Chapter 27
Clarabelle Mason
Rafe
I went over the documents in front of me one last time, trying my hardest to concentrate, but I couldn’t shake my worry over Clara. Last night and this morning there was still that desperate quality about her that scared me, and I still had this weird feeling that she was saying goodbye.
I shook my head. That was ridiculous. Of course she wasn’t saying goodbye.
She was bringing Ozzie home today like she did every Monday.
I gritted my teeth in frustration. The secrecy was going to end today.
No more lying to Ozzie. No more hiding. I was taking Clara out on a goddamn date, and then I was introducing her to all my family and friends as my goddamn girlfriend.
I ground my teeth together. I was the most eligible bloody bachelor in London, according to the Guardian.
There were women vying for a chance to be my girlfriend all the time.
Why, then, did I have to fall hopelessly in love with one who’d rather bonk me in secret and not tell a soul?
Wasn’t that what the billionaire lord was supposed to be doing to his staff, not the other way around?
How had everything got so out of my control that now I was the dirty secret?
Bollocks to that.
“Lord Sterling?” the court attendant said as he poked his head around my door.
I huffed. “I’ve told you lot to call me Rafe,” I snapped, and the poor man looked like he was going to soil himself. Worry had frayed my patience and temper so much that now I was snapping at innocent, if slightly wet, court staff.
“Yes of course, Lor… I mean Rafe.”
I sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Er… I just wanted to warn you that… well…” the court attendant trailed off, and I raised my eyebrows as I waited for him to finish. Luckily, I was saved from snapping at him again by Willow.
“It’s an absolute shitshow in there, Your Lordship,” she said as she pushed my door wide open and strutted past the court attendant, giving him only a cursory look.
Willow was an absolute shark of a barrister, and I was glad to have her on this case with me.
We’d been working on it together for months and it was airtight.
“Stop with the bloody lordship stuff. You know it pisses me off. And what are you on about?” I hoped nothing was going to jeopardise our hard work.
If anyone deserved to be taken down it was the pond scum on trial today.
Putting that violent shitbag behind bars today would ensure the larger, more complex case would go to trial – and then the rest of his family would be going down with him.
Successfully prosecuting these two cases would make my career, and my pathway to being a high court judge would be assured.
“The courtroom is absolutely rammed,” she told me.
I shrugged. “Well, it’s a high-profile case.”
She shook her head. “It’s not just reporters. There’s all sorts out there. I’ve never seen such a circus.”
“Well, we can’t let any of their fuckery put us off,” I told her. “This is too bloody important.”
Willow’s jaw set with determination. She wanted this conviction as much as I did. “Fine. Let’s go.”
I adjusted my wig as we stood outside Court Number Three, the horsehair irritating my neck.
To be honest, I just wanted this first court day done and dusted so that I could get home and check on Clara.
As I stared at the heavy oak door in front of me, I had the most bizarre feeling of impending doom.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Willow glanced up at me with a frown.
“Ready?” she whispered.
“Always,” I said, clenching my jaw and willing myself to get my head in the game as we pushed open the courtroom double doors.
Willow was right – the court was packed, with the public gallery completely full.
Nothing like a violent crime to draw spectators.
I noticed the plaintiff’s family sitting immediately on the left side, their faces tense.
The plaintiff himself, Dawson, was among them, the scar under his left eye visible even from this distance.
The poor man had been a bouncer at a central London nightclub when a drunk Freddie Mason had attempted to cut the line and stumble into the club holding a bottle of vodka.
Dawson unwisely tried to bar entry, which led to Freddie screaming, “Do you know who the fuck I am?!” in his face, smashing his bottle and then using the broken glass in a sustained and frenzied attack on Dawson, only stopping when two of his cronies eventually pulled him off.
Freddie Mason was a fucking animal, and I was going to enjoy nailing him to the wall.
The Masons likely had assumed that Dawson would not testify against them; they’d certainly got away with much more serious crimes routinely in the past, but what they did not anticipate was that Dawson’s son had been a drug addict who was supplied by the Masons’ network.
Unfortunately, the twenty-year-old had died earlier that year from an overdose.
