm in his chair, his jaw flexing so hard he looks like he might shatter some teeth.

  “I’ll allow your witness,” the judge says. “Keep the testimony to the subject at hand.”

  “Yes, your honor.” The district attorney replies. He turns and motions toward the back of the courtroom. The door to the hallway opens and the woman I saw at break steps inside, moving forward with her hands at her side, her eyes cast down.

  After she’s sworn in, she takes a seat, looking uncomfortable in this setting, with all eyes focused on her.

  The district attorney begins with the basics, asking her how long she was married to Addison, when they separated, and finally why she left him.

  When she speaks, her voice is thin with tension. “Seventeen times,” she says.

  “Excuse me?” The DA asks.

  “Seventeen times,” she repeats. “Seventeen times he beat me so badly I lost consciousness. The staff called the police. Reports were filed, photographs taken, but no one ever did anything to help me because… Because he terrified everyone into submission and silence.”

  “Who beat you seventeen times, Mrs. Sayers? Who terrified everyone?”

  She points a shaking hand at Addison. “Bill, my ex-husband.”

  Members of the jury squirm in their chairs.

  “Why did you stay with him?” the DA asks.

  She takes a breath. “Because I was convinced I was helpless without him. He convinced me I was incompetent. He made me completely dependent on him. He ran off my friends, threatened my employers. He isolated me in every way imaginable. And we had a daughter. I was so scared.”

  “What made you finally leave him?”

  “I told a friend
what was happening. I confided in someone, after he saw the bruises. He offered to help me. But when Bill found out he said he’d kill me and Winter both if I took her. I wanted to take her, but I knew what Bill was capable of. Instead, I took his money, made a deal to stay silent on the abuse. He said if I left and took his money, he would never hurt Winter. But he did. I should never have believed him.”

  Winter is motionless beside me listening to this, staring wide-eyed at the woman who left her so long ago. She’s barely breathing, so intent is her focus on her mother’s words.

  As the district attorney begins to wrap up his interview with Winter’s mother, he lifts the folder she gave him earlier for the judge to see.

  “Your honor, I’d like to enter this into evidence. It’s seventeen police reports detailing domestic complaints and accusations of assault, filed by Palos Verdes PD. In addition, there’s an original signed copy of the financial agreement made between the defendant and his former wife, with Mrs. Sayers written agreement not to discuss him or their relationship, relinquishing sole custody of their child to the defendant, in exchange for three million dollars.”