Abet （v.） – Jameson
ABET (V.):
TO HELP SOMEONE COMMIT A CRIME, INCLUDING HELPING THEM ESCAPE FROM POLICE OR PLAN THE CRIME.
JAMESON
Scarlett is sitting at my dining room table when I get home, wearing a tight gray dress I can’t wait to see pooled on my floor.
I can’t believe we haven’t had sex since The Hamptons…
She’s “made” dinner—an array of open Chinese takeout boxes mixed amid hard plates and silverware.
“Good evening,” I say to her.
“Good evening.” She frowns. “How are you today?”
“Fine.” I load a plate with rice. “You were fine last I checked three hours ago, correct?”
“Yes.” She eyes me as I add spoonfuls of chicken. “I guess I’m just surprised to see you in the flesh for a change.”
“So, you’ve been hiding the fact that you’re angry with me?” I ask.
“No.” Her eyes give her away. “I’m not mad at you at all. This is the early stage of our relationship, so no expectations…”
“Did you poison this food?” I ask her. “I’m not sure I should trust it anymore.”
She scoops a spoonful of rice and slides it into her mouth, answering my question.
“I’ll make this up to you,” I say. “I’ve told you it’s a busy season at my firm.”
She nods slowly, but the look on her face is anything but understanding.
“Do you have any secret friends, Jameson?”
“Not that I know of,” I say. “Why?”
“Where do you go on Monday and Saturday nights?”
“To work.”
“I followed you as far as I could last week,” she says. “Wherever it is, you take a lot of unnecessary twists and turns to get there.”
I arch a brow. “You followed me?”
“Yes. And I lost you at the same point every time.” She crosses her arms. “Where do you go?”
“We’re not at that level in this relationship yet, Scarlett.”
“Will we ever be?” she asks. “What exactly is this relationship? Because I think I’m the only one in it.”
I hold back a sigh.
“If I went somewhere twice a week and didn’t tell you where, you wouldn’t care?”
“I would assume it’s personal, and trust that it meant something to you,” I say.
She opens her mouth to say something, but no words fall from her lips.
“I’ve been doing it for years,” I say. “Long before I met you, and it’s something I’d rather not talk about… I’m not cheating on you, if that’s what you’re assuming.”
“That’s not what I assumed.” She sighs. “Is there anything I could say to make you drop my father as your client?”
WHAT?
My fork freezes in mid-air.
“Repeat that question.”
“What would it take to make you drop my father’s case?”
“Now, I’m really confused…” I pick up a napkin. “What the hell is going on with you?”
“My father is not a good person.”
“The best clients usually aren’t…” I lean back. “And no offense, but if I wanted lessons in morality, you’d be the last person I came to.”
“I’m the definition of a good person, Jameson.”
“Good people don’t lie, Scarlett.”
“Then what does that say about you?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I’ve never claimed to be a good person.”
Silence.
“You haven’t mentioned any of this when we’re on the phone…” I try to lower the temperature. “What’s changed?”
She sighs. “Would you ever defend a murderer?”
“An alleged murderer, you mean?”
“No,” she says. “Someone who you know committed a murder.”
“It depends on why they did it.”
Her face pales.
“You asked. I answered.”
“I don’t think I can be with someone who thinks that way,” she says. “Someone who would willingly defend someone who’s killed before.”
“Just because someone is accused of something doesn’t mean they did it.” I push my plate away. “That’s literally the first lesson they teach in defense law. Feel free to watch some courtroom dramas if it’ll help you.”
“I think my dad has had people killed before.” Her voice cracks. “Certain people who used to work for him when I was younger just suddenly disappeared or went missing.”
“Maybe they found new jobs.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Her eyes are watery. “I was thinking today about how I could never reach them again when they quit, and that maybe—he got away with it so often that he probably kept going.”
“There’s this thing called attorney-client privilege.” I glare at her. “Do you know what the hell that means?”
“He’s a bad person, and you’re a fucking terrible person if you help him in any way.”
“I don’t recall your father being charged with murder, Scarlett.” I shrug. “Where is this coming from?”
“Here.” She pulls an envelope from her pocket and tosses it across the table.
It’s my fucking personal mail with his potential upcoming charges laid out in black and white.
“Good people don’t open other people’s mail.” I can’t believe she opened my shit. “You’ve officially lost any standing on your fake moral high ground.”
“I can’t be with you if you represent my father.”
“You think I’d give up an eight-figure client for you?” I hiss. “Because of your feelings?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Oh.” I lean back. “You do think that, don’t you?”
Her expression says it all.
“Well, I won’t, because contrary to your non-fucking legal brain, there are these things called ‘evidence’ and ‘trial,’ and you have to get through those before you get to a not guilty verdict.”
“I’m sure my father is guilty of other terrible things.”
“You’re not a lawyer or a juror, Scarlett.” My blood is boiling. “Sometimes the guilty people get set free and the innocent people get convicted. Sometimes it takes men like me to make the system balance for all the mistakes it made in the past.”
“So, that’s what you’re doing by helping people like my dad?” She grits her teeth. “Evening the scales until you feel like the system has paid you back?”
“It’s not about me.” I glare at her. “And last time I checked, I don’t have to answer to you.”
“How many guilty-ass people do you need to get off before enough is enough?”
Nine hundred sixty-seven. “I think you need to leave.”
“After you tell me, Jameson.” She shakes her head. “What’s the fucking number?”
“Scarlett… Leave.”
“Is there one?”
I stand up from my chair. “I’m not going to ask you again.”
“You’re not going to see me again either.”
“I assure you I won’t cry about it.”
“Neither will I.”
“I doubt it.”
She storms past me and slams my door shut on her way out.