Chapter 9
The Judger Will Be Judged…
As I stared out the window of my Maybach, I let the quiet settle around me while the city moved past in soft streaks of light.
The ride was smooth, the engine low and calm, and the scent of my driver’s cologne mixed faintly with the wine in my glass.
I held it between my fingers and took a slow sip, letting the warmth slide through me as I gathered my thoughts.
My driver sat in the front, focused on the road. Beside him was one of my men, silent, broad-shouldered, and attentive. Two more sat in the back with me. They didn’t speak unless spoken to, and they didn’t move unless I gave the slightest indication.
Judge Marston had denied my nephew bond.
After everything I had done to shape that man’s career, and after everything I ensured he received when he had nothing but ambition and a résumé that could barely hold itself up, he had the audacity to stand on a bench and speak as if his robe made him untouchable.
People loved forgetting where their blessings came from. I did not enjoy reminding them, but I never avoided it.
The car made a smooth turn toward the private road leading to the hotel. It was a quiet, tucked-away place that wealthy people used when they wanted to pretend their sins were well-hidden. But walls were only as secretive as the people who built them, and I had never been impressed by walls.
I lifted my glass again, letting another sip move across my tongue.
The car rolled to a slow stop at the front of the hotel, warm lights spilling out across the pavement.
My driver stepped out and opened my door.
I stepped out carefully, smoothing my hand across my thigh to adjust my dress.
My heels clicked softly against the stone.
The men followed close behind, but far enough to let me walk ahead as I should.
The lobby staff straightened the moment they saw me, their politeness rising in their posture, in the pitch of their voices and in the respectful silence that filled the room as I passed.
When we reached the top floor, the hallway was quiet enough for me to hear the soft click of my heels against the floor.
My men followed behind me in a loose formation until I lifted my hand, giving a small gesture toward the one on my right.
He stepped forward without hesitation while the other three stopped where they were, waiting exactly where I wanted them.
I approached the door calmly and glanced at the man beside me. He nodded once, then positioned himself at my shoulder while I reached into my purse for the key card.
The card slid through the lock with a clean swipe, and the light turned green. I pushed the door open, and that was when I saw Judge Marston.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt half unbuttoned, his tie thrown somewhere near the nightstand.
A young black man barely older than twenty sat beside him with a tray balanced on his lap.
Lines of cocaine were spread across the silver surface, and had just lowered his head to sniff one when I entered.
The moment he saw me, he jerked upright so hard that he knocked the entire tray across the floor. The sound bounced off the walls, sharp and frantic. Powder scattered like snow across the carpet. Bottles rolled beneath the bed. The boy beside him scrambled backward, his eyes wide and terrified.
“Mrs… Abeni…” Judge Marston stammered, his voice cracking. His hand shook as he rushed to button his shirt, but he couldn’t even get the first button through the hole. The cocaine dusted the bottom of his nose, and he swiped at it too late.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I walked slowly, my movement smooth enough to unsettle the air. The judge watched me with the expression of a man who knew his life had just split open.
“Good evening, Judge,” I said politely.
“Abeni…” He swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t expect—”
“No,” I replied lightly. “You didn’t.”
I looked around the room as if browsing through a boutique I didn’t particularly care for.
Clothes were thrown across the carpet. Two empty liquor bottles leaned against each other near the lamp.
A pair of heels I assumed belonged to the young man rested beside a crumpled dollar bill.
There were marks on the mirror from where the judge had leaned in too close. It was all so predictable.
I let out a soft breath. “It amazes me,” I said, “how often men in power forget themselves.”
He lowered his head, sweat forming at his hairline.
“You convict criminals for a living,” I continued, walking closer until I could see every tremor in his hands, “yet somehow you manage to find yourself in rooms like this… engaging in the very crimes you claim to despise.”
The young man froze completely. Judge Marston’s voice quivered. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“Please,” I said with a faint smile. “You are covered in cocaine and lying beside a boy half your age. It is exactly what it looks like.”
He shut his eyes for a moment, his face pale with humiliation.
I glanced around again. “I see you enjoy chaos. I suppose it must be difficult to pretend you are an honorable man every morning when you kiss your wife goodbye. She must believe she married someone stable… someone respectable.”
His throat tightened. He looked as if he wanted to sit up straighter, but his body would not obey him.
“I wonder,” I said softly, “what she would think if she saw you now. Or what your colleagues would say. Or the public. You do care about the public’s opinion, don’t you?”
He nodded, barely visible.
“You should,” I replied. “Because once they learn you are a bisexual drug addict with a taste for young men, and once they see these photos and videos that I now possess, your career will not simply crumble. It will vanish.”
His breath shook. Shame covered his face so deeply he couldn’t lift his head.
I took one more step forward, close enough that he could smell the faint sweetness of my perfume. “But none of that has to happen.”
He looked up slowly, his eyes full of fear.
“As I said in court, I only require something very simple.” My voice remained soft, warm and even. “You will sign off on my nephew’s bond. You will release him immediately, and you will do it because you know that if you do not… everything you have built will collapse beneath your feet.”
He swallowed so hard it was audible.
“My nephew will walk out of that jail,” I said, “and you will ensure there are no complications, delays or hidden obstacles. Because if you attempt even one more act of defiance, I will not ruin you gently.”
A tear formed at the corner of his eye.
I smiled faintly. “Good. You understand.”
He nodded once—a desperate, broken nod.
I lifted my hand and gestured toward his face. “Now please clean yourself. I would prefer my nephew not be handled by a man who still has cocaine on his nose.”
I turned toward the door, took one last slow look around the room, and then stepped into the hallway where my men waited.
As the door clicked closed behind me, I felt no need to look back.
The judge would do exactly what I asked. He had no choice.
And tomorrow, I would have my nephew home.
EBONI KEEP IN NZURI HALL
The following day…
I’d spent the afternoon making sure Preslan was well cared for, and now the sun was settling across the windows of my second kitchen, warming the room with a soft gold that made everything feel calmer than it should have.
He was nine months old now, and he had grown into the most beautiful child.
His curls were thick and soft and shaped like tiny dark spirals that framed his forehead.
His skin carried a warm golden brown glow that reminded me of honey on warm bread.
His eyelashes were long enough to sweep the top of his cheeks when he blinked, and there was something peaceful about the way he watched the world even when he did not understand it yet.
He sat in his little feeder seat, kicking his feet gently while I guided the spoon toward his mouth.
He ate without fussing, opening wide as if he trusted the world completely.
I loved that about him. I loved the innocence he carried.
I loved how he leaned toward me when he grew sleepy and how his fingers curled around mine like I was the only anchor he had.
His little hums filled the kitchen while I wiped his mouth and offered him another spoonful.
The staff kept their distance because they knew this time was mine.
They also knew better than to whisper about anything they saw in this corner of the mansion.
This part of the house belonged to me. No one entered without my approval, and no one asked questions they were not prepared to handle.
As I fed him, my thoughts drifted back to the night he was born.
It was not a memory I ever tried to revisit, but today it came without warning.
I remembered the moment I held him for the first time and how I had every intention of handing him to someone else.
I had convinced myself that the safest plan was to have him raised far from the chaos his mother created.
Yet the moment I lifted him from Treasure’s arms and saw those eyes blinking up at me, something inside me softened in a way I did not expect.
I had held many babies before, including my beautiful grandchildren, but I had never held one that made me feel like my own, other than Pressure.
I never knew how powerful that sensation could be until the weight of this tiny child rested against my chest. I told myself it was temporary.
I told myself logic would guide me, but the longer I cradled him and breathed in that new baby scent that only exists for a few precious months, the more something old and bruised inside me began to stir.