37. Brogan
The first few days after my arrest were a complete blur.
After being cuffed right outside of my penthouse, then being perp-walked into Central Booking in Lower Manhattan, I’d been processed.
Due to the severity of the charges, I was remanded to jail and denied bail at my arraignment.
I could hardly remember that time because so much had been going on.
My attorney and father had been present in court, but that was all.
Declan was missing, not that I’d actually expected him to show up.
For one, it’d ruin his golden boy image.
Besides, I’d told him where I stood on things, and he’d do best to take my words at face value.
After all, he’d been the one to put this entire thing into motion.
The one piece they’d never been able to tie to me had now been gift-wrapped with a fucking bow.
His betrayal hurt me more than anyone else. And while I’d never get over what he’d done, if he had only told me initially, then I might’ve been able to figure out some form of defense, but he hadn’t. Now, I was left holding the smoking gun, or in this case, the bloody fucking knife.
And when my attorney showed a picture of the weapon to me, everything had gone from bad to worse.
The dagger was one I’d gotten in Spain when I’d visited Declan a year ago as he’d filmed his last movie.
It even had my initials engraved onto it.
B.S. How fucking convenient. I almost wondered if that’d been his doing too.
Had he gotten that from my place and framed me in an altogether different way?
It didn’t matter now because I couldn’t argue that it didn’t belong to me, other than to say that I had to have kept it at Layla’s place.
If she was my fiancée, it stood to reason I’d have some things there.
Only, I knew it’d been sitting in my home office since the day I’d brought the damn thing home.
“On your feet, rich boy,” one of the officers had said as the transport vehicle arrived at Rikers Island.
I got out of the car the best I could, considering my wrists and ankles were both shackled.
As I stood tall, I stared ahead at the brick hellhole that awaited me.
Never had I ever imagined I’d end up in a place like this, yet here I was.
I was shoved hard in the back until I started to walk and was eventually led into the building.
I’d been made to undergo additional booking procedures, which included being logged into their receiving system, then strip-searched.
I’d gritted my teeth as such searches included a cavity search, before I was fingerprinted, photographed for my mugshot, then had blood drawn for any DNA samples needed.
Afterward, I was also given a medical exam to check for diseases, ailments, or any chronic conditions.
Mental health assessments were also done, and maybe they’d suspected the pent-up rage building within me, or the soul-crushing pain I felt over the betrayal of the one I loved more than anyone else on this godforsaken planet, because I was deemed a potential self-harm risk and placed for nearly forty-eight hours under a suicide watch.
During that time, the lights had remained on every second of the day, and I’d been subjected to periodic checks by the guards, most of which grew more taunting by the moment.
I was the highest profile inmate of the week, and they wasted no opportunity to let me know how satisfying my fall from grace was.
What made it even worse was that I hadn’t only been looked down upon for possible murder, but the harm that a company like Sinclair Pharmaceuticals had done to them, their family, or even friends.
And friends and family were all I thought about in the freezing cell.
Declan had been my only true friend, and as the man I loved, he’d also been my family.
Then, there was my father. His disappointment at my arraignment stuck with me, and proving him right had been a harder pill to swallow than any other in my life.
I hadn’t seen that level of disgust since he’d swept me off to that fucking torture chamber over a decade ago.
And jail, it felt a lot like that. I wasn’t tied to a chair and electrocuted or worse, but the mental anguish continued.
Back then, I’d only had to give my father what he’d wanted, but everything was different now.
If I’d only given in to his previous demands, I might’ve avoided this fate.
But then again, despite my father’s power and influence, even he couldn’t make murder charges go away no matter what he thought to the contrary.
“Let’s go, Sinclair,” I’d finally heard after the suicide watch had been completed.
I’d then been transported to a high-security unit where other murderers and perpetrators of violent crimes were housed.
I’d never forget the rattling of those metal bars or the clinking of my ankle shackles as I was led down a corridor and eventually shoved into a cell.
From there, the restraints were removed once more, and I was left all alone.
I supposed I should’ve been thankful that I didn’t have a cellmate, not that it would’ve mattered.
I eventually would because I saw no way out of here other than death.
I just hoped that however my life ended, it was quick.
My attorney met me the same day, and I was led into a specific room. As I took my seat, I couldn’t help but notice the cameras that sat in nearly every corner of the small space. “Those,” I’d said as I’d pointed up to them.
“They’re there for safety, but there’s no audio being recorded. We’re free to talk about whatever in here, and all the same attorney-client privilege remains.”
“Alright,” I’d said, even if I was a bit suspicious.
“So, I’m not going to sugarcoat shit for you, Sinclair. This looks very bad.”
“I didn’t do anything to her.”
“No one’s going to believe that considering everything mounting up against you. As Layla’s fiancé, you stood the most to gain by her demise, and—”
“What would I truly have to gain? If I wanted to be single, I could’ve just broken up with her like I had just before she went missing. I didn’t want her to lose her life. I only wanted her out of mine,” I’d relayed again for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Let’s not be so vehement about that. We’ll need to present this as an amicable break-up.”
“It was an amicable break-up. She and I had agreed that we should end things before we jumped into marriage, which would’ve been much harder to undo. We didn’t love each other, so there was no need to keep pretending as such.”
“Do you truly understand the magnitude of the charges levied against you? I think it’s best that we present your relationship as a loving one.”
“But it wasn’t, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise.”
My entire adult life had been one pretense after another.
I’d been forced to pretend I didn’t have romantic feelings for my best friend.
I’d been able to do so until we’d gone to college.
The forced proximity between us had only fueled the lingering feelings we had until they’d become too much to continuously ignore.
I’d acted on them one night and had never regretted it since.
At least until now. I wished that I’d never met Declan.
Or, that I’d never kissed him… fucked him… made love to him…
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life inside of this fucking place?” he’d asked me. “If you don’t help me mount a more plausible defense, even I won’t be able to help you. I’m sure you’ve heard about the inhumane conditions inside of this hellhole.”
And I had. When Enslee had left town after recovering her memories, I’d watched a few of her recent podcasts, including one where she detailed the conditions in this very place.
I’d honestly thought I’d end up here not because of Layla, but for what I’d done to her.
Again, I’d pretended even with Enslee, and the constant stories got harder to remember over time. I was tired of lying.
I wanted to tell the entire world I’d been in love, only it’d been with Declan.
I’d also cared about another outside of him—Enslee.
I’d never loved or cared about Layla, and other than the loss of human life, I didn’t give a damn that she was gone.
We’d had an agreement, but she’d kept on trying to get more and more money out of me.
Our fights grew more frequent, then she’d done a complete three sixty.
I supposed she no longer needed the monthly stipends I’d been providing when Declan had given her the whole thing up front.
It was no wonder she’d been so agreeable at dinner the last night I’d spent in her company.
“She could’ve been in trouble,” I’d told my attorney.
“She’d been asking for large sums of money that I doubted were basic living expenses as I’d started paying the mortgage on her loft the moment I’d realized it was about to hit foreclosure.
And I’d provided her a car and credit cards to use for clothing, make-up, and other personal things. ”
“Which would be what you stood to gain with her demise. If she was dead, you’d no longer need to provide that cash to her. After all, a dead woman didn’t drive a Maserati, book spa days, or go on shopping sprees.”
“I didn’t do it,” I’d reiterated again.
“And it’s up to me to prove that. I’ll start gathering some information and be back to see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I’d said before the guards came in to shackle me once more. As I was being led from the room, my attorney called out my name, and I looked over my shoulder.
“Hang in there,” he’d said.