He looks at me. “In court, he had a written statement that he read from a wheelchair in court. He made sure one of his paid bailiffs passed the paper to me.” His head shakes, anger flaring in his light eyes. “He scribbled ‘You’re never getting out’ at the bottom. I mean, he was wrong, but...”
“Do you still have these letters?”
Ez nods at Adam. “In a little box upstairs.”
I watch as the wheels start to turn in Adam’s head. “I’d like to see them.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“I’m not an attorney, Adam, I’m a financial advisor. You want help investing money, I’ve got you covered. This, I can’t help you with.”
I give Steve a level look. I basically barged into his office first thing in the morning, his assistant yelling at me the whole time until Steve told her it was okay. The stank-eye she gave me was an award-winning glare.
It’s been a couple of weeks since that douche reporter came to the sanctuary and filmed us, asking Adley stupid questions I hadn’t heard at the time. I’d been pissed enough about that, but then the producers, or whoever, decided to zoom in on Ezra’s face inside the barn before Jasper told them to get lost.
When we all watched the program on the news a couple of days ago, Ezra was calm. That kind of eerie calm you just know is hiding an explosion deep down.
I knew I had to make a move.
“I know you’re not an attorney, but Sam works for one, right? I hear he’s one of the best attorneys in NorCal.” That’s partially a lie. I hadn’t “heard” it, per se, more like scoured the internet, worked a bit of magic on some back doors, and even reached out to a few people who’d hired the guy. When I saw the company website had a professional headshot of Sam Bauer as the attorney’s legal assistant, I knew it was meant to be.
Steve levels me with a scrutinizing look, then purses his lips. “Hang on.” He turns his desk phone on speaker, hits a speed-dial, and a second later, Sam’s voice rings through the phone.
“Moore, Taylor, and Williams, this is Sam. How may I help you?”
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Steve! How nice to hear your voice this early. What’s up?”
“I have you on speaker with Adam Jones. He would like to talk to you about something important.”
I shift forward in my seat. “Hey, Sam. I’m hoping your boss can help me out with something.”
“Shoot, Little Ben.”
I inwardly groan at the nickname Sam gave me the day we met, at my brother and his pack’s joining ceremony seven years ago. I’d hoped it would fade over time, but no such luck.
Ignoring the jab—albeit a loving one—I give the abridged version of what happened with Ezra, the notes, and how the guy he went to jail for was a prominent name in the town he lived in at the time. Sam listens to everything I say, asks me a few follow-up questions, and then says in an assured tone, “I know August will want to help you guys. Have Steve forward all theinformation to me so I can share it, and we’ll move on from there.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, let my shoulders relax. “Thank you, Sam.”
With that call finished, I give Steve the physical notes to scan while I email him a bunch of other information I’d gathered. When Steve hands the papers back to me, I fold them and put them back in an envelope for safekeeping, when a sudden feeling wells up inside of me. Foreign. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware they aren’t my emotions.
Absolute rage. Fear.
My heart begins to race, and I jump out of my chair.
“I have to go. Thanks, Steve. I’ll call you.”
I run out of Steve’s office, past his perturbed assistant, and straight to my car, at Mach-Ten.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“This is amazing, guys.”
I’d spent the early morning hours with Vaughn, Ben, and Quinn at Wildflower Brewing Company and Restaurant. More accurately, in the basement where the “brewing” part resides.
Vaughn takes his beer recipes as seriously as the food—maybe more so. The beer is how he made a name for himself, after all.
