Chapter Two - Kiara
“Your father’s been arrested.” The repelling statement has looped in my head, over and over, for the last two weeks. When the news hit, I thought it was some sick, twisted prank. But deep down I knew it wasn’t.
“What the hell for?” I’d yelled down the receiver to the lawyer.
“I know it’s not the type of news you want to hear. We’re working on getting him out on bail, but the charges are intimidating. He’s been arrested under suspicion of weapons trafficking out of the main Chicago port.”
Shakily, I skim a hand through my hair, trying to work out a way to cover up the bags under my eyes from lack of sleep over the past two weeks. It’s amazing how one phone call can turn your life completely upside down. And for some that might be a good thing, but for me, it’s my worst nightmare. The last thing my father needs is to see the worry on my face, and how deeply affected I am by the charges. Knowing him, he will tell the lawyer to send me away and try to handle it all himself. He’s already locked in a hellhole of a place, and the worst thing is he might not have seen it coming, but I did. The main difference is that I’ve been living in denial.
Gripping the sink, I suck in a shallow breath, the world as I’ve always known it breaking apart.
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’m going to get you out of this, I swear. This has to be some kind of misunderstanding.” And as the words come crashing back to me through the bathroom mirror, I can’t believe they’re spilling out of my mouth in the first place.
The only way I can deal with getting ready to see my father in jail is by believing that this is all a really bad, bad dream, and by the time I reach the station he’s going to be released. My father’s all I’ve got, because Jenna—my biological mother doesn’t do kids. Some days I can’t bring myself to call the woman my mother, because really, she hasn’t been one to me. Ever. It’s been my father who’s tucked me in at night and made my lunches when he had time. He’s the one who wiped my tears when life got me down.
“This isn’t for me. Can’t you just take her?” Those were the words of my neglectful mother who wanted nothing to do with me, but everyone’s got a story, and I’ve never cared about finding out hers. Maybe she couldn’t cope with being a mother and had to go. From what my father told me, she now lives somewhere in San Francisco with her long-time boyfriend, but I don’t know much else. I’ve never wanted to seek her out either, but neither has she. I put the loaded memories to rest, heading out the door. As I slipstream through the congested stockpile of cars to the police station, I keep focused on what I can do.
We have a good family lawyer. He’s the best one we can afford. It’s a good thing my father has been raking in good money all these years.
The problem with all that “good money” is, he’s in jail because he’s been involved with the wrong people. He took an illegitimate risk to provide a life for us. I don’t want to keep running over it in my mind, so I do anything I can to stop it from making up “what if” scenarios.
What’s life going to look like for you, Kiara? I’ve just graduated with a computer science degree, and I’ve got a few freelance gigs, but nothing permanent. I live with him, but finding my own place isn’t a problem. It’s been the next thing on my list after graduating. It’s just that I enjoy living with my father. We live in a nice three-bedroom townhouse in a nice, relatively safe part of Chicago in Lincoln Park. I’ve got my space, and he’s got his. I’m glad I skipped the roommate phase, although if Stacy or Emily ever wanted to live together with me when I was younger, I would have jumped at the chance. We practically lived at each other’s houses over the years.
It’s the strangest thing, not having Dad buzzing around the kitchen humming with his coffee in hand in the morning. Now the house is stone-cold empty. I turn off onto the slip lane traveling to the jail, a shudder rippling through me. I’m so anxious and full of fear about him going to jail that I don’t realize I’m biting down on my lip and have drawn blood. As I find a parking space closer to the jail, I taste blood, waking me from my thoughts.
“Shit!” I lick the coppery taste out of my mouth, taking a deep breath as I park. This isn’t going to be quick or easy. It’s going to be a marathon. Putting the car in park, my legs feel like lead as I walk, thinking about how many other people are visiting loved ones who haven’t made it out of the jail.
Chicago’s depressive gray clouds match the dark atmosphere here. This place is already giving me the heebie-jeebies. Automatically, my body wants to launch into spasm mode, but I will myself forward, timidly walking inside and following visitor protocols. My bag is scanned by an officer, and as I look around, I take note of all the doom plastered on the faces of visitors, hoping for their own to be released, just like me.
Meekly, I nod my head at the security guard who is mean-mugging me as I take my backpack down. I’ve got a few necessities for my father that he asked me to bring, and I’m hoping it’s not confiscated before I can give them to him. Holding my breath, I wait for the green light. Slowly the beefy security guard checks the items giving me the go-ahead. “You can go through. Room one on the right. You’ve got sixty minutes. No longer.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I can’t wait to see him. I’m sure we can come up with the bail somehow. I don’t know how much it is, but if the townhouse has to be put up as collateral so be it; we can start again. I know we can. I head through a second set of gates, rounding to a small room with stark white walls where I’m meeting with our lawyer and my father.
