Involuntary Dismissal （n.） – Liam
INVOLUNTARY DISMISSAL (N.):
THE TERMINATION OF A COURT CASE BY A JUDGE WITHOUT THE PLAINTIFF'S CONSENT, TYPICALLY USED AS A DISCIPLINARY PENALTY WHEN THE PLAINTIFF FAILS TO FOLLOW RULES, OBEY ORDERS, OR MOVE THE LAWSUIT FORWARD.
LIAM
One Week Later
“My son’s name has been dragged through the mud for years.” Grant Jenkins’s father was on my television, speaking to the press outside the courthouse. “And with this upcoming trial, we are looking forward to putting this tragic chapter behind us.”
Looking as hideous and overdressed as I remembered, he pulled a Kleenex from his pocket and pressed it against his eyes for nonexistent tears.
“Is your son mentally okay?” someone off-camera asked. “How is he holding up about all this?”
“Grant is as hopeful and well-balanced as ever.” He faked a sniffle. “As always, he’s remorseful about the five lives that were lost during this accident, but it was just an accident.”
I hit mute, watching him pretend to cry through a few more questions.
Why can’t anyone see through this man’s bullshit?
All these years that had passed by, and I was shocked that he hadn’t paid for any acting classes.
Unable to take the sight of his face anymore, I turned off the television.
I had better things to do tonight.
I walked to my dining room to make sure the table was set for tonight’s raincheck dinner with Olivia.
As I was uncorking the wine, my phone sounded with a call from my condo’s office.
“Yes?” I answered.
“Sir, Miss Spencer is here,” my bellman said. “She’s on the elevator.”
“Thank you.”
I moved her favorite pasta off the stove and to the table.
My doorbell sounded seconds later.
When I opened the door, she didn’t blush or smile at me like usual.
Instead, she looked as if she’d just seen a ghost.
“Are you still feeling ill?” I placed my hands on her shoulders.
“I’m fine,” she said. “At least, I will be.”
So, you’re still sick…
I held back a sigh and escorted her inside, showing her to her seat at the table.
“Do you want orange juice instead of wine?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Wine would be amazing right now, actually.”
I tilted the bottle over her glass, noticing that her eyes were red and puffy.
“Have you ever lied to me, Liam?” she asked. “Like, ever?”
“Not about anything important.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
“It would be no.” I topped off her wine. “If I have, it wasn’t about something that affects you.”
“What if I told you that I’d lied to you?”
“I already knew the things you’d lied about when we met.” I smiled, sitting across from her. “I wouldn’t care.”
She nodded and lifted her glass, downing it in one gulp.
“Would you like me to make your plate for you?” I asked. “You seem off tonight.”
She didn’t say a word.
“Olivia?” I noticed her chest heaving up and down. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, Liam.” Her voice was hoarse. “Something is very, very wrong.”
“Want to tell me what it is?”
“Grant Jenkins.”
“What about him?”
“I thought it was weird from day one that you cared so much about a pretty open and shut case,” she said. “I don’t know any judge who would be unhappy about an innocent man getting a new trial.”
“Grant Jenkins is not innocent.”
“Yeah, well—too bad the jury was bound to find him guilty from day one, right?”
“His trial lasted six weeks.” I picked up a roll. “If they hated him on day one, that’s because he’s as terrible as his father.”
“There was more than enough evidence for reasonable doubt,” she said. “The only person in this city who doesn’t think so is you.”
“No, I’m pretty sure the twelve jurors did, too.” I stood up and grabbed the tongs. Then I draped noodles onto her plate.
“I figured you’d say that…” she muttered.
“What was that?” I arched a brow.
“How did you know how much the trial jurors were paid to vote guilty?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I read about it in some article.”
“No, you didn’t.” She shook her head. “It’s never been in any article—anywhere, until a couple months ago.”
“Well, maybe that’s when I read it.”
“The article never stated the exact amount. How’d you know that?”
Silence.
“Liam?” She narrowed her eyes. “How did you know the exact amount?”
“Maybe I mixed it up with another overturned case.”
“Which ones?”
“You should focus on dinner,” I said. “We can talk about Grant Jenkins later.”
“I’d rather discuss him now.” She shook her head. “Did you pay those jurors to vote guilty?”
I hesitated.
For the first time in years, I had to think before answering.
