Conviction （n.） – Jameson
CONVICTION (N.):
THE RESULT OF A CRIMINAL TRIAL IN WHICH THE DEFENDANT HAS BEEN FOUND GUILTY OF A CRIME.
JAMESON
Two Weeks Later
Ipark my car outside Pennsylvania State Corrections and remove my watch and cufflinks.
Tucking them inside my cupholder, I stare at the massive concrete building and hope this is one of the last times I ever have to come here.
I start to power off my phone, but a call from an unknown number flashes across my screen.
“Jameson Tate speaking,” I say. “Who is this?”
“This is Ryan Hunter, sir,” a familiar voice says. “Um, I was wondering if you could meet with my new legal team sometime soon? My father said he would be sharing a joint plan with them, but they haven’t received it yet.”
There’s nothing for them to receive.
“I think you should talk to your father about that.”
“He told me he was staying in one of your condos,” he says. “Something about that being part of his arraignment deal?”
Your father is a fucking liar.
“I’ll call you back this evening, Ryan,” I say. “I’m about to go into a meeting.”
“Do you promise, Mr. Tate?”
“Yes,” I say, meaning it. “I promise.”
I end the call and step out of the car.
I stroll into the security check-in zone I know all too well and sign my name on the approved visitor’s list. Then I place my briefcase on the metal detector belt and wait for a guard to wave me through.
I stand still as two others take turns waving security wands over me before I’m escorted down a familiar concrete corridor to the room where my father is waiting.
“Jameson!” He stands up from the metal table, his arms outstretched. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.”
“Have I ever not come?” I pull him into a tight hug.
“You never know these days.” He slowly lets go, motioning for me to sit down first—as usual. “My cellmate’s son just stopped writing all of a sudden. No notice, no warning, just nothing out of the blue.”
“I can look into why, if you want.”
“I think you’ve done enough for him.” He smiles. “Only if you get bored, though.”
“Noted.”
“You still working on Kingpin Hunter’s case?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about my other cases. You know that.”
“Everyone else here is talking about it.” He looks amused. “He’s pissed a lot of people off in here, and I can’t risk telling any of them that my son is the dumbass lawyer defending him.”
“You’re calling me a dumbass?”
“I’m just glad they haven’t put two and two together yet since I don’t go by my real name in here anymore.” He lowers his voice, as if the walls themselves might be listening.
“They got you in a picture with him on the front page of the Business Times,” he says. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I’ve represented him for years.”
“Not on these types of charges, though.”
Tell me about it.
I place my briefcase on the table and change the subject.
“Let’s focus on finally getting you out of here instead.”
“How?” he asks. “Parole?”
“That’s one option.”
“Ninety percent of prisoners get denied parole on their first try, Jameson.”
“Because those people don’t have me as their lawyer.” I sit down. “You’ll be out of here before then if I can help it.”
“Don’t tell me you’re filing another appeal.” He lets out a sigh. “I think seven failed ones is more than enough for me, son.”
“I’m getting you a new trial.”
His head shoots up, and he stares at me for several seconds without saying a word.
“I would’ve killed his ass a million times over if I knew what he was really doing to all the neighborhood kids,” he finally says. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m damn proud of you. You know that.”
“You’ve never had second thoughts about this entire thing?”
“You’re my son.” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “If they’d figured out it was you, I would’ve begged to take your place. Any father would.”
“No, not any father.” I shake my head, but I don’t elaborate. “Thank you, as always.”
“You’re welcome, as always. You still having the occasional nightmare about it? Or ones about Peter Hansel?”
Yes.
“No.” I shake my head. “Haven’t had any issues with either of those in a very long time.”
“Good.”
“You don’t look happy about getting a new trial, Dad.”
“How can I?” He sighs. “Look, I hate being locked away here, don’t get me wrong, but giving me hope for something that may never happen is worse than just leaving me to die in this place…”
“I made you a fucking promise.” I narrow my eyes at him. “When have I ever broken one?”
“Never.”
“Exactly.” I pull out his case file. “Now, back to what I was saying. We have three options as of today.”
I flip open the file.
“One, we have grounds for a new trial. Two, I get Peter Hansel to admit he did a choke-ass job representing you and ignored evidence, and I use that to get your conviction overturned. Three, which is the worst-case scenario to me, we put on one hell of a show and make damn sure that parole panel lets you out.”
“You should’ve started with option two.” He smiles. “I was beginning to think I dreamt that whole thing up.”
“What whole thing?”
“The tape Rachel sent me—I can’t stop listening to it.” He reaches into his pocket and sets a flash drive on the table. “I was wondering why you didn’t come in here raving about it. It’s real, right?”
“Rachel is still upset with me about things, so maybe…”
Confused, I pick up the flash drive.
From Rachel is written along the side.
I slip it into my laptop and find a single audio file named Minute 3:13.
I open it and slide straight to that minute.
“For the record, I can assure you that I gave my all to Mr. Tate’s case—” Mr. Hansel’s voice comes through loud and clear. “And there was nothing I missed at the crime scene—no panties or pajamas in a drawer—nothing. Clear?”
“Crystal. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hansel.”
I hit pause.
Then I play it again.
And again.
“See?” My father beams. “Is this real?”
I swallow and hit play three more times, stunned that no matter how many times I listen, the other voice isn’t Rachel’s.
It’s Scarlett’s.
Scarlett.
And somehow, hearing her voice makes my final decision about her father’s case even clearer than ever.
“Yes.” I stand after the final replay. “This tape is real. I’ll have this handled by the end of the week, but it may take a month or so for you to get out of here.”
“What’s a month after all these years?” He smiles.
“I’ll be back to finish this visit next week,” I say. “I need to go do something before it’s too late.”
“Oh, I see.” His cheeks redden like a schoolgirl’s. “For that woman you met a while ago…Scarlett?”
“Yes.” I shut my briefcase. “For Scarlett.”