A weight drops in my belly when I see my father’s disheveled face. He’s lost weight already, and he’s aged by at least five years, if you ask me. He’s normally clean shaven, but he’s got a scruffy misshapen beard in its place.
“Dad!” I call out, hugging him.
“Sweety. Oh my God. You’re here,” he replies, his voice hoarse as he embraces me, squeezing me tight. I hold on to him, pressing my eyes shut. Who knows when I’m going to get to see him again. Yes, I have visitation rights, but anything could happen. I don’t know the Chicago prison system, and already circumstances are changing faster than I can comprehend.
“I’m here,” I reassure, my voice muffled into his khaki prison uniform. “I told you I would be.” I retract my hands from his waist, staring back at his shame-filled face.
“Sit. Please. Water?” he asks, his eyes bloodshot. I’ve never seen my father like this, and it takes my heart a few seconds to regulate.
“In a second.” I turn my attention to our lawyer, Asher Wright. He’s a short, stumpy guy dressed in a charcoal suit. He looks unassuming, but he’s known as one of the best criminal defense lawyers in town. Well, at the very least, the one we can afford. “Hi, Asher.”
“Hi, Kiara. I would say nice to see you, but I’m sure you’d rather not be here with me under these circumstances,” he replies bleakly, tampering with any glimpses of hope I’m desperately holding on to.
“Can we pretend to stay optimistic?” I plead, seeing the tears welling up in my father’s eyes as he breaks down, covering his head in his hands.
“Jesus, Kiara. I didn’t want you to come here. Not in this place,” he says, his voice caving in. “I don’t want you being involved with this, but the truth is—” My father cracks up, and I cover my hands over his, feeling helpless. “Sorry… I need your help, Kiara. I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” he cries, beating himself up, leaving my torn.
It’s not as if I’ve been dumb, deaf, and blind to my father’s actions for the last five years. I saw the pay checks getting bigger and bigger, the more jobs he received. His business started to boom, and I didn’t think anything about it because he seemed so happy. And the truth is, I benefited from it. I didn’t have to worry about my college tuition being paid, and all the debts and bills he complained about for years before, mysteriously disappeared.
I don’t know how or when he signed up with these shady people, but it’s been an upward trajectory since he started working with them. I let denial take over, because I figured he could deal with whatever was going on.
Grim faced, I recall the secret calls he took when he assumed I wasn’t listening. I noticed the nicer things coming into the house. And him being able to afford to buy me a nice Jeep. The truth is, I benefitted from his relationship with these shady people, so it’s my fault too.
“I should have told you to quit… I knew.” Holding my head down, I squeeze his fingers. Shock registers in his eyes as I tell him the truth.
“Careful about what you’re saying,” Asher whispers in my ear. “These walls have ears.”
I nod my head, not caring. All I want is to get my father out of here. “You’ve taken care of me, Dad. Now it’s time for me to repay the favor,” I interrupt as Asher takes a sip of water and loosens his tie with a heavy sigh.
“This isn’t going to be easy, but I’ve taken the case, because I’m sick of these fucking Russian dudes taking over Chicago. We need to take our city back,” Asher pushes, my eyes flying into shock. He’s obviously told Asher who he’s involved with. I’ve heard rumblings about them around the city, but “out of sight, out of mind” has been my motto. They’ve never existed in my world—until now.
“Asher… I don’t want this to be about your own personal vendetta. I want to help my father get the hell out of here,” I reply sternly.
“Sorry. It won’t be, but it does help. I’ve taken three of my last cases related to the Bratva, and I’ve won them. Small victories, but slowly we’re chipping away. Besides, I’m guessing that’s why you hired me,” Asher reminds my father, his hands clasped in front of him, court documents lodged underneath his elbow.
“You’re right. What am I up against, Asher?” my father asks, sounding stronger as I stare at him in horror.
“Dad,” I gasp, looking at the yellowing bruise around his eye socket. “What happened to your eye? Are you safe here?” I reach out my hand over the table, but my father dismisses it.
“This place,” he replies with regret. “It’s a place for the worst of sinners. What do they want with a man like me?”
“Hey. Keep your head up. I’m on it. Let me speak to the prison warden about getting you moved to a better cell block,” Asher responds. “I can do that much.”
“Dad. We have to get you out,” I state in a determined voice. I stare at his eye before focusing on Asher. “What about the bail?”
