47. McCarthy
MCCARTHY
“ S alinger is livid. He’s outside, but Crawford told him he had to sit in his car and count to a thousand before he sees you because we don’t think court’s going to go in your favor if you show up with a broken nose.”
Salinger stalks into the visitor room, where my brothers and I are sitting with a lawyer.
He takes one look at me, swears, then turns around and walks out.
The door slams.
Salinger’s outside, pacing around.
“Dude, you are so fucked.” Faulkner is gleeful. He practically claps his hands when Salinger comes back in the room to chew my ass out.
“You motherfucker. That’s it. I’m fucking done with you.
What the fuck were you thinking? You’re lucky that Svetlana’s writing a statement to the police testifying that Titus was planning to hunt you down and that you were just defending yourself.
Seems since the divorce didn’t go through, she gets everything now that her husband’s dead and is very appreciative.
But driving a car after you had your license revoked the same night that you dropped a bomb in the middle of Seattle upper society? ”
“Those people suck.”
“It’s all over the news, asshole.” Salinger grabs the collar of my orange jumpsuit. “Entitled billionaire, mentally unstable.”
“Some of the papers are calling you hot.” Faulkner snickers.
Salinger slams his hand down on the table in front of our youngest brother, making him jump.
“Your stock is shaky. Senators are up my ass. The legal department and the lobbying departments at your company are in crisis mode.”
“Soon to be my company,” Faulkner chirps.
I buck at him, the handcuffs chaining my hands to the table clinking.
“And you haven’t even so much as apologized,” Salinger snarls.
I shrug.
Salinger grabs the back of my chair, yanking it backward so the cuffs bite into my wrists. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
I press my lips together.
“No fucking explanation? What, did you just decide to hunt this guy down? You’re lucky you’re just going to traffic court and not away for murder. Get him dressed. We have to be at the courthouse in an hour. ”
I scowl at the suit Fitz brought. “I’m not wearing that. That’s your suit.”
“It doesn’t have cooties. Grow up.”
Whitman pulls at the orange jumpsuit I’m wearing. “It’s better than this, right? Orange isn’t your color. It really washes you out.”
“Mr. Svensson, I thought I told you not to show up in my courtroom again, and now here you are not even a month after your last altercation.” The traffic judge peers over his glasses at me.
“No,” he says to my lawyers when they try to speak. “I want to hear from Mr. Svensson. Why are you in my court? Driving after I suspended your license? To make no mention of running over two persons with your car.”
I don’t speak. I’m not going to rat Jenna out. I’m not a snitch. I can survive prison better than she can.
Hawthorne finally pipes up. “His girlfriend was getting stalked, sir.”
“Son, I wasn’t talking to you.”
Salinger shoots our brother an ugly look.
The judge looks down at me, like he’s waiting for me to say something.
“Stu is her former supervisor’s husband. He’s been stalking her for a while. You should see the messages. Titus is his frat brother and—”
“And where is this girlfriend? In Canada?”
“She broke up with me,” I say. “Your Honor.”
The judge sighs and looks down at me for a long moment. “We have a process for handling these types of matters.”
“To be honest, Your Honor— ”
Salinger makes a strangled noise behind me.
“Your process sucks. She’s made reports before, and nothing happened. I literally had to lock her in my house for days at a time to keep her safe, and even then, it wasn’t enough.”
“So you took matters into your own hands.”
I shrug. “No one else was going to.”
“One more chance, Mr. Svensson. Since you’re such a righteous man, I think a big strong guy like you can give back to the community.
Three years’ probation and community service.
Your license remains suspended. This doesn’t discharge you from any civil liabilities.
I expect you’re going to get sued, but not my court, not my problem.
Unless you want to play the slots and go to trial? ”
My lawyer jumps in before I can tell him I’d rather do time. “Thank you, Your Honor, that is fair and generous of you.”
Salinger hauls me into the lobby.
“Did my motorcycle get picked up?” I ask Anton, hoping he’ll get my silent communication that I’m looking for Jenna.
“Are you kidding me?” Salinger shoves me against the lobby desk. “Your motorcycle? You really think you’re driving? Shit, do you think you’re so much as walking anywhere? I’m locking you in that fucking penthouse. I’m sick of your shit.”