Chapter 21
“Come in, come in!” The lawyer Grey Robinson waved them into the rear office. “You must be Colin. Good afternoon, young man.” He seemed to find nothing wrong with Colin’s silence. Grey turned to Celeste and said, “And who might this be?”
“Dr. Celeste Talbot serves as the de facto guardian of Colin Eames,” Roland said.
“That is not happening,” his father said. “Not now, not ever.”
Roland waved Celeste and Colin into seats to his right. He pulled a third chair slightly away from theirs and replied, “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it.”
And just like that, the lines of conflict were drawn.
Colin felt his heart rate surge, an electric response to the room’s rising tension. And yet he remained somewhat removed. As if none of this could genuinely touch him.
The trio facing Colin were not defining his future. They only thought they were. And their thinking was as wrong as their assumptions over what was about to take place.
“We were so pleased to receive your request for this meeting. Weren’t we, gentlemen.
” Grey Robinson was seated behind the massive oak desk, slightly to one side of Colin’s father.
The other man, who still had not been introduced, stood in the corner with his arms crossed.
Removed. Isolated. Watching. He was small and unkempt and wore wrinkled trousers to what probably was a fancy suit.
His shirt was marginally tucked in, the end of his belt dangling like a limp leather tongue.
His gaze was a milky green and hard as a frozen pond.
Grey went on, “We had been intending to contact you ourselves. That is, if you are indeed serving as the school’s attorney of record.”
“I am not,” Roland said.
Grey displayed a mocking and jovial surprise.
Colin thought his words and gestures were far too theatrical for the room’s small confines.
In a courtroom, before a jury, they might work well enough.
Here, Grey looked like a man out of his element.
Assuming he was in total control because of who he was.
An attorney representing power on the rise.
Grey said, “Excuse me, Roland. Then why on earth are you even present?”
Roland chose not to respond.
Colin’s father was seated in a massive leather office chair.
The wall behind him was dominated by a giant mural, the same image as on the posters decorating the front room.
It showed him standing between two American flags gazing hard and intent upon the distant horizon.
Overhead words were written in a script of stars and stripes: Roger Eames for the United States Congress.
Grey went on, “We have learned of highly disturbing issues related to students housed within the Outer Banks Academy.”
“Duly noted,” Roland replied calmly.
Grey took that as his signal to begin gesticulating.
His voice rose in tandem with his motions.
Addressing the unseen jury. “We have serious complaints that we intend to raise within the court of public opinion. Failing that, we will begin proceedings in court. Given what we have uncovered, this could go federal.”
Roland waited. Then, “Are you quite done?”
“Am I … Don’t you want to know what the charges are?”
“I have no interest whatsoever in your legal maneuverings.”
“Well, you and the academy will soon enough, I assure you of that.”
Roland shrugged. “Again, noted. Can we now move to the matters at hand?”
“What do you think we are doing now?”
“I have no idea.”
A flush crept up from Grey’s collar. “You may mock, sir. But I assure you, these charges against your group—”
“Again, Counselor, I do not represent the academy. As far as we are concerned, the academy does not enter into this meeting. If you insist, I will convey your intentions. But I personally think you would be better served to alert them personally.”
It was Grey’s turn to go silent. Then, “You are making no sense whatsoever.”
“I don’t see how I can be any clearer. Whatever charges you intend to bring against the academy have nothing whatsoever to do with us or why we requested this meeting.”
Roger Eames slammed one elbow on the desk and pointed at Colin. “That boy, my son, is done studying at that place.”
The man standing in the corner said, “Roger.”
“He’s finished being fed their mess of liberal, left-leaning—”
“Roger.” Harder this time.
Grey said, “Perhaps I should handle this.”
His father leaned back. Smoldering.
“Now then,” Grey said. “The only possible way the academy can hope to avoid a lengthy and potentially damaging set of proceedings is to relinquish their hold—”
“Point of order,” Roland said. “Actually, two points. First, my client is no longer a student at the academy.”
