Chapter 33. Trent
CHAPTER 33
Trent
The Thursday After the Conference
They set bail at $1 million. I was confident our company would pay for it. The parent company of NBC6 owned dozens of stations across the US and raked in money every year, especially political years, when candidates threw attack ads at each other. NBC6 definitely could afford it, and we’d get it all back and then some when we sued the pants off the Atlanta Police Department.
There was no way I was going to jail for this ridiculous story the police had concocted. DNA found in my apartment? Absurd. Personal belongings buried in my backyard? Insane.
As I lay awake at night in my jail cell staring at the ceiling, thoughts kept running through my head. It was either some woman trying to frame me—Stephanie? Katrina?—or the police themselves. For what reason the police would do it, I didn’t know, but they could have planted evidence when they barged into my house in the middle of the night.
The one thing I was sure of, as sure as I was of anything ever in my life, was that I had not seen Stephanie Monroe since she had peeked out of her door at the hotel. Was she truly dead? I mean, if so, that sucked for her, but I had nothing to do with it. My conscience was completely clear.
They allowed me three phone calls. Since I was still sitting in jail waiting for the magic words “Bail has been posted,” I started with Bill. When he answered, we both had to sit through a “This call is coming from the Fulton County Jail and may be recorded” message and then a beep. I heard him take a deep sigh. I jumped right in.
“Bill, this is the most asinine, ridiculous, insane, warped, twisted, fucked-up—pardon my French—thing ever. You know I’m 100 percent innocent. I did nothing . I never saw Stephanie after the first day. I don’t know who this Jasmine person is. I’m going to sue them for character defamation too. I trust NBC6 will pay my bail?”
There was silence. It went on for so long that I thought our connection was lost.
“Bill? Are you there?”
“I’m here, Trent.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, I heard.”
“So when can I expect to get out of here?”
“Trent, NBC6 and our company are not going to post bail. You need to stay put until the trial.”
“ What? What are you talking about? You’re going to leave me here to rot? Who’s going to run the newsroom?”
“Jorge has assumed command. Trent, your employment at NBC6 has been terminated.”
“Wait a minute, wait just a goddamn minute.” Little bits of spittle began to fly out of my mouth as I talked. “You can’t fire me. I did nothing wrong. Tell me what I did wrong. I’m innocent!”
“You lied to me, and that alone is a fireable offense. I informed HR yesterday. They will clean out your personal belongings and put everything in boxes for you.”
“I didn’t lie to you,” I implored. “I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. I did nothing. This is all a huge hoax or a setup. That will be proven in court!”
“Trent,” Bill said, and I noticed suddenly how tired his voice sounded. “Where did you go when you told me you were comforting Hannah in a mental health moment?”
Uh-oh. Had he talked to her? Was the jig up? I had to scramble.
“I was on my way there, Bill, when I got diverted. She did have a mental health crisis, and I was on my way to talk to her. I do that for my employees. If she’s not telling you the details, maybe she’s embarrassed. We learned that in our session at the conference. People sometimes get timid.”
I held my breath waiting for his reaction.
“So, you were at the mental health session at the conference?”
“Of course I was.”
“The time for lying is over, Trent,” Bill said. “Tell the truth.”
“What do you mean? I was there.”
“I’ve been told by people who were there that you left and never came back.”
People who were there? He must mean Dorothy and Alan. Once again, I had to scramble.
“I ducked out for a minute to check my messages and came back in and stood at the back of the room. I saw the whole thing.”
“If that is the case, then tell me who the speakers were. I pulled up a recording that the National Press Foundation had so I can compare. Go on, tell me, who was speaking that day? How many speakers? What did they talk about?”
“I—I—don’t remember their names. They were all mental health advocates, giving us tips and stuff.”
I could feel my footing in this conversation slipping. I was grasping, and he was about to sink my battleship, just like the game I had played as a child when my brother would revel in beating me. I was scrambling to protect that last little corner before the final peg went into my boat.
“Trent, I don’t believe you. Describe for me even one of the speakers. What did they look like?”
Battleship hit and sunk, my entire career slinking with it under the murky water.
