20. Roman
20
ROMAN
“Mr. Petrov, you told me you lit him on fire, then shoved him into a room filled with accelerants. I really think you should think about changing your plea to ‘guilty’. If you go in front of a jury, they’ll string you up to the fullest extent.” My lawyer wipes the sweat from his wide forehead with a crisp white handkerchief.
“What ended up happening to the Empire?” I’m not even mad it is delayed in opening.
He wrings his hands before answering. “It’s a total loss.”
“Tommy, how long have you worked for me?” I narrow my eyes and watch him dart his gaze from me to the door.
“Four years,” he stammers.
I lean forward, my handcuffs clink against the metal table. “And, in that time, how many thousands of hours of footage have we accumulated?
“P-Probably millions.”
“And, how many yachts have I bought you so you can take my girls out onto the lake with you?” My fingers weave together.
I might find someone new after this one.
“This is my second, after my first one sunk.” His cheeks pale.
I think he knows where I’m going with this.
“Because you overdosed that hooker with shit cocaine, so I helped you cover it up?”
His hand shakes as he drags the damp cloth over his face. “Yes, boss. You did.”
“If you don’t want that mess bobbing back to the surface, you tell the judge exactly what I say. Understand?” I’m firing him after today.
His chin wobbles as he nods furiously.
“Good. Let’s go.” Kicking back my chair, I wave through the window to the guard stationed outside.
The stoic officer and two of his pals lead us to the main courtroom.
After all the oaths, the grizzled judge looks down at me with his bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Mr. Roman Petrov. How do you plead?”
I elbow Tommy.
“He pleads not-guilty, your honor,” he sounds much more confident than he did a few moments ago.
Funny how a solid threat can firm up someone’s resolve.
Judge Collins leans back, his lips pursing under his gray mustache. “And does the defendant have anything to say?”
Tommy shifts next to me. He knows as well as I do, this isn’t the normal protocol.
“Yes, your honor. February eighteenth, three years ago.” My hands clasp in front of me in a relaxed pose as I wait.
First one fat eyebrow, then the other raise and drop.
Then, the lips flatten and the furrows along his nose deepen as a frown takes shape.
There it is.
His little brain is racing, connecting the dots.
Running through all the possible scenarios of what I could possibly mean by what I said.
Even Tommy looks at me quizzically from my side.
I don’t budge. I just watch the old man on the podium.
He’s the modicum of justice, truth, and righteousness.
But, I know better.
I have his secrets on a hard drive, with back ups.
And a fleet of people who will open those up to be loosed upon the world at a single word from me.
“Roman,” Tommy whispers.
I squint at him without looking.
It should be any moment now.
The judge’s age-speckled hand shakes as he raises his gavel and drops it with a sharp rap.
“Case dismissed.”