Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“TILL I SEE YOU AGAIN” BY UNSECRET, THE POWDER ROOM
BLOSSOM
Iawake just before dawn, my eyes gritty and my head fuzzy in the way that a terrible night’s sleep does to you.
Sitting up, the blanket pools around my waist and I remember I’m on the sofa because going back upstairs to the bed on the floor they made for us was too painful.
My phone lands on the floor with a thud, and my heart beats loudly as I recall the number Henry gave me, of my mother’s old lawyer and the fact he’s not connected to Wilson.
Bending over I pick up the phone, checking the time and deciding that four in the morning on a Sunday is probably not the best time to call. But maybe six or seven would be okay. I’ll go make tea, maybe try to eat something.
My stomach roils at the idea, but then I hear Ant telling me I must eat, Steele and Nox giving me a look that says the same. I swallow back the tears that sting my eyes, because they won’t help get them out of jail. They won’t reverse what my father did.
With a sigh, I get up, fold the blanket and put it on the back of the sofa where it lives, then make my way into the kitchen only to come up short when I spot Tina, putting what looks like a tray of my favorite blueberry muffins in the oven.
“Morning, love,” she greets warmly, like it’s usual for both of us to be up at this time. “I won’t ask if you slept well, I can tell you didn’t and frankly neither did I.”
She closes the oven door, turns around and pours water from an already boiled kettle into my favorite mug, the handmade in Mexico one with orange and black butterflies on it.
“Henry gave me the number for mum’s old lawyer. Said he might be able to help. Ralph Symes, Esquire.”
“He was always a good man, that Ralph,” Tina comments, coming over and handing me the tea. “Call him in a couple of hours when he’s had a chance to wake up a little.”
“That’s the plan,” I sigh, letting the steam from the mug curl around me and warm my cold insides. “What are we going to do with the kids today? I’m not sure I can face them until I at least try to sort this out.”
“I’ve spoken to Henry and we will take them out for the day, don’t you worry about it. Focus on those boys.” A lump forms in my throat at the way, like usual, she thinks of what I need before I do and then makes it happen like it’s nothing. It’s everything.
“Thank you, Tina. I’d be lost without you,” I tell her, my voice choked and raspy.
She gives me a smile, wrapping her arm around me and pulling me close. “You too, love. You too.”
Tina and I quietly bake for the next hour or so, and then I slip into the formal dining room, shutting the door behind me with my phone in hand. My pulse skitters as I sit on one of the chairs, opening the contact for Ralph Symes and hitting dial.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Miss. Blossom? Are you okay?” A deep accented voice asks, and I’m stunned for a moment.
“H—how did you know it was me?”
He chuckles. “I’ve been waiting for your call for a long time, Miss. Blossom.” I lick my lips. “Your mother and I were close friends before the end, I knew her well and she knew this day would come.”
Chills race up my spine, like fingers from the grave tracing up the skin. “My mother knew? How?”
He sighs. “She knew your father, knew that he would make things difficult. Frankly, I’m impressed and surprised I’ve not heard from you sooner.
” My chest twinges, but the wound my father left is lessened by the fact he watched them take my guys away, and if I’m correct, he orchestrated the whole thing.
“But then again, she always said you were going to be remarkable.”
Loss hits me all at once, stealing my ability to speak. I didn’t get much time with my mother, not enough of it anyway. And the fact that she protected me even after her death reminds me of what I would have had if she’d not died at all.
“Now, how about I tell you what I have, then you can tell me what predicament you’re in and together we can find the best way forward?”
“Y-yes please,” I reply, pulse thudding in my ears.
And he tells me. He tells me about the years my mother spent while married to my father quietly gathering documentation, evidence of his emotional and financial abuse, his corruption to make sure that whatever venture he invested in thrived, no matter the cost. Then before her death, she charged Ralph to keep gathering.
He’s got records of when my father contested my mother’s will, his attempts to try and take the money she left for me, his daughter.
It all shows Wilson Devonshire’s character in a damning light, and lends credibility to my belief that these charges against my guys are false and were concocted by him.
It also shows that my mother knew what my father was like, lived with him, stayed with him — probably for me — and prepared for when she wouldn’t be here to defend me. All without telling me.
