Chapter 32 #2
He sets the paper before me, also placing a biro next to it.
It feels like a deal with the devil, and his name is Wilson Devonshire.
I start to read the text on the page, ignoring the impatient huff from the lawyer who didn’t even fucking introduce himself.
The charge, even reduced, goes on record. A record means that the kinship application for Justin is finished. We’d never get custody of him, even if we are to stay with Blossom when we get out.
A guilty plea sticks, stains. And it’s a stain that isn’t even ours because we are innocent of any crime.
Not to mention our treatment during the arrest is not mentioned anywhere.
The hit to my head that still throbs. The slurs whispered to Nox.
And now they ask us not only admit to something we had no fucking part in, but to make peace with what was done to us by simply agreeing it happened and moving on.
Clean and quick for them. Life-shattering for us.
No.
Fuck no.
“No.” The word slips from my mouth, firm and unwavering. Fuck them. Fuck their corrupt system that lets rich white men abuse the power they’ve stolen.
Sweat beads on his slimy fucking forehead. “You understand, Mr. Vaughn, what a trial means? The cost? The risk of being found guilty anyway?”
“I understand. My answer is still no.”
I hold his gaze, watch that sweat drip down his temple and wonder how much shit he’s gonna be in with Mr. Devonshire. I hope a whole fucking heap of it.
“Fine. On your head be it.” He snatches the pen and paper up, stuffing them in his briefcase as he makes his way to the door.
And I get put back in cuffs, shown back to a cell I didn’t earn, and wonder if I’ve made the right choice. Wonder if my brothers also said no.
Wonder if we’ll ever get the fuck out of here.
Ido finally get some food, a shitty sandwich and some water, but no painkillers for the head trauma. Unsurprising.
Once more my door opens, that same guard coming in.
“You have a visitor. Another lawyer.”
I stand, letting him cuff me and once again I’m taken to the cold interview room, only when he opens the door my knees tremble a little because sitting in two chairs with a third left empty are my brothers.
“Thank fuck,” Ant breathes, his gaze roaming over me, pausing at the swollen place where the baton hit me. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say, the guard taking my cuffs off and showing me to the seat on the end. “You?”
“Yeah, though the bastards tried to get us to sign a plea deal. We refused.” Relief makes my tense muscles loosen a little.
“Same.”
Before we can say anything else, another guy in a suit walks in, younger than the last one, his dark skin a contrast against his crisp white shirt collar.
His suit is sharp, fresh pressed and not rumpled — no sign of being a drunk like that old guy from before — his tie knotted with the kind of precision that says he means business and doesn’t miss details.
I sit up straighter. “Afternoon gentlemen,” he greets, placing his briefcase on the table, looking each of us in the eye.
“My name is Dwight Johnson and if you’ll have me, I’d like to be your defense attorney. ”
“Who’s paying you?” Ant asks, arms crossed and a standoff vibe rolling off him in waves. Dwight gives an approving smile.
“No one. I often do pro bono cases, especially with the nature of this one.” He stops, looks at the guard. “Some privacy with my clients please.”
The guard’s jaw feathers, but with a huff, he steps from the room.
“Now, let me tell you what I have so far, the facts as I know them, and you can then fill in any gaps. Okay?”
“Sure,” I reply, and he gives me a nod, pulling out a thick file and placing it between us.
“This file contains years of evidence and documentation relating to the systematic corruption that Mr. Wilson Devonshire has been a part of. It shows his character as someone who abuses the power he’s gathered without remorse, both personally and in business.
Also that this is not the first time he’s trumped up charges to get rid of someone. ”
“Wait, where did you get that?” Nox interrupts, and my palms sweat when I think about the personal abuse of power.
“A fellow lawyer, a Mr. Ralph Symes Esquire, who has been working on behalf of a Miss Blossom Devonshire for the past twenty-four years, and her mother, a Mrs. Ella Devonshire before that.”
“Blossom had all this?” I ask, my gut twisting.
