4. Luka
LUKA
The number one piece of advice Stefan and I were given by our legal team was to remain calm, collected, and self-assured during our court appearances.
But no matter how many times you practice giving testimony in your head, the real-life act of getting sworn in on the stand and then grilled in front of a courtroom packed with jurors, attorneys, spectators, reporters, and the very person you’re testifying against… is an entirely different story.
My father’s defense team is made up of nothing but smooth-talking snakes, and during their cross-examination they’ve tried to discredit me at every turn. I’m sweating bullets up here.
“Mr. Zoric? Do you need me to repeat the question?”
I heard him the first time, but my mind went completely blank as I tried to formulate a response that wouldn’t ultimately hinder the prosecution.
Shifting in my seat, I look the lawyer square in the eyes. “Yes.”
“I asked: Did you have any prior knowledge of the private email account that was allegedly used by your father for communication with the young women he employed?”
Clenching my fists in my lap, I will myself to focus. I’m the final witness of the day.
“Today is the first I’ve heard of that email account,” I answer honestly, causing the lawyer’s mouth to twitch into a triumphant smirk.
All of this has been such a blur. Although Stefan and I had been prepped for the possibility of taking the witness stand, we still felt blindsided by the subpoena.
Our legal team had only been served at the last minute, giving us little time to mentally prepare.
I assume catching us witnesses off guard was part of the defense’s game plan all along.
Since the trial began, I was sure we’d be kept out of court—we’re not only the children of the accused, but also former employees of my father’s company. Yet here we are.
I know my testimony is crucial, but all I can think about is my wife stepping out on me. I’m torn up with rage and it’s got me off my game in the worst way possible.
On top of that, my father is sitting mere feet away.
I can feel his eyes on me even though I haven’t spared him a glance since I was first brought into the courtroom hours ago.
I can’t bear the thought of seeing his anger or despair at my truthful responses—or worse, the possibility of his gaze begging me to cover for him with lies.
The defense lawyer pretends to think it over. “So…would you say it’s actually possible that this email account could have been used by someone else posing as your father?”
“Objection!” the prosecutor interrupts, not for the first time. “Leading the witness.”
The judge nods. “Sustained,” she says.
As I sit through further questioning, I struggle to ignore the images flashing through my mind of Brooklyn and Mateo. Their hard partying in LA has saturated all the media outlets, and the gossip about the state of my marriage has been flying left and right.
“Mr. Zoric?” the defense attorney prods, waving a stack of pages at me. “Exhibit F?”
Fuck. Where were we? I huff out a breath. “I’ll need to look at it again.”
My wife’s extracurriculars shouldn’t be screwing with me this badly, and certainly not right now.
I know better than anyone that I need to be fully on point here.
But I can’t shake the distraction. It’s not just the TMZ reports or the photos of Brooklyn and Mateo leaving the Hollywood clubs and Downtown bars and restaurants.
It’s the cell phone videos that bystanders took inside the clubs that show my smiling, carefree wife clinging to her boy toy all night long.
All I can see is red. I don’t know who I’m more pissed off at—her for walking out on me and running right back into Mateo’s arms, or me for falling for Brooklyn in the first place.
The defense attorney strolls in front of me and then tilts his head toward the jurors. “So, to be clear, you never personally received any emails from this account, Mr. Zoric.”
“No, I did not,” I say, handing the stack of pages back.
As much as I’d love to help incriminate my father even more, I’m not going to sit here under oath and pretend I know more about his illegal activities than I actually did.
The truth is, I had very little understanding of his legitimate work at the agency, and when it came to the sex-trafficking side of the business, my head was completely in the sand. Unlike my older brother, who orchestrated the takedown of our father, I knew nothing at all.
Because while the senior Zoric was pulling a bait and switch on women who immigrated to the US with big dreams of becoming models and instead found themselves working as prostitutes, I was too busy drinking and fucking away my personal problems at every club in Chicago to notice.
Despite having my name on the KZ Modeling employee roster, I had few responsibilities back then and rarely made it into the office.
I was a privileged prick. I’ve turned my life around now, but I truly can’t report much regarding my father’s secret life.
Explaining all of this to an entire room full of people fills me with deep regret and shame all over again. As much as I hate to admit it, I wish Brooklyn were here.
Instinctively, my eyes search for her in the courtroom.
The lights are too bright, though, and I can’t tell if she’s out there in the spectator area.
Not that I’m expecting her. There’d been no sign of her earlier today, and though I dodged my brother’s inquiries about why she was absent, I know I’ll have to face the rest of my family’s questions later.
The defense lawyer turns to the judge. “That’s all I have, Your Honor. No further questions.”
Thank God.
I’m allowed to step down from the stand.
My legs are a little shaky. So are my hands.
I’m not worried about being accused of anything; the legal team for my siblings and myself already said we’d been cleared of any involvement.