The news clearly rattled the older attorney. “Your client, did you say?”
“That is correct.”
“You have taken a juvenile, a preadolescent, as your pro bono client?”
“There is nothing pro bono about Colin Eames, I assure you.”
“Who is paying his legal bills?”
“That is none of your concern.” Roland reached into his case and drew out a single thick file. He opened the cover and handed over the first page. “What should be of immediate interest, Counselor, is the fact that my client is now a student at UNC Wilmington.”
Grey made no move to accept the page. “But … the child is twelve years old.”
“At least on that point you are correct.” When no one reached forward, Roland let the page fall onto the desk. “May I proceed?”
Reluctantly Grey picked up the paper, studied it intently. The third man pushed off the rear wall and took the page from him. A flicker of those frozen eyes, then he dropped the sheet back on the desk.
Roland went on, “We are here because my client intends to enter into proceedings, in open court, to divorce his father.”
The man in the corner asked, “Can they do that?”
“No,” Roger growled. “They can’t and they won’t.” He glared across the desk at Roland. “You can dress that boy up in whatever fancy clothes you like. I’m still the one in charge.”
“Respectfully, sir, that is not the case,” Roland replied. “Nor has it been for the past six years.”
“The very concept is absurd! The child is twelve years old!” Grey’s flush now covered his entire face. “In North Carolina the minimum age for legal emancipation is …”
“Sixteen,” Roland supplied. “That is simply the current legal standard. We intend to challenge that ruling.” His gaze swiveled to the man in the corner. “All the way to the state Supreme Court if need be.”
Grey looked genuinely affronted over how control had been ripped from his grasp. “This is insane.”
“I assure you, it is not.” Roland gestured to Celeste. “My esteemed colleague, Dr. Celeste Talbot, is a senior executive with the state’s Child Services. She will serve as the child’s legal guardian until he reaches his maturity.”
“No she won’t.” Roger’s scarred right fist began beating time on the desk. “That boy is my son. I have every right—”
“To do what?” Celeste’s rage was so intense, she did not need to raise her voice to silence the room. “Fashion this young man into a puppet to suit your political aims? Did you even hear what your son’s attorney just said? Colin Eames is studying graduate-level mathematics at university.”
“I want him home.” Roger’s voice had dropped a full octave.
“You’d better get used to the idea that it’s not happening,” Celeste said. “Because it’s not his home. And this child is not going to become your prize trophy.”
“We would of course prefer to handle this quietly.” Roland set a sheaf of papers on the desk separating them. “But as you will see here, the court documents have been prepared. Either you agree to this—what shall we call it, disentanglement?—or—”
The man in the corner said, “We need time to discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Roger snarled.
Roland chose to ignore Colin’s father. “You may have until we leave this office. If we fail to reach an agreement now, today, we meet with a senior justice at Raleigh family court in …”
“Two hours and ten minutes,” Celeste offered.
“And then from there we travel straight to a conference with the lady we’ve hired to handle the boy’s PR.” Roland took aim at the man in the corner. “Della Lawrence. Surely you know her. Since she handled the governor’s most recent campaign.”
“Blow your little ship right out of the water,” Celeste said. “Sink your chances of ever getting elected—”
The man in the corner said, “Wait out front while we talk.”
Roger shared his attorney’s crimson rage. “I want—”
The man in the corner said, “This meeting is over.”
But as they rose and started for the door, Roger shouted, “We’re not done here!”
“Yes, Roger, we are.”
“My son is coming home!” His roar shook the windows and turned every head in the outer office.
“Let it go or I walk.” The man’s voice remained as flat and unemotional as pounded tin. “Those are your only two choices.”
Nine shocked faces followed their progress across the front room, while the shouting continued on behind them. Colin felt the words strike like futile arrows. He could not even be bothered to hear what his father yelled. The man was now simply a part of his past.
When he passed through the glass doors, the sunlight struck him like a blade.