Chapter 49
Jamillah’s hospital room smelled of baby lotion and antiseptic.
The excitement of witnessing the miracle of life renewed their hope in the world.
The newest addition to the Montrose clan was a beautiful baby girl named Hope, weighing five pounds and eight ounces, with all ten fingers and toes.
She wailed at the top of her lungs when the doctor smacked her little tush, revealing that she had a strong set of windpipes.
Beau Lee, Alvarez, Capes, Finn, and Harpo were in the hospital room celebrating with Tyrone, Jamillah, and Rocky.
They were elated, and it was the first time in a long time that everyone wore some semblance of a smile.
But then Rocky and Jamillah looked at each other, both knowing whose absence loomed.
Hollis had been counting the days until his next grandbaby would enter the world.
“I just know we are gonna figure out a way to get the money to get my daddy out of jail,” Jamillah responded. “I refuse to lose hope.”
“Jamillah, baby girl, I wasn’t in any way suggesting that we lose hope. I was just letting you all know where we stand. When you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, you never lose hope.” Harpo gave Jamillah a hug.
“Hope and faith are required of everybody in this room,” Rocky interjected. “That’s what I keep reiterating to Hollis—hope and faith. We have to believe in the scripture. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
Harpo then hugged Rocky. “And that’s just what I will reiterate to Hollis when I go see him for my three p.m. visit today,” he said.
Across the room, Capes leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, silent but watchful. He turned to Finn, who was standing beside him, and whispered, “Man, we need a break in this case. When do you think we should go trail Jack again?”
“We should do surveillance on him for the rest of the day up until the midnight hour to see if that will give us any new leads,” Finn answered. “We have to do something to give Hollis some hope.”
As they all left the office their souls were weary, but their faith was resolute and unrelenting.
—
Later at the jail, Harpo was hit with the smell of something deeply familiar and unpleasant—a sharp mix of bleach, sweat, and something older like metal rusting under too many years of fluorescent light.
It was the same smell that had clung to his clothes all those nights he’d counted cinderblock walls instead of stars.
His stomach tightened. For a split second, it was like no time had passed, like he was twenty-four again, shackled at the wrists, waiting on a judge who barely looked at him.
He hated how familiar it felt. The echo of footsteps down the corridor, the buzz of the heavy doors locking behind him, even the low murmur of voices talking to the families through a glass window, it all pulled him back to the weight of lost years.
But then he reminded himself: He wasn’t staying, and he was there to remind Hollis that he wasn’t staying, either. As he had made countless visits to remind other brothers who were locked in the cage to never lose hope.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. Gratitude swelled in his chest. He wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t lost anymore. Life had given him a second chance, and he’d taken it.
That’s why Hollis mattered. Why this fight mattered. Because Harpo knew what it felt like to be forgotten behind those walls. And he refused to let Hollis sit there believing this was all his story would ever be.
So, as he picked up the phone, staring through the glass at his friend, he thought I made it out. And I’ll make sure Hollis does, too.
—
Hollis shifted slightly, wincing as he adjusted his position. He could barely move his lower body. He’d tried, over and over, but the doctors had been clear: The bullets had severed his spinal cord, and he wasn’t going to be walking anywhere ever again. Hollis was paralyzed for life.
“What now?” Hollis rasped.
None of the men answered.
“I know what’s next,” Hollis muttered. “Straight to prison from Cook County Jail.”
Harpo sighed. “We’re still trying, man. Every day we’re getting a little closer. Two weeks ago, there was an order for you to be in custody with no bail. Now we can get you out, as long as we raise the money. So just keep the faith. We’re getting close.”
“The problem is how long it’ll take to get a ringer, Finn. How long will it take?” asked Hollis. Finn has no response. Silence once again filled the room.
After a few moments, Harpo’s phone began to buzz.
The vibration cut through the silence. He almost didn’t answer. What was the point? He already knew what the bondsman was going to say—they didn’t have the money.
But something in his gut told him to pick up.
“Harpo,” came the familiar voice. His tone was even, but there was something different this time. “I got miraculous news for you,” he said. “Comes with a bit of mystery, though.”
Harpo sat up. Capes straightened, watching closely.
“What?”
“Someone just paid the full $250,000 bail.”
Silence. Shock swallowed the room.
Harpo’s heart nearly stopped. “Wait—what?”
“You heard me,” the bondsman said. “Some prominent person’s lawyer contacted me and informed me that their client was making a donation and sent payment to cover the entire bail amount. The lawyer made clear that his client wished to remain anonymous.”
Harpo was on his feet now. Capes narrowed his eyes, reading the shift in his posture.
“No name?” Harpo asked.
“Nothing. And the attorney was very clear—if anyone tries to figure out his client’s identity, the bail will be forfeited.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” Harpo couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Freedom had a price, and somehow it had been paid, and Harpo knew he’d never forget this moment. It was the day mercy came wrapped in $250,000.
Harpo turned toward Hollis, who was watching him carefully. Harpo looked back, then lifted his phone and called Rocky.
“Rocky, we just got a ringer. The bondsman said we received an anonymous donation covering Hollis’s entire bail amount,” Harpo said.
There was a long pause, filled with the sound of her catching her breath. Then she let out a slow, teared-soaked laugh. “Ain’t that somethin’.”
—
Beau Lee Cooper stood near the conference table, his hands resting on its surface, taking in the news.
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Harpo looked like he was still processing it. “None of us were.”
Nellie leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “That’s a hell of a donation.”
Capes smirked. “Okay, so who are we thinking? Oprah?”
“Michael Jordan?” Alvarez threw in.
“Barack Obama?” Nellie mused.
“Could’ve been the Pope for all we know,” Harpo said. “But whoever it was, I’m just grateful. I thank God for ’em.”
Beau Lee nodded. “Yeah. Whoever they are, they did something good.”
Nellie tapped his pen against the table. “This is going to become one of those great urban legends, like who killed Jimmy Hoffa? Now people will be asking for years to come who bailed out Hollis Montrose.”
Harpo said, “I don’t care who it was, all I care is that Hollis Montrose is coming home.”
To which Nellie heartily agreed, “Amen.”
And that was it. No overthinking, no tension. Hollis Montrose was coming home.
—
That afternoon, Rocky stood outside the jail, arms wrapped around herself in the cold.
When the doors slid open, it took everything in her not to burst into tears.
Hollis was in the wheelchair, his hands resting on the arms, his legs still. His clothes were looser on him now, his body thinner, his movements slower. But he was here. He was free and Rocky was taking him home.
She moved before she could think, closing the distance and kneeling in front of him, gripping his hands tight. “I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered.
Hollis let out a weak chuckle. “By God’s grace, I’m still here.”
Behind them, the team stood in quiet relief.
Capes muttered, “Are we really just gonna pretend this ain’t crazy?”
Beau Lee didn’t look away. “No need to overthink a blessing.”
Capes exhaled. “Man, a quarter million anonymously! That’s some kind of divine intervention. I want some divine intervention for me, too!”
Harpo laughed and said, “Capes, you crazy, man. Now we just need some more divine intervention to happen in sixty days, when this trial begins.”
Nellie nodded. “You’re right, Harpo. But seriously, time is of the essence. We really need to get to work if we’re going to have any chance of success in this trial.”
Beau Lee knew Nellie was right. The gift of the donation had cracked open a door, but money alone wouldn’t win Hollis his freedom.
What lay ahead was long nights, relentless preparation, and a courtroom where every word would be weighed like gold.
As grateful as he was for the miracle that had arrived, Beau Lee understood that this was a blessing, but freedom wasn’t guaranteed until the truth rang louder than the lies that had put Hollis in chains.