I’m both thankful for and resentful of it.
26
Brody
If I were built like Dwayne Johnson, I’m pretty sure the pen in my hand would be snapped in half.
The kid hasn’t looked up from his phone since we sat him in our conference room, and his dad is doing all the talking.
“The case has taken a turn in the prosecutor’s favour,” Annabelle says.
“How?” Mr. Steinfeld booms.
“An eyewitness has come forward from the party. Says they saw your son dragging an almost-passed-out victim upstairs. It proves she wasn’t capable of giving consent.”
The punk-ass kid finally looks up from his phone. “That’s bullshit.”
“No, that’s the law,” I bite and am quickly shut up by a glare from Annabelle.
“How do we fix it?” Mr. Steinfeld asks. “Pay the witness off, or—”
I hold in a groan and throw my head in my hand.
“You cannot tamper with a witness,” Annabelle says firmly. “You definitely can’t tell us about it or the plan to do it or imply to the point we suspect you might execute the plan.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?” he asks.
“We’re going to try to negotiate a plea deal,” Annabelle says.
“No. He has his whole future ahead of him. I’m not going to let some stupid little slu—”
Before I know what I’m doing, I stand and bang my hands down on the desk. “Finish that sentence. I dare you.”
“Wallace,” Annabelle scolds, but I’m on a roll.
“Your son is a rapist, he knows it, we know it, and the courts are going to know it. You’ll be lucky to get a plea deal. Knowing the screwed-up legal system, he’ll probably only get probation, a few months at the most. Maybe if he wasn’t such a spoiled shithead, he’d know the meaning of the word no.”
Fucking up my career wasn’t on today’s agenda, and now the ball’s rolling, I should be regretful or worried. Instead, all I want to do is march into my father’s office and tell him I can’t do it.
I’m ready to admit that I was wrong and he was right because as I sit across from this arrogant tool and his idiotic son, all I can think about is this kid’s victim. How she’d stare at me the same way Anders stared at my father, and I don’t want anyone to ever look at me that way.
Annabelle touches my arm and speaks low. “How about you step out for a bit?”
“Gladly.”
With adrenaline still pumping, I march straight for the elevator to go to my father’s office instead of my own.
He must sense something’s up, because he stands as soon as he sees me. “What’s wrong?”
“I quit. I quit, I quit, I quit. I can’t … I just—”
“Whoa, slow down.”
“You were right, Dad. I shouldn’t have come to work for you.”
He screws up his face. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not cut out for it.”
“That’s not true. You have the potential to be a great lawyer.”
“I don’t have what it takes. Not on big cases like this.”
“Take a seat. We’ll talk it through.”
I pace back and forth, still full of energy, but then I throw myself into the chair opposite him. “I can’t. I’m done.”
“Don’t piss everything you’ve worked for away for a …”
“A what? Can you even say the word boyfriend? I’m not doing it for Anders. And he’s not my boyfriend.” Thanks to my dad.
Dad leans back in his seat. “But you’re doing it because of him.”
“I’m doing it because I can’t handle it.”
“After you pay your dues, you can pick and choose which cases to take.”
“That’s true, but how much work am I going to get if I only want to represent good people?”
“Good people get into trouble all the time,” Dad points out.
My mind goes to when Law was arrested for assaulting an abusive parent. Those are the kinds of cases I could do.
But to get there, I have to sell my soul for the next few years, and that’s something I’m not willing to do.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. You were right.”
“About what?”
“You’re always telling me I should’ve gone for a different type of law. You pass it off as a joke, but I know it’s not.”
Dad’s face falls. “Brody … I …” His mouth opens and closes a few times. “You know why I say those things? It’s not because I don’t think you can make it. I say them because you don’t seem to have the drive for this. You’re not passionate about it. I … I …”
“Just say whatever you’re thinking. I can handle it.”
“I don’t talk about this … stuff,” he grumbles.
Yeah, so I’ve heard from Mum over the years.
“It’s called emotion, Dad.”
He takes a deep breath. “Sometimes it comes across like you only went into law because of me and you don’t actually like it. It makes me feel …” He swallows hard, and I swear I see sweat forming on his forehead. “Guilty.”