“I’m sorry, Bill,” I whispered. “It’s true, I didn’t get to that session. But that’s the only thing I haven’t been truthful on. I didn’t want you to be upset with me. I had a migraine, and I went to my room for a few hours. It was the only session I missed.”
“There is absolutely nothing else I can do for you. I am sickened by these allegations, just sickened. And disgusted by your continual lying. It’s taking all of my willpower just to speak on the phone with you. If you did these things… God help you…” He let his voice trail off. “No matter what, your employment is terminated.”
And he hung up. I held the phone receiver out from my ear and just stared at it. I wanted to take it and smash it on the counter in front of me, pulverize it into smithereens, but there was a guard eyeing me, so instead I just yelled out, “ Goddamn it. ”
“Watch your mouth,” he sneered. “Two more calls.”
Who the hell to call now? Who would help me in this situation? Not my brother—we had been estranged for a long time. My mom was gone, and Dad had Alzheimer’s. I hadn’t been to see him in at least six months. A few aunts and uncles came to mind, but they had no money.
Then I thought of my Sunday football drinking buddies. They were all well-off and high up in their respective fields. They would help a bro out, wouldn’t they? I would do it for them if they were in a pinch. Well, maybe I would. But they should do it for me. I called my friend Scott. He was CEO of a boat-dealership company and had two houses, plus a yacht.
“Trent?”
“Yeah, Scott, hey, I’m in a jam here. I don’t know what’s going on. I need you to know I am completely innocent and have done nothing wrong. To prove it, though, I gotta get out of this place. Have you seen the bail? Can you float me some and I’ll get you back? I’m planning to sue the entire police department.”
The guard shot me a look but didn’t say anything.
“Aww, Trent, man, I feel for you, but I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Come on, Scott, I know you have it. You gotta get me out of here. I can’t stay in jail as an innocent man.”
Scott was quiet, and I heard his breathing. I thought he was about to say yes, and I felt a surge of hope in my chest.
“Trent, man, I’m sorry. I need to stay away. I can’t have my name tied up in this. We’re just looking to buy out Southern Sails. I can’t get embroiled in some scandal.”
“Scandal? What scandal?” I asked. “This is all bullshit, 100 percent bullshit. They’ll be making a movie about how I was wronged one day. I think the police might have planted evidence.”
“Trent, you’re in jail for murder. Two women. Your name is all over the news, not just here but nationally. You’re trending on every platform. You were the first story in my national news feed. I don’t know if you did it or didn’t do it, that’s for the courts to decide, but I can’t bail you out. And that’s final.”
This time I was the one to hang up. I put my head into my hands and began to rock back and forth. I was fired. My friends wouldn’t bail me out or even want to be a part of this.
There was only one person left to call.
“Katrina… you have to listen to me. You know I would never hurt anyone. I really need your help.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. The kids don’t want to talk to you. You’re a fucking monster!”
“The kids want to see me. I want to see them. I need to get out of here. I need bail money.”
“Oh, you want to see them, do you? Is that why you blew off the last visit you had a few weeks ago?” she spat. “And yes, you have hurt people. You hurt me, physically, you know it. You hurt me psychologically too. No, Trent, you made this bed and you will lie in it. Fuck you.”
And she hung up on me. Apparently, no one was going to say a proper goodbye ever again.
“Time’s up,” the guard said, and I replaced the receiver with an extra loud thud. “Watch it,” he added as he jerked me up out of my chair and took a firm hold of my arm through the prison jumpsuit, steering me back to the jail cell. As we walked past some of the other prisoners’ cells, one called out:
“Took out two women, huh, pretty boy? Did you do it just for fun? I’ll show you some fun in here.”
I shivered. It was like every jail movie or TV show I had ever seen, from Shawshank Redemption to Orange Is the New Black .
When we got back to my cell, I lay down on the hard mattress, turned toward the wall, curled into a ball, and, for the first time since third grade, began to cry. Quietly, though, so no one would hear. What could have happened? How did I get entangled in this mess? My mind struggled to put pieces together that made no sense at all.