“I’m sorry for your loss,” I managed, though the words tasted like lies. If even ten percent of what Faith had told me was true, this man had enabled a predator. And Daddy Dearest here had been cleaning up Junior’s messes for years; I’d bet my car on it.
Still, the man had lost his son. Even monsters had fathers who mourned them.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” I stood and moved in front of my desk. “I can have Stacy?—”
“You have any idea what you’re doing?” His voice cut through my offer like a blade through silk.
Okay then. Small talk was officially dead.
“As I said, I’m very sorry for your?—”
“Spare me.” He glared at me, and I saw it. Not grief. Not sorrow. Just cold, calculating fury. “You think I came here for your condolences?”
I folded my arms across my chest, letting my suit jacket pull tight across my shoulders. “Then why are you here, Your Honor?”
“You know exactly why I’m here.”
“I’m afraid I’ll need you to be more specific.” I leaned against my desk, casual as Sunday morning.
His jaw ticced. Power play number two: make him say it first.
“The Morrison woman.”
Faith. Her name is Faith, you pompous ass.The memory of her painting lime-green walls for her teenage foster graduate flashed through my mind. The nervousness in her eyes when she’d told me about this guy’s son. How he’d stalked her. Terrorized her. Made her life hell.
For over a decade.
“Ms. Morrison is entitled to legal representation,” I said evenly.
“That’s a load of bullshit.”
“Pardon me?”
“If you were actually sorry for my loss, you wouldn’t be defending the woman who slaughtered him.”
Slaughtered. Interesting word choice. Not killed, not even murdered. Slaughtered. Like his precious boy was an innocent lamb.
“I’m a criminal defense attorney. As you’re well aware, every citizen has the right to a fair?—”
“Don’t insult me with constitutional platitudes.” He flicked his hand dismissively, his Harvard class ring catching the light.
“The Constitution isn’t a platitude, sir. It’s the foundation of our entire legal system. Something you swore an oath to uphold.”
He crossed the room, stopping close enough that I could smell his cologne. Expensive. Oppressive. Just like him. He peered down at me, clearly expecting me to step back, to cower.
I didn’t move an inch.
“You would be well advised to show me more respect.”
“Respect is earned, Your Honor.” I kept my voice low, controlled. “And from what I’m learning, your son harassed Ms. Morrison for over a decade. That doesn’t inspire much respect.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “My son was the victim here.”
“Your son stalked her for over a decade. Showed up at her house. At her workplace. Threatened her. Terrorized her.”
“My son was interested in her. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“There is when she told him no. Repeatedly. For years.” My voice hardened. “There is when he made threats. When he showed up, uninvited. When he made her afraid to walk to her own mailbox.”
