Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Everyone’s eyes are on me.
Can’t say I blame them. I’m six feet, five inches tall, with long, white hair, and I look ready to murder the place. It doesn't help that I didn’t get the chance to shave recently, so I have a week-old stubble that makes my features look rougher than they are.
Two police officers are walking in front of me, each one turning to look at me every fifteen seconds. It’s not a secret who they have in the cell, and it’s even worse that I truly look like I’ll get rid of this entire place if they so much as piss me off.
The word’s gotten out that I set half of New York on fire. Well, the rumor was spread. There’s no doubt it was by Kaya, simply because she loves wreaking havoc wherever she goes, and although there’s no evidence that points to either one of us, the cops are still talking, and I don’t like that.
It’s even worse that I can’t reprimand Kaya for her actions because she went off-grid. The bitch is leaving me to deal with the fallout, in classic Ekaterina style. It doesn’t matter, though. It’s a matter of time before she pops up again, and I won’t let her off the hook easily.
The two police officers stop in front of an interrogation room, turning to look at me.
One of them gives me a long glance, from head to toe, straightening up his posture.
Instinctively, his hand reaches for his gun.
He doesn’t withdraw it, keeping his hand on it, just in case.
The poor fella doesn’t know I’d have him on his knees before he even got the chance to use it.
“You have fifteen minutes.”
The door opens, and I step inside. They close the door behind me, and I’m left alone with my father.
Oh, boy, does he look pissed.
He’s wearing an orange jumpsuit, hands and feet in chains. They’re treating him like the highest-ranked criminal. To be fair, he is one, but all of their evidence is nothing but speculation or, at best, circumstantial.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” I try to make light of the situation, taking a seat across from him.
His jaw is clenched, and I swear, he has more greys in his hair than he had last night. He taps his foot against the floor impatiently, his knuckles turning white from the way he’s fisting his palms.
“Cut the small talk,” he hisses. “Did you do it?”
My eyes briefly skim the room, and it doesn’t seem to have any cameras, but one could never be too sure. With a small nod, I lean back. He’s referring to getting rid of all and any evidence from our home, and I see relief flood him when he spots the confirmation.
“Thank fuck.”
“Did they say anything?”
Dad shakes his head. “Nothing. They tried refusing me a lawyer, but they knew I’d raise hell.”
“Who did you pick?”
“Violet Sanders.’’
I hum in response.
Violet’s father owns a law firm, and he’s been our family’s lawyer for decades.
Of course, they’re being paid way more than their usual clients would pay them, and they’re aware of the risks for them for being involved with my family.
They’re fantastic at what they do, and Violet is set to inherit the fortune soon.
Her father, Jackson, is retired, and the man has one foot in the grave. No wonder Dad opted for her instead.
“What did she say?”
“They’re trying to tear down the company, too. I hear they got the search warrant for it.”
My jaw clenches. “Why wasn’t I informed?”
“Because the next person to be informed is Noelle,” he sighs, looking at the ceiling. He’s so worried about Mom that it hurts to watch. “Never did I think we’d end up in this position.”
“Did they find anything?”
“No. I know how to keep the business separate.”
“Good, good,” I sigh. “Now what?”
“Violet says to lay low. They won’t let me out on bail, and she thinks it will be covered up by sending me off to trial immediately and then to prison.”
“I won’t let it happen.”
“You will.”
“Excuse me?”
“Listen, Arlo,” he leans over, tapping his finger on the table between us, and I mimic his actions.
He’s completely serious, and I don’t know if I should be fucking terrified or not.
“I have a lot of people on the inside. You’ve dealt with the most important part, and that is to ensure they won’t find anything.
I’ll stay locked up to throw them off. Because they’re expecting we’ll fight back. ’’
“Won’t we?” My expression borders on astonishment, confusion, and a little disbelief. “I mean, I can’t just do everything alone.”
He offers a small smile. “You have Blair.”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of my butterfly.
It’s true, I have Blair. However, I’d like to spare her as much as possible in this mess.
She’ll get to kill Paul Simmons, and I’ll deliver him to her on a silver platter.
But given everything she’s gone through in recent times, I don’t want to overburden her.
“I won’t—”
Dad cuts me off, lifting his finger and pointing it at me.
“Don’t even go there. If you want to spare her, she’ll end up doing shit on her own.
She’s so much like your mother it’s fucking scary.
It’s better to involve her before she involves herself, and then you’d have a very angry, revenge-thirsty woman on your hands. ’’
“Fine,” I relent. “Now, what the fuck am I supposed to do, Dad? Mom’s in a fucking coma, you’re in here and will go to prison for God knows how long, and Aria needs someone to look after her, too.”
He looks at me with pain in his eyes. “You’ve got this, my boy.
This kind of situation is something your mother and I never wanted you to have to go through, but I know you.
I know the man I raised. It’s fucking hard, but you’ve got this.
You’re not alone. I might be behind bars, but I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.
And when your mother wakes up, she’ll be there, too. ”
My throat starts closing up. I hate him seeing me so emotional because at times, I still feel like being seen as vulnerable is a weakness.
Hudson is by nature a very stoic man. He does smile from time to time, but such a sight is few and far between.
However, both he and Noelle raised Aria and me to be in touch with our emotions, and they instilled in our heads that crying, feeling pain and emotions isn’t being weak.
It’s being human, and the more we bottled our emotions up, the bigger the fallout would be.
Even though I know their teachings were correct, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of, I can’t shake off the immense amount of embarrassment that I’m feeling. I hate not being able to do this on my own. I hate that I even allowed it to come to this point.
Dad notices the torn expression on my face and reaches with his hand, clasping it over mine. The chains jiggle, creating a distinctive sound in an otherwise silent room. My eyes are glued to the hand on top of mine, the aging he’s gone through in the last week adding to my worries.
“You’ve got this, Arlo. I believe in you.”
I take a deep breath, shoving all the feelings to the back of my head. “Let’s focus on other things.”
Dad raises a brow, then leans back. “What did you have in mind?”
“Alright, listen carefully…”