by Ivy Fox
“So, of course, when Eleanor confided in me with what was really tormenting her all along, I told her to grab you all and leave that animal behind the first chance she got. Once she had made sure you were all safe, she’d go to the police so they could arrest him, finally getting the justice she deserved for all those years your deplorable father robbed from her. Just because Malcolm was her husband didn’t mean he could get away with such monstrous behavior.
“I even offered Eleanor my house for all of you to stay. At the time, it was empty because my family and I were on vacation, so Malcolm wouldn’t even consider looking there, which would give Eleanor enough time to alert the authorities. I honestly thought that she was going to take my advice, but then the next call I received was from Vivienne, telling me my sweet friend had died in a hit and run. And when no one arrested Malcolm for abusing her, I had no proof to go to the police myself.”
“So you kept quiet and let an evil man like him roam free to terrorize other innocent victims.”
“I… I…”
“If you had just gone to the police with what you knew,” Rome begins, then sucks his teeth in, unable to vocalize his horrid thoughts.
But I know exactly what solemn distress plagues his mind now. If Claire had come forward with the information his mother had given her, then maybe it could have spared Carmen from enduring his father’s malicious advances, and spared me from my own brutal assault. And maybe, just maybe, his brothers and sister wouldn’t have to live under his father’s thumb and tyranny for so long.
“I didn’t have any proof. No one would have believed me. But then, at that godforsaken fashion show, you told everyone how that horrid man had touched my baby girl, and I just snapped. My Addison wasn’t going to get any justice, either. Just like Eleanor. You made sure of it when you insinuated Addy slept with him out of her own volition. But I know my baby. She loved you. Even though I wish she hadn’t, she did.
“Addy would never welcome Malcolm willingly into her bed. Not when all she had was eyes for you. He corrupted my baby and forced himself on her. I know it. But you made sure to turn everyone against her. Everyone in this city believes Addy was the one who seduced your father, behind your back no less. How could my daughter ever go to the police and cry rape when you made everyone believe she wanted it?” Claire huffs out, pure loathing in her eyes.
“So, when Vee giddily announced that your father had woken up from his coma, I took matters into my own hands. I knew there was some sort of construction being done up at Bowery, so I told the Manning’s chauffer to take that route to Midtown, blaming heavy traffic on Canal Street. Thankfully, he did as suggested, so Charles and I were able to get to Liberty General long before anyone else.
“I asked Charles to go outside and call our friends—to check what was taking them so long to arrive—blaming the hospital’s shoddy signal for him having to leave the building. With Charles out of the room and Malcolm unconscious, the rest was easy. I grabbed the pillow beneath his head and smothered the spiteful life out of him.
“If my Addison couldn’t get justice one way, then by God, I found a more permanent one to bring it to her. He shouldn’t have gone after my baby girl. He shouldn’t have done that,” Claire stutters, and even though she just admitted premeditated murder, I can’t fault the reason behind it.
She’s a mother who believes her daughter was hurt in the cruelest of ways, and who she loves and adores more than anything in this world. If I had been in her shoes, I’m sure I would be sitting exactly where Claire is now, wearing the same orange jumpsuit and waiting for a freedom that may never come.
I hope to never have to make such a decision.
A familiar bell rings, announcing the end of our visit. Rome may have his answers, but unfortunately, it isn’t the closure he expected. His father ruined more lives than one, so all we can do now, is to deal with the repercussion of his ill misdeeds, in whatever way we can.
Claire begins to stand from her seat, and we mimic her accordingly, knowing this will be the first visit we ever have with her, as well as the last.
“I know you blame me for not taking action sooner, just as I will forever blame you for tarnishing my daughter’s reputation. Eleanor was my friend, and I loved her dearly. With your mother, I had no option but to keep her confession to me a secret. But Addison is my child, so when it happened to her, I had no choice but to give her peace in any way I could find. Do you understand that?” Claire hushes, her blue eyes burdened with all the regrets she will have to carry for the rest of her days.
“I know love can make you do things you never saw yourself doing. Even forgiving yourself for something out of your control,” Rome replies, looking exhausted with everything we learned this morning.
Claire gives him a stiff nod, her eyes lowering to the empty table between us, and says, “I never paid anyone to hit you in prison. That was all your mother’s handiwork, Holland.” She tilts her head at me and continues, “Vee thought that if Roman were roughed up a bit, he’d see reason and ask for a plea deal, shortening his time and transferring to a less hostile prison. She never expected him to be so stubborn, though.”
“Did my mother know it was you who killed the judge?” I gasp, horrified by the fact that it was my mother behind Rome’s beat downs.
“I very much doubt it. If she had, then Rome wouldn’t have been the only one on her hit list. She’d make sure I suffered immensely for taking Malcolm away from her. In Vee’s eyes, he was her greatest conquest, two of a feather, if you ask me—both corrupt and ugly with no human decency whatsoever. But one day, she’ll be reunited with her lost love in the fiery pits of hell where they both belong. At least I can take some small comfort in that,” she explains sweetly, giving us a stiff nod before turning her back and heading toward the holding cells.
