Chapter 3
PIERCE
Iparked the Rolls directly in front of the courthouse.
Strolling past the No Parking sign, I buttoned my suit jacket and gave a nod to the police officer standing nearby.
I wouldn’t be ticketed.
No one ticketed a Worthington.
Our vast estate, Ravenscroft, was perched on top of Dead Man’s Cliff, the sheer rock face looking out over the Atlantic which gave the town its name, Cliffs End. The town we owned.
Half the buildings in town bore our name—the library, the hospital, the high school. The list went on.
No one in Cliffs End who came to the Worthington door with their hand out was turned away, whether they were a resident, a politician, or a priest.
They all got a taste of our wealth.
But nothing was truly free.
And it was time to collect.
The interior of the courthouse was cool and dim.
My footsteps echoed on the polished black stone floor. The same stone we used for my brother Jameson’s memorial.
I suppressed a smirk on my way past a tall bronze statue of a blindfolded Lady Justice.
Two guards leapt to grasp the long brass handles and swung open the heavy double doors which led into the courtroom. As I walked down the middle aisle, several heads turned.
The pressure from their curious gazes bore into me but I brushed it off.
My entrance interrupted Commonwealth’s Attorney John Davis’s summation. The furious scowl on his face was erased the moment he recognized me. I swung open the solid-wood half-door in the bar which separated the court from the public spectator seating and boldly stepped up to the judge’s bench.
The judge addressed me without censure. “Good afternoon, Mr. Worthington. How may the court help you?”
Twenty-five years senior to my thirty years, I’d just rudely interrupted his proceedings, an act that would have gotten a lesser man thrown to the floor and handcuffed for contempt. Not me.
“My apologies, George,” I offered, using the judge’s Christian name. “I need to speak with John.”
George nodded and lifted his gavel. “The court will take a five-minute recess.”
My eyes narrowed. “Make it fifteen.”
George’s jowls trembled. Lips pressed tight, he obeyed. “The court will take a fifteen-minute recess.”
He slammed the gavel down and rose, exiting through his private side door behind the bench.
I turned on my heel and faced John.
He fumbled his handkerchief out and blotted his brow before crossing to the prosecution’s table to pour himself a drink of water. The pitcher rattled against the glass.
As I approached him, many of the jurors who hadn’t yet left their seats leaned forward. No doubt eager to overhear something salacious they could sell to a tabloid.
My family was a common target.
John smoothed his hand over his wrinkled tie. “Mr. Worthington, did I miss a meeting? I’m sorry. I was due in court for this case and—”
I held up a hand to stop his rambling. “There was no appointment, John. I need to speak with you in private.”
His head bobbed up and down several times. “Yes. Yes. Of course. There is a small conference room down the hall we can use.”
That suggestion barely deserved acknowledgement. “I don’t have that kind of time.”
I passed through the courtroom on my way to the judge’s private door, then down a narrow passage where I opened a second door without knocking. George was sitting behind his desk, about to bite into half a sandwich. “I need your office, George.”
George glanced at a small, framed portrait of his family then exhaled slowly through his nose before tossing his sandwich aside and rising. “Take as long as you need, Mr. Worthington.”
The door closed a little too loudly behind him.
Ignoring the judge’s passive-aggressive protest, I crossed my arms and leaned against the desk. “Why haven’t you had Madison Hastings arrested?”
“Please, Mr. Worthington, you have to understand, there isn’t any evidence to charge her with vehicular involuntary manslaughter, let alone first-degree murder.
The surveillance video from the red-light camera clearly shows your…
your…,” he paused to clear his throat, “your brother driving right before the crash. There is nothing I can do about that evidence. Even a hack court-appointed attorney would get the charges thrown out as soon as I filed them.”
My brother and I had never been close, but he was still family, still a Worthington.
The innuendo in the press about alcohol and drugs and the accident being a murder-suicide attempt was unseemly. I had a duty to my family name to squash the scandal…among other obligations.
To do that, someone must pay and that someone was Madison Hastings.
She was an unfortunate nobody about to be sacrificed for the greater good.
The greater Worthington good.
I uncrossed my arms and rose.
At well over six feet, I towered over the feeble man. “There may be nothing you can do about the evidence, but I can.”
I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out a thumb drive, and handed it to him.
He stared at it, perplexed. “What is this?”
“The evidence you need to arrest her. I believe you were mistaken when you first reviewed the video. Madison Hastings is clearly the one driving.”
This time he used the cuff of his brown suit to wipe the sweat off his upper lip. He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, his beady gaze shifting around the judge’s office. “Mr. Worthington, I can’t just use this! There will be other copies of the original video. The county servers. The database.”
“I have taken care of all of that. You have your evidence, John. Arrest her.”
“On what charge?”
“First-degree murder.”
“It won’t hold up. The most I can charge her with would be involuntary manslaughter.”
“First-degree murder and nothing less or there will be hell to pay.”
“A judge will throw it out.”
“You leave that to me.”
He let out a resigned sigh. “Yes, Mr. Worthington.”
I strolled to the door and paused. “You have an election coming up, don’t you, John?”
His eyes widened. “Yes.”
I smiled. “I want her arrested. Today. Don’t disappoint me.”
I left without waiting for his response.
I already knew what it would be.
He wouldn’t dare defy me.
No one in this courthouse would, including whatever judge was eventually assigned the case.