“Why didn’t she tell me herself?” I ask once he’s finished, and I hear his exhale over the line.
“Because she didn’t want you living in fear of it, of what he was like and the depths he would go to in order to get his own way.”
Even in death she protected me.
My chest aches, my throat and lungs sore with the loss of her.
“Now tell me, what has Wilson done to have you calling me first thing on a Sunday morning?”
So I explain everything that happened from the moment my father interrupted our family breakfast, the threat, then later last night, the police raid and the guys being taken away.
I tell him how Steel was struck even when he wasn’t resisting arrest. How the officers were rough and manhandled them.
How I caught the word thug aimed at Nox, who for once said nothing.
How I’ve not been able to speak to them or get any information from the county jail.
How I saw my father’s car at the end of the driveway when the dust from the police cruisers had barely settled.
“This has your father’s handwriting all over it,” Ralph says, his tone unsurprised but frustrated.
“I will send over all the documentation I have, but I cannot help your boys, I’m an estate lawyer.
” My heart sinks like a lead balloon in my chest. “However, I know someone. A bright young spark of a criminal defence lawyer who does pro bono work and has had success going up against corrupt systems before. There is no connection to Wilson. He can be trusted. I’ll make the call myself, get him to contact your boys directly so they can accept him if they choose. ”
I want to insist that I’ll pay whatever the cost, that I’ll make sure they accept him. But then I think of my guys, and the fact that although it’s my family which has done this to them, they need to feel like they have agency. That they are in charge of their own fate.
“That would be wonderful, thank you, Mr Symes.”
“Please, call me Ralph,” he says kindly.
“And it’s no trouble. Bad men shouldn’t be allowed to get away with things like this.
It’ll be my absolute pleasure to see Wilson Devonshire brought to his knees.
And with the documentation, the evidence I have, your mother built the weapon to do just that. She just hoped you’d never need it.”
“It can be used against him legally?”
“Absolutely. There is a history of abuse and corruption, and there may even be a thread tying him more directly to what happened last night, but your testimony regarding his threat from earlier in the day, and then the fact his car was on the drive at the time of arrest.” He pauses.
“Do you have proof of that? CCTV of his car?”
“Yes! And my guards would have recorded letting him in, they have a log for visitors,” I say, that lead balloon lightening slightly.
“Then, with your permission, I will share the documents with my lawyer friend, as well as tell him to get in touch with you for your statement and the evidence of your father being present last night.”
“Anything you or the lawyer needs. If it helps them get out, I’ll do anything.” My throat feels tight, but no longer with just desperation and hopelessness. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Ralph.”
“As I said, it’s been a long time coming. My guy will be in touch soon. Don’t lose hope Miss. Blossom. There is a way out of this.”
We say our goodbyes and then hang up. I just sit there, with this new, fragile hope that feels like a seedling just poking out of the ground and could be crushed so easily by a careless foot.
“NO REST FOR THE WICKED” BY KLERGY
STEELE
I’m woken from a shitty night’s sleep by my door being swung open, a guard walking in, cuffs already in hand.
“Up Vaughn. You have a meeting with your duty lawyer.” The words are almost bored sounding, and I rise to my feet, fucking aching from this hard as fuck bed, holding my wrists out for the cuffs to go on.
He indicates I go before him so he’s at my back — fucking hate having someone behind me — and directs me down the hall to a small room, again no fucking window.
There’s a table bolted to the floor, two chairs either side of it and a fluorescent light.
I’m told to sit in one of the chairs, the cuffs taken off, and the guard goes to wait by the door.
The room is cold, functional, and my stomach growls, reminding me I’ve not eaten since lunch yesterday because apparently we didn’t qualify for dinner last night even though they interrupted ours.
The door opens, a man in a suit with a briefcase walking in.
His hair is dark and looks like it’s got too much product in, his nose is the ruddy red of someone who drinks too much and his suit strains over his pot belly.
It’s hard not to roll my eyes, because whatever this douche has to say, I’m not interested in hearing it.
“Mr. Vaughn, I have here a plea deal.” He opens his briefcase as he sits, taking out a file. “It’ll give you a reduced charge, time served plus probation, no trial. Clean and quick, no fuss and we can all get on with our day if you just sign here on the dotted line.”