“You’re quiet,” I hush, leaning my head on Rome’s shoulder as the town car stops at another red light.
He lets out a long exhale and kisses the top of my head.
“Sorry, little liar. It’s just a lot to take in.”
“Do you regret going to see her?” I ask, but I feel him shaking his head in reply.
“I have many regrets, but going to see Claire Hurst isn’t one of them. I needed to know.”
“I understand that, but you know she’s wrong, right? It wasn’t your fault that her daughter got messed up with your father, nor should you feel responsible for Addison not coming forward, if she was somehow coerced into the affair.”
“It’s not that simple, Snow. I’m not making excuses for Addison, but I knew she didn’t have the best home life. She had her own demons to hold at bay. Yet, when I caught them together in that way, I didn’t even want to hear her useless explanations. I just scraped her off, not caring one way or the other how she felt, or why she did it. My father has always been a cunning man, using our weaknesses against us. I’m not so certain anymore that he didn’t do the same with Addison.”
“Maybe you should talk to her? Get some closure with her, too.”
“As logical as that sounds, the Addison that was once my friend, no longer exists. All she is now is a cold and manipulative woman. I got the closure I needed talking to her mother. And don’t you get any ideas, either. I was serious yesterday when I told you I don’t want Addison in our lives. She just poisons everything in her path. I know you have this burning need to make peace with her because she’s your sister, but we can’t change her past, Snow. Neither can you undo the errors and mistakes we’ve done, nor the ones that others have done before us. All we can do is learn from them and hope they give us the tools to face our future more wisely.”
“I like the sound of that—our future.” I smile, my heart warming at the idea that we’ve passed all our hardships, and now we can finally focus on our happiness.
“Me too, little liar. Me too.”
A few minutes pass by when the town car reaches its stop by the entrance of the Grayson Manor. As I step out, the
smile that was on my lips disappears with the sight of a familiar figure heading toward us, accompanied by a man I’ve never seen before.
“Detective Gomez. I hate to say this, but I was really hoping not to see you so soon,” Rome states, his hand pressed against the small of my back protectively.
“If ever,” I say, overtly sweetly.
I know I shouldn’t blame the detective for all that we had to go through these past few months. I know the woman was only doing her job, but it still irks me that she was so gung-ho in locking up Rome for something he didn’t do. Especially after Elle and I had revealed her the truth behind Malcolm’s assault.
My resentment eases somewhat when I verify that she has at least the decency to look ashamed, and her posture toward Rome is no longer an intimidating one.
“Roman. Holland. Nice to see you again.” She tries to play off my little ill-mannered comment.
“Who’s your friend?” Rome asks, eyeing the man standing stiffly behind her.
“This is Special Agent Jack McCarthy with the FBI. Mr. McCarthy, this is Roman Grayson and Holland West.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard a lot of things about you, Miss West. It’s nice I can finally put a face to the name,” he adds amicably.
Rome, however, doesn’t like the attention the agent is giving me and wraps his arm around my waist possessively. I almost have an Elle moment, but refrain from rolling my eyes at his unwarranted jealousy.
“Do I care to ask what is this visit about, or should I just speed dial my lawyers?” Rome questions, his tone harsher than it was a minute ago.
“No need for that. I apologize for not calling beforehand, but we discovered some things that needed the utmost attention,” Detective Gomez states, throwing a discreet look at her new partner.
“Alright. And where do we fit in all that?”
“Your butler, Lawrence Bell. Is he home? He’s the one we need to speak with,” Agent McCarthy instructs evenly, revealing nothing with his leveled tone, but raising our hackles with his unusual request.
“Lawrence?” Rome questions suspiciously, eyeing them up and down.
“Yes,” Detective Gomez replies point-blank, her expression also not giving anything away, while Agent McCarthy continues to be just as elusive as before.
“Does he need a lawyer?” I interject, uncomfortable with the idea of the FBI interrogating anyone in our home. The nightmarish image of the last time Detective Gomez was here is still branded vividly in my mind.
“If you would feel more comfortable, that can be arranged. However, at the moment all we want is to talk to him. This isn’t an official interrogation,” she assures, but then throws rocks at the pit of my stomach when she adds a low ‘yet’ to her statement.
“I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you said that without bringing an FBI agent in tow, detective.” Rome gives his shark-like grin, putting on his own mask since it’s obvious the two people in front of us intend to keep theirs.
“I’ll explain everything in good time, but it is imperative that we speak with Mr. Bell first,” she reiterates, implying that they won’t leave without speaking with Lawrence.
“Well, no use standing out here all day then. Whether Lawrence speaks with you or not, it will be his decision. Not ours, and most certainly not yours,” Rome rebukes with just a little hint of acrimony in his tone, reflecting his animosity toward the detective.
We all walk into the manor in awkward silence, heading upstairs to the main floor in search of the butler. Ash, Ollie, and Elle are all sitting around the kitchen table, laughing at Henrietta’s soap-opera stories, when we enter the room with our uninvited guests at our heel.
“Avó, do you know where Lawrence is?”
“I believe he’s in the library,” Henrietta informs us, her brows joining together in confusion at the two stern-looking people behind us.