Dawson told me he had nothing left to lose and that if taking the Masons down was his last act on this earth, then so be it.
As I walked to the prosecution table, my gown billowing slightly with each step, I glanced up at the rest of the gallery out of habit. The right side would likely have the Masons and their associates, unsavoury as they were.
That’s when I saw her.
Clara.
She was seated directly behind where the defendant would sit.
My stride faltered. For a moment, I thought I was mistaken – some trick of the light, perhaps, or a woman who merely resembled her.
But then she looked up, meeting my eyes.
There was no surprise in her expression, only a guarded watchfulness that confirmed everything in an instant.
I glanced at the people surrounding her: all Masons, all people I had seen in various police descriptions, along with another woman who looked like an older version of Clara and who I knew to be Frank Mason’s wife. The two women looked tiny amongst the huge thugs on either side of them.
My mouth went dry as I stared at the woman I’d held in my arms all night, the woman I declared my love to this morning. She stared back. That nothingness was back in her eyes again. My grip loosened on the file I was carrying and some of the papers slid out of it, fluttering to the floor.
My mind flashed back to all the information I’d researched on the Masons. There was very little information on the daughter, but unlike most of the Masons, she wasn’t considered a person of interest.
Her name was Clarabelle Mason.
My blood ran cold and I froze, right there in the middle of the courtroom.
“Rafe?” Willow whispered from behind me, jerking me out of my shock.
I blinked, then bent to retrieve the papers that had escaped before I continued over to the prosecutor’s bench, setting down my papers in a controlled move that belied the chaos erupting inside me.
My mind raced as I methodically arranged my papers.
Clara. Here. Sitting on the defendant’s side. Sitting with her… family.
“Prosecution,” the court usher approached, “the defendant is being brought up now. Right Honourable Lady Chief Justice Harris will be in shortly after.”
I nodded, barely registering his words. How long ago was it that I was assigned this case?
Everything clicked into place. Of course.
The Masons had more reach than even I realised.
To influence the allocation of cases at the CPS requires some high-level corruption.
Who even was Clara? Was it all an act? The shy teacher helping my kid when nobody else could.
Ozzie.
Icy fury shot through me at the thought of my son. My own flesh and blood had been manipulated and used to get to me. Here I was, accusing Sophia of being a shit parent whilst I’d actually allowed a gang member’s sister into my home. Left her alone with my son.
The side door opened, and Frederick “Freddie” Mason was led in by court officials.
He took his place in the dock. He had the same light brown hair as Clara, the same chocolate brown eyes, but that was where the similarities ended.
Freddie Mason was well over six foot and looked as though he’d been on the roids for some time.
He was in a suit and tie but pulling at his collar, clearly uncomfortable and pissed off.
I forced myself to breathe steadily, to organise my thoughts. What had I told Clara about this case? Had I named names? Mentioned evidence? I’d been careful, I was always careful, but we’d talked about work. General terms, hypotheticals... but had I slipped?
“Are you alright?” Willow whispered, frowning at me. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
“I need to—” I began, but was interrupted by the court clerk’s announcement.
“All rise!”
The entire courtroom stood as Judge Katherine Harris entered in her robes and wig, her expression stern as always. I rose mechanically, my body following years of training while my mind continued to race.
“Be seated,” Judge Harris said, taking her place. “Court is now in session. The Crown versus Frederick Mason. Are both counsels ready to proceed?”
Mason’s defence barrister, Priya Sharma, rose smoothly. “Ready, My Lady.”
All eyes turned to me. I stood, straightening my shoulders.
“Lord Sterling? Is the prosecution ready?” Judge Harris prompted when I didn't immediately respond.
“My Lady, before we proceed, I must request an urgent matter be addressed in chambers,” I said, my voice remarkably steady despite the hammer of my pulse in my ears.
The judge’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Without even commencing the trial, Lord Sterling?”
“It is a matter of some urgency regarding my ability to represent the Crown in this case, My Lady.”
Judge Harris studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Court will recess briefly while I speak with counsel in my chambers. The jury will remain in the waiting room until called.”