“Two jurors isn’t enough to get a guilty verdict, Olivia,” I said. “It takes twelve.”
“And you paid off twelve random people’s mortgages,” she said. “One by one, a few months apart—all from different offshore accounts so it wouldn’t look suspicious.”
How the fuck do you know this?
I didn’t dare ask that question aloud.
Instead, I narrowed my eyes at her.
“So now you’re a conspiracy theorist?” I asked. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I just want to know why,” she said. “Why would you ever put your entire career on the line for a guy you barely even know? For a verdict that wouldn’t affect you in the slightest?”
“You’re clearly still suffering from the flu.”
“I never had the flu.” Her voice cracked. “I got sick at the thought of you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You ruined that guy’s life for no reason.” She hissed. “You let him sit and suffer behind bars for years, for No. Fucking. Reason.”
“Second-degree murder is a very good reason…”
“What other verdicts have you paid for?” she asked. “What other lives have you ruined, just because you can?”
“Olivia…”
“I mean, I’ve personally experienced what you can do to someone over minor traffic tickets—”
“Your tickets were not minor.” I gritted my teeth.
“But now I’m wondering,” she continued, “what could you do to someone you just want to punish just because you hate what they allegedly did? How many times have you done it, and how long have you gotten away with this?”
“You should go home.” I glared at her. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“I won’t be at work ever again,” she said, standing to her feet. “I came here to tell you we’re done, and I’m moving on.”
“Stop being dramatic, Olivia.” I stepped closer. “Sit down.”
“No.” She stepped back. “I’m going to take some time and decide whether I want to call in a tip on the dirtiest judge case of this century or stay quiet and go to law school.”
“I’d suggest the latter since the judge in question hasn’t done anything wrong.” I paused. “And, regardless of this nonsense you’re talking about, you’re still under contract to work for me until a certain date.”
“So, you’re threatening to sue me if I quit?”
“I’m promising to.”
“Oh, okay…” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve spent the past days working on a long-form article about working under you, your obsession with the Jenkins case, and the offshore payments.”
“You better be fucking lying to me.”
“It’s the only way I was able to fully put it together and figure it out,” she said. “And you still have yet to deny it…”
“There’s nothing to deny,” I said. “Your allegations are baseless, and if you even think about publishing your drivel—”
“You’ll find a way to get me sent off to prison on fake charges, too?”
Silence.
“I would like to discuss this on the record some time this week.” Her voice was cold as ice. “I would also like for you to accept my resignation without suing me for breach of contract.”
“You can have my words right now,” I said. “No comment.”
“Just tell me…” Her eyes were watery. “Am I right about this? Is any of it true?”
I said nothing, but I couldn’t help but notice her hands were shaking.
“Is it true, Liam?” She raised her voice. “Is any of it fucking true? Did you really make me fall for a monster?”
“What I did hardly makes me a monster.” I glared at her. “If you did your “research” as you claim, you would know that.”
“These are simple yes or no questions, Liam. Yes or no.”
“I don’t have to answer to you.” I walked past her and opened the door. “I meant what I said about you going home.”
She hesitated a few seconds before walking my way.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I don’t think it’ll take that many years for someone else to discover what you did. All they have to do is look in the right place.”
“Are you threatening me, Olivia?”
“I’m asking you a question.”
“I didn’t hear any inflection.”
“I hate that I ever slept with you, Liam.”
“That’s still not a question.”
“I hope you wrestle all your demons before everything catches up to you one day.”
“Your resignation is officially accepted.” I was done with this bullshit. “I won’t sue you, but don’t expect a recommendation letter for your next job.”
“I would never.” She stepped into the hallway. “I’ll never ask you for anything.”
“Glad we’re ending things on the same page,” I said. “I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again.”
“I’ve felt the same all week.” A stream of tears fell past her cheeks. “Fuck you, Liam.”
“We’re not on a first-name basis anymore.”
“Even better. Fuck you, Judge Ashton.”
I debated taking the last word, but I let her walk away with it.
It was stupid of me to ever get this close to her—to think she and I were anything more than coworkers—so her leaving me now was a good thing.
I could focus on the things that actually mattered to me.
I waited until she was on the elevator before slamming the door shut.
My chest tightened as I thought about everything she’d said—how she’d almost put everything together.
“Almost” was the most important word, though…