“Detective Gomez, what are you doing here?” Ollie asks, getting out of his seat immediately.
“She’s here to talk to Lawrence, apparently,” I explain, still not a hundred percent sure we should have let her through the door. “So is her colleague, Special Agent McCarthy from the FBI,” I add, emphasizing the bureau not too discreetly.
“Oh, hell no! I’m calling Coen,” Elle shouts, immediately sharing my concern.
“Hang up the phone, Elle. It’s Lawrence’s call if he wants to talk to them at all. No need to call in the firing squad just yet,” Rome teases.
“Just so you know, my sister will keep her thumb on the speed dial to our lawyers. If either one of you asks anything we don’t like, then not only will she ring the Coen’s, but you’ll feel the boot up your asses when I’m kicking you both out of our house,” Ash warns, taking a big bite of his green apple, as if threatening the authorities with violence were second nature to him.
“Actually, we would prefer to speak with Mr. Bell in privacy,” Detective Gomez states, and I don’t miss how her eyes go over to Ollie for allegiance.
“That’s not happening,” Elle deadpans, crossing her arms over her chest as she sizes up the FBI agent in our midst.
“You’re outvoted, Michelle. If you still want this to be an unofficial tête-à-tête, you’re going to have my family as witnesses.” Ollie shrugs, looking unrepentant for not coming to her aid. “Still interested?”
“You’re not giving me much of a choice, now are you?” She grinds her teeth.
“Good. You’re finally picking up on how things work around here,” Elle interjects, her brows up to her forehead.
Rome chuckles and leads the uncharacteristically mute detective and her new partner to the library. Of course, Elle and the twins are right behind us every step of the way, not wanting to have them out of their sight.
“Lawrence, you have visitors. But rest assured we can totally kick them out if you don’t want to talk,” Ash says harshly, slumping down on a leader couch with his legs wide open.
Lawrence turns to face us, his composure is suddenly more straight than before.
“Mr. Bell, I’m Detective Gomez from the NYPD, and this is Special Agent Jack McCarthy with the FBI. Is it possible to have a few minutes of your time? We would like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind?”
Lawrence looks to the detective and then to the agent, his jaw ticking in place while placing his hands behind his back, clutching his fists nervously.
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Rome explains calmly, feeling his uneasiness.
Lawrence stares off into the distance for a long moment, and then suddenly relaxes, his stiff back unwinding, his shoulders slumping, and his curled-up fists loosening to look serene and the epitome of calm.
“No. It’s time,” Lawrence remarks cryptically, and sits on the large sofa, ushering our guests to do the same, while we wait for the detective to start their little interview.
“You don’t seem surprised to see us here,” Detective Gomez commences, taking a seat across from him.
“If I’m honest, I’ve been waiting for this visit for years. Never once did I believe it would take this long.”
“I see. So who should start? You or I?” she asks coolly, while the rest of us look to each other perplexed, oblivious to all of this.
“I am nothing, if not a gentleman, Detective. Please, ladies first,” Lawrence replies with his usual aristocratic tone.
“Very well. We have recently acquired compelling evidence against your previous employers—Mrs. Vivienne West Grayson and Judge Malcolm Grayson. We have reason to believe both conducted various illegal activities together, one of which was the sexual abuse of minors. Does this surprise you?”
“You already know the answer to that, Detective. Please, if you are here to ask me questions, make them useful to your purpose,” Lawrence retorts sternly, unimpressed with the detective’s interrogation methods.
“Are you always this pragmatic, Mr. Bell?”
“That�
��s the politest way to describe what I am, yes. Please continue, Detective. I’ve waited long enough.”
I feel my forehead wrinkle in confusion, and my eyes flash to all the other puzzled faces in the room, save for Lawrence and our guests, who seem to be well inside the loop of what the hell is going on.
“We have been able to subpoena Mrs. Grayson’s personal e-mails, telephone calls, text messages, as well as his work computer. Unfortunately, as the scope of our previous warrant was not focused on finding proof of Judge Grayson’s criminal activities, another search will need to be performed here at his home, to gather further evidence. If you don’t feel comfortable giving us consent, we can obtain a warrant.” The last part she directs at Rome with an apologetic look.
Rome huffs out scornfully at her statement, and I don’t blame him. If she hadn’t been so adamant about locking him up last year, then maybe she’d have done her job right in the first place and, with proper investigation, discovered who the real villain in this house was.
“I very much doubt you’ll find anything here. Judge Grayson would never incriminate himself or leave proof lying around where his sons could get their hands on it. He was always two steps ahead of everyone.”
“I see,” the ponytailed detective retorts, taking notes in her little pad.
She then lifts her eyes from the notepad, tapping the pen on it as she scrutinizes Lawrence for a silent moment. “But he wasn’t as careful around you, was he?”
“What do you mean?” Ollie asks when Lawrence bows his head, concealing his face from us.
“Mr. Bell, care to explain or give your opinion on the following text messages from Mrs. Vivienne Grayson—at that time named Vivienne West—to Judge Grayson on the eleventh of February, two thousand and eighteen?” Special Agent McCarthy interrupts, opening something on his iPad.