“No. She found out about it only this morning, when she contacted Mr. Symes, and then gave her permission for it to be used as evidence against her father in this case.” He shuffles the papers and my gut turns again, hot guilt flooding me when I realize my mind immediately went to blame instead of waiting for the truth.
“She also gave a statement of the events of last night, plus I have a copy of the CCTV footage and the gate logs and guard statements placing Wilson Devonshire at the scene.”
I take in his words, the fact that Blossom has been working for us this whole time. There’s a lightness in my chest that’s been missing since last night.
“Can we know what it says about the personal abuse of power you mentioned?” Ant asks, and my heart gives a loud thud.
“It’s not a pretty picture,” Dwight sighs, moving the papers around again.
“Years of financial and emotional abuse are recorded by Mrs. Devonshire, and after her death, Mr. Devonshire contested her will, trying to take the money and property under his guardianship even though it was to be held in trust for Blossom. When that failed, he tried to steal it, though managed to slip through the courts on some technicality.”
“He tried to steal his own daughter’s money?” I blurt, anger flaring hot and bright inside me.
“Yep. Which does work in our favor as it tarnishes his character pretty badly,” Dwight answers, giving me a brief, but sympathetic smile. “Now, I want to hear from you what happened last night. Don’t leave any detail out. Shall we start with you, Mr. Kane?”
Nox sits up. He lays out his arresting officer’s conduct with that specific unsentimental clarity he has.
The whispered slurs, the exact words, the sequence of events, the way they went straight to the pool house without searching anywhere else.
Dwight makes notes without reacting, but his pen moves faster at certain points.
“They’ll have body cam footage,” Nox finishes, and I snap my head to him. Shit. Of course they will.
Dwight looks up, his dark eyes glinting. “Yes, they will and I’ve already requested it.”
“It’ll show they went straight to the pool house, that they didn’t check anywhere else,” Ant adds and Dwight nods.
“It’ll show they knew exactly where to look, which is not the case in most drug raids.” He looks at Nox. “It’ll also capture the words said to you, no matter how quietly, and we will be taking that further.”
He looks to me.
“It will also show the fact that I wasn’t resisting arrest when the officer hit me around the head with his baton.”
Dwight’s jaw tightens as he looks at the side of my face, swollen. “You were compliant at the time?”
“Yes.”
“Were you restrained?”
“Yes.” Dwight takes a breath, writing down my answers.
“And did you make any movement that could be interpreted as resistance?”
“No.”
He finishes writing then looks to Ant.
Ant describes the whole sequence, the warrant, the search, the leading questions followed by the produced evidence bag and finally the arrest. He also tells Dwight about Wilson’s car at the gate.
The little wave and smug smile. Dwight’s expression doesn't change but something in his posture does.
He stiffens, like a hound scenting blood.
Let’s hope it’s Wilson Devonshire’s.
“Right, I think I have everything I need for now,” Dwight tells us, placing his pen down.
“I’ve filed for the body cam footage already, but I’ll be pushing for bail consideration, begin building the case that evidence was planted and that Wilson is behind this.
It won’t be easy, and it will take time. ”
“How much time?” Nox asks, and I know that his answer won’t be what we want to hear.
“A few weeks at best, you’ll need to be patient which I know is easier said than done,” Dwight answers, putting all his paperwork back in the file. “Any other questions?”
“My brother Justin, he’s living at Blossom’s and we have a kinship application in,” Ant states, and Dwight gives a single sharp nod.
“I know what’s at stake here. I’ll work as fast as I can. Anything else?” He looks around at us, and the question pours from my lips without my consent.
“Why hasn’t Blossom called us?”
His brows dip. “She’s recorded as a victim of crime, so any calls that are attempted either end will be blocked. So will any attempt at visitation.”
Something in me eases, loosens at knowing that she’s not forgotten us. That she’s not washed her hands of us. Though she still can’t reach us.
We thank Dwight, then three guards are coming into the room, cuffing us again.
We manage a shared single look. One that says we’re still standing, no matter how Wilson fucking Devonshire is trying to bring us to our knees.
We’re still here, and before long, he will be the one kneeling in front of us.