The defense is just digging, trying to drum up any thread of reasonable doubt they can manage.
I get it. I’ve seen enough crime television to know casting uncertainty on a crime to try to get the perpetrator a lesser sentence is commonplace.
But my dad doesn’t deserve a lesser punishment. He should get the maximum sentence. Not that it’ll make up for all the lives he’s ruined, the trauma he can never take back.
I take my seat at the counsel table next to Stefan and our lawyers. My brother nods at me.
“That guy’s an asshole. You know there’s nothing to worry about,” he whispers softly.
The lawyers hash some things out, and finally the judge says, “Court is adjourned.”
“All rise,” the bailiff announces.
We stand. Stefan looks over at me, concern knitting his brow. “You doing okay, bro? You looked a little rough up there.”
I shrug. “Just exhausted. Long day.”
“Well, don’t sweat it,” Stefan tells me. “It’s over now.”
He claps me on the shoulder and then heads off to find Emzee, who spent most of the day dabbing tears from her eyes as she listened to various damning testimonies. I turn to follow him, and that’s when I see Brooklyn.
She’s standing at the back of the courtroom in conservative clothes, hands folded in front of her, chin high, her gaze steady and open.
Why the hell did she show up? For the media coverage? To keep up the image of our perfect marriage? Or is she actually here for me?
Whatever her gesture means, it’s one I wasn’t expecting—and at a time when she could have deserted my family completely, the fact that she’s stepping up has to mean there might be hope for our relationship. Doesn’t it? Or am I reading this all wrong?
Before I get halfway to Brooklyn, she’s swept up with the flow of bodies exiting into the hallway. I’m just through the doors when I spy her and Emzee in a tight embrace.
Brooklyn pulls away and our eyes finally meet, but I can’t get to her before Stefan does. She gives him a brief hug, chatting all the while. Then Stefan’s wife Tori comes up and gives Brooklyn a kiss on each cheek, smiling gently.
I smell my wife’s perfume as I approach and suddenly I’m standing before her, both relieved and more tense than ever. But instead of wrapping her arms around me, she just runs a hand over my jacket lapel in a vaguely comforting gesture, making no move to go in for more.
“Sorry I was late,” she says, directing it at all of us. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“We’re glad you made it,” Emzee says. “Today was brutal.”
“Let’s get the press mauling over with, shall we?” Stefan says.
As we make our way toward the gauntlet of reporters waiting outside the courthouse, I feel a small, warm hand in mine.
Glancing down, I see Brooklyn has taken my hand as we exit the building to find a waiting pair of microphones and a small sea of press just past that.
Our lawyers move to the microphones first and start feeding prepared statements to the news outlets while my family and I stand back with forced neutral expressions and have our photos taken.
The nonstop flash of cameras going off add an even more surreal layer to the scene. My wife is at my side, yet I don’t know where our marriage stands. It seems obvious she’s not willing to be with me, and I don’t know how to give her what she wants.
I find myself growing more tense by the second, one burning question on my tongue. “Why are you here, Brooklyn?” I say quietly, even though I know it’s not the time.
Because there’s hope for our marriage.
Because I was worried about you.
Because I want to be here for you.
“It was the right thing to do,” she answers noncommittally.
I glance over at her profile, and I feel my emotional walls going up again.
She’s stoic and aloof, here physically but with her mind a million miles away.
She certainly gives me no indication that she’s holding my hand for any reason other than making us look good for photos.
Brooklyn Moss, liar extraordinaire. As if she’d actually show up here for my family’s benefit.
Our lawyers finish up with the press junket and motion for us to get moving, even as the reporters continue shouting our names and hurling questions at us.
My siblings slow their pace to give a few comments, and my anxiety ticks up another notch.
I can’t just stand around with this fake smile plastered to my face.
Inside I’m a mess, and I have no outlet. I feel like screaming.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
Sweat beads along my hairline as I let go of Brooklyn’s hand. The crowd around us starts to shift and people get in between us. Brooklyn’s voice filters my way, but I don’t hear what she’s saying as I break off from the group and duck away unnoticed, heading toward the parking lot as fast as I can.
My rage has returned, and I don’t know what to do with it. My instinct, even a month ago, would have been to start something up with Monica—she’s never made her interest in me a secret—but that doesn’t feel like an answer.
As I finally slip into my car, gripping the steering wheel tight and heaving out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I realize that it might not be rage that’s ripping me up inside right now. It might be something else.
Something more like heartbreak.
Not just for how bad things have gotten with Brooklyn and our marriage, but for everything going on with my father and my family, too.
The worst-case scenario has become a nightmare reality for all of us, and even though I know I should be standing tall beside my brother and sister right now, I just can’t.
For years I’ve been the black sheep of the Zoric clan, the shadow that comes and goes without being missed. My family has been groomed to expect my absence. Why should it be any different now?
I doubt they’ll even notice that I’m gone.
And worse?
Neither will my wife.