Asher nods. “I’m working on that. The bail is a small fortune—millions, and it might require you to put up the house for collateral, but that’s a small price to pay for freedom. Your father’s not an immediate threat to the Chicago people, but because of the high-profile case with Willy Dee—and this case involving gun trafficking, the police department is cracking down.”
Emily comes to mind. And she might be out of the police department, but probably she can help. “I want him out. We don’t care about the house for bail. Look at his face! He’s not safe,” I growl, feeling antsy.
“Honey. Don’t worry. It was a little misunderstanding with the cell mate, and it’s going to be okay from now on.” I see the corner of my father’s eye twitching, and I figure he’s lying to me. Now other fears I never thought about are surfacing. The possibility my father being beaten to death in jail, wasn’t on the list.
Staring at him in silence, I make an internal vow. Whoever framed my father is going down. I’ve got the skills to do it. All I need is a computer. It’s the one thing—the only thing I’m good at.
“Alright. Time’s counting down. Let’s get into the specifics, Mr. Jane. This manifest has the time and dates logged off from a weaponry shipment coming right out of the Soviet Union. In fact, from an unauthorized military base. This is way worse than you think. You’re in high treason waters! Why did you accept the shipment knowing this?” he jabs in an exasperated tone.
“This isn’t the manifest or the official route I took that day. This is a doctored document, I swear! Show him, Kiara.” My father nods in my direction as I hand over the original manifest for the shipment.
“This is the shipment my father approved. It’s from Moscow, but it’s not for illegal weaponry. It’s for foodstuffs,” I inform Asher. “My father’s right. And his office was messed up after I got there. Papers were all over the floor, and all his ledgers tampered with,” I advise.
“Hmm. Maybe so, but foodstuffs from Moscow? You think the judge is going to go for that when they’ve already seized all kinds of black-market rifles, hand grenades, and prototype guns from a mystery crate lodged between some freaking pickles?”
Again, the room is silent as I stare at the sheepishness planted on my father’s face. I know he’s involved. But I also know the Bratva planted this one on him so they could get out of it too. His hands might be dirty, but theirs are caked with mud. “Listen,” my father says, hanging his head, “I didn’t realize the full extent of their operation when I accepted the job. They don’t let you back out. I had no choice.”
“Are you telling me what I don’t want to hear?” Asher quizzes.
“Yes. Asher, I am. Sorry to burst your bubble, but you’ve got a daughter. You get it. I wanted a better life for Kiara. It’s been rough raising her after her mother left.”
“It’s not my job to judge. I’m here to represent you based on the facts, even if I hate the Bratva. And the fact of the matter is, your involvement with the Bratva is the problem. You’re the sole logistics provider for them. And it’s been over the last five years. Five fucking years.” Asher holds up his palm, his fingers extended, demonstrating the gravity of the situation.
“Yeah, I get it. I know how long. I don’t think it’s a big deal, but they’ve pinned it on me. I’m just the delivery guy.”
“They really did pin on you. The cops found a list of gun suppliers on your desk.”
“That’s not his! They planted it,” I burst out, my father’s face turning helpless.
“She’s right. I made sure I got rid of incriminating evidence. I wouldn’t just leave stuff lying around like that.”
“Argh. This is going to be tough. Like I said, you are the only one outside the Bratva network that’s transporting goods for them. Of course they’re going to pin it on you. It’s a brotherhood,” Asher replies with a resigned sigh. “You’ll have to accept some charges for being involved with them regardless. You’re not getting away with not doing time. The only way out of this mess is through the Bratva. They have the resources and the money to get this case thrown out.”
Fuming, I shake my head. “We have to force them to help us some way.” I bounce my leg, thinking it through as Asher scoffs in skepticism.
“That’s a silly fantasy you have, Kiara. Do you even know how deep their operation runs? They have their tentacles everywhere and are a Russian crime cartel. We don’t stand a chance against them,” Asher explains, his eyes growing wide, baffling me.
“But you said—” I start, only for him to cut me off.
“Forget about what I said. I’m trying to find the upside in all this shit, but I have to be a professional realist in this case and bring you some home truths. I wish I could be the one to take them out legally. It’s a pipe dream—like yours. I can only take this case so far. Maybe, we can hope for the best with a more lenient judge and lesser charges. We can play into the whole father-daughter thing.”
The door opens as I’m about to protest. “I’m going to get you out. I promise,” I add as a security guard makes himself known.
Panic flashes over my father’s face. “Kiara. Don’t. Don’t do anything stupid.” I watch as the cops clamp his shackles back on and he’s hoisted to his feet, fury getting the best of me.
But when I make up my mind on something, it’s as good as done. I’m getting my father out, and the same men who landed him in jail are going to help me.