“What was that, Beaumont?” he questions. “You looked like a fish out of water in that courtroom.”
My first thought is to ask how he knows what I looked like if he wasn’t there. My second is to tell him to lay off and let me get to work. I don’t say either of those things. I simply take a seat on one of the armchairs while he stands beside his desk with his frown and light glare behind bespectacled eyes.
The DA, Grant Scott, doesn’t like me for several reasons. The most prominent of which is that I’m young and thus in his eyes thoroughly unqualified for my position as the assistant district attorney. He completely ignores the fact that since I started my career I’ve won about ninety percent of my cases. I’m more than capable of the job.
Like most people, he thinks I only have this position due to my father’s influence. There’s nothing I can do about his poor judgement. I show up and I do my work. The rest is his problem.
“I’m handling it,” I reply simply, practically counting down the seconds until I can leave.
“Will you handle it by amending the charge?”
“Not likely.”
His gaze lingers on me for a moment, assessing. His eyes are dark, and being the object of their intense focus nearly throws me into a memory of similar dark eyes. My fists clench, my nails practically digging into my palm. The memory disappears.
The last thing I need is to think about that.
“Walk me through your plan,” my boss states, taking a seat and leaning back in his chair.
I do, explaining exactly how I plan to dismantle the defense. By the time I’m done, it’s clear he agrees with me and may be a little impressed. Of course, he doesn’t let that show.
“Alright then. Make sure it goes well, Beaumont. There’s media coverage on the case. The victim was rich and influential.”
And apparently abusive, I think. But regardless of his faults, he didn’t deserve to die.
“Is that all?” I ask, ready to get to my feet.
“Not so fast,” Richard stops me.
I arch an eyebrow in question.
“The FBI is asking for assistance on a case. I said I’d send the prosecutor most equipped to handle it.”
Confused, I ask, “What case?”
“You’ll hear all about it tomorrow morning. You’ll be meeting with the SAC.”
“Alright.”
I get to my feet, not too worried about whatever it is that’s going on with the FBI. My mind is fixed on the problem at hand and I’m intent on not allowing anything to derail my progress.
Whenever things go wrong in my life, I throw myself into work. It’s what I do best.
And right now, the last thing I need is to be lost in my thoughts. Because that would mean Matteo Vitale’s won something. And I’ll be damned if I let him.
The walls of my bedroom are pink. I’ve always hated pink. And yet, I’ve stared at those pink walls for as long as I can remember because my mom painted this room. Nearly every inch of this room contains memories of her.
There’s a huge bookshelf on the side that holds all the books she read to me growing up. Reading was her favorite thing to do in the world, from Shakespeare to Emily Brontë to Charles Dickens. She was a huge fan of the Harry Potter series and it drove her completely mad that I preferred Percy Jackson.
When I step into my childhood bedroom for the first time in weeks, the first thing I pack are my books. Because being without them felt like I’ve had to live without my mother. And the reason I’ve been able to survive without her for so long is because I’ve always had her books with me, filling a hole in my heart.
I don’t take all of the books, just the really special ones. I hold up a copy ofGreat Expectations, remembering her favorite quote from the book. Gently, I take a seat on my canopy bed, it’s so soft and so comfortable, a part of me just wants to lie there and forget about the rest of the world. But I don’t.
I flip open the page, reading my mom’s words. Dickens may have written them, but she said them to me constantly. The words are burned into my head in her voice.
Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers.
It’s a line about destiny. About how actions and choices shape our future.
