Chapter YOUNG SOLEI Fifteen Years Ago
YOUNG SOLEI
Fifteen Years Ago
I stepped into the county jail, and my first thought was that this was a depressing place. I’d been working as a paralegal for Morrison & Associates for six months, long enough to get used to the smell but not long enough to stop noticing it.
My boss, Todd Morrison, had sent me to interview a potential client–a thug drug dealer who’d been picked up on possession with intent to distribute. It was a standard case. In and out. That’s what I’d thought, anyway.
The guard led me to the visitation room, and I set up my files on the metal table, clicking my pen and preparing to take notes. The door buzzed open, and I looked up, ready to see another scared kid who’d made bad choices. Instead, I saw someone entirely different.
He walked in like he owned the jail, even in county orange, even with his hands cuffed in front of him.
He was extremely tall, built with dark skin and a beautifully scary face that belonged on a magazine cover, and eyes that belonged to someone much older, much harder.
Tattoos covered his neck, and I just knew they were everywhere else on his body.
He saw me and stopped in his tracks, right there in the doorway, staring at me as if I’d appeared out of thin air.
“You’re the lawyer?” His voice was deep, smooth, with an edge that made my stomach flip.
“Paralegal,” I corrected, gesturing to the chair across from me. “Solei Winters. I work for Todd Morrison and he sent me to discuss your case.”
He sat down slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “They sent you?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Nah.” A slow, flawless smile spread across his face, and a tremor traced my spine. “No problem at all.”
I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the anxiety racing in my chest and the way my heart pulsed with nerves. “Your name is Montana Madden, correct? Arrested three days ago on…”
“Money.”
I looked up from my notes. “Excuse me?”
“Money. That’s what people call me.”
“Mr. Madden, I…”
“Money,” he insisted, leaning forward. “And I already know what I was arrested for. What I need to know is if you can get me the fuck out.”
I studied him, curiosity and suspicion knotted in my chest. His paperwork listed him as twenty-four, but something about him felt ancient, as if he’d lived ten lifetimes.
“That depends on the evidence,” I said, sliding the police report onto the table, forcing calm into my voice.
“According to this, two ounces of cocaine were found in your car during a traffic stop.”
“Planted.”
“They always say that.”
“I’m not they.” Money’s eyes locked on mine, intense and unwavering. “I’m tellin’ you the shit was planted. That cop had it out for me. Been tryin’ to catch me slippin’ for months.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Can they prove I knew it was there?”
“Hmm.” I almost smiled. “You’re smarter than most of the clients we get.”
“I’m smarter than most people, period.” There wasn’t a drop of arrogance in his voice, just fact. “So can you help me or not?”
I looked down at the report again, scanning for weaknesses. “The search was conducted during a traffic stop for a broken taillight. Did you consent to the search?”
“Hell nah.”
“Did they have probable cause?”
“Said they smelled marijuana.”
“Did they?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean that work was mine.”
I made notes, already working through defenses. “If we prove the search was illegal, we can suppress the evidence. No cocaine, no case.”
“So you can get me out.”
“I can try. Mr. Morrison will have to review everything, but…”
“I don’t want Morrison.” He leaned back, gaze fixed and hooded. “I want you.”
My pen stopped moving. “I’m not an attorney so I can’t represent you in court.”
“Then become one.”
I laughed. “I just started law school part-time. I won’t be able to practice for three, maybe four years.”
“So Morrison handles the court shit, but you do the real work. The research, the strategy, all of it.” He tilted his head, studying me. “You’re good at this. I can tell.”
“You’ve known me for ten minutes.”
“I’m a good judge of character.” His smile was back, dangerous and beautiful. “And you’re exactly what I need.”
There was something in the way he said it, something that made it clear he wasn’t just talking about legal representation. I should have walked away right then and told Morrison to assign someone else. I should have recognized the signs of unhingedness, but I didn’t.
“I’ll talk to Mr. Morrison,” I heard myself say. “See if we can work something out.”
“Good.” Money stood up, and the guard moved forward to escort him out. But before he left, he turned back to me. “Solei, right?”
“Yes.”
“Pretty name. Means sun in French.”
I blinked, surprised. “You… you speak French?”
“Nah, but I be knowin’ shit.” He winked, and my stomach did that flip again. “I’ll see you, Solei Winters.”
He left before I could answer, leaving me alone in the visitation room with my notes and a pulsing ache between my legs. My heart pounded, a mix of anticipation and confusion tightening my chest. I couldn't understand why I reacted so strongly.