Page 48 of Motion to Dismiss

I end the call and step out of the car.

I stroll into the security check-in zone I know all too well and sign my name on the approved visitor’s list. Then I place my briefcase on the metal detector belt and wait for a guard to wave me through.

I stand still as two others take turns waving security wands over me before I’m escorted down a familiar concrete corridor to the room where my father is waiting.

“Jameson!” He stands up from the metal table, his arms outstretched. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.”

“Have I ever not come?” I pull him into a tight hug.

“You never know these days.” He slowly lets go, motioning for me to sit down first—as usual. “My cellmate’s son just stopped writing all of a sudden. No notice, no warning, just nothing out of the blue.”

“I can look into why, if you want.”

“I think you’ve done enough for him.” He smiles. “Only if you get bored, though.”

“Noted.”

“You still working on Kingpin Hunter’s case?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about my other cases. You know that.”

“Everyone else here is talking about it.” He looks amused. “He’s pissed a lot of people off in here, and I can’t risk telling any of them that my son is the dumbass lawyer defending him.”

“You’re calling me a dumbass?”

“I’m just glad they haven’t put two and two together yet since I don’t go by my real name in here anymore.” He lowers his voice, as if the walls themselves might be listening.

“They got you in a picture with him on the front page of the Business Times,” he says. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I’ve represented him for years.”

“Not on these types of charges, though.”

Tell me about it.

I place my briefcase on the table and change the subject.

“Let’s focus on finally getting you out of here instead.”

“How?” he asks. “Parole?”

“That’s one option.”

“Ninety percent of prisoners get denied parole on their first try, Jameson.”

“Because those people don’t have me as their lawyer.” I sit down. “You’ll be out of here before then if I can help it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re filing another appeal.” He lets out a sigh. “I think seven failed ones is more than enough for me, son.”

“I’m getting you a new trial.”

His head shoots up, and he stares at me for several seconds without saying a word.

“I would’ve killed his ass a million times over if I knew what he was really doing to all the neighborhood kids,” he finally says. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m damn proud of you. You know that.”

“You’ve never had second thoughts about this entire thing?”

“You’re my son.” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “If they’d figured out it was you, I would’ve begged to take your place. Any father would.”