“I’m Rebecca Waters, lead attorney.”
“I know who you are.” I offered her a firm shake. “How fast can we get to the judge’s chambers?”
“The judge’s chambers?” She raised her eyebrow. “I’m supposed to check you into the hotel so we can discuss your testimony…You’re supposed to stay here for a couple weeks.”
“My return flight leaves in fifteen hours.”
She looked shocked. “You only want to submit a written testimony? After all this time?”
“I find it quite impressive that you know how to listen and comprehend at the same time.” I looked at my watch. “Where is the town car?”
She groaned and led me down the bustling terminal, through the gates, and into the executive car lot. She was babbling about how “important” this case was, how it would finally close a chapter on my life, but I wasn’t listening.
My mind was literally counting the seconds I had left in this place.
“Good morning, sir.” The driver grabbed my bag as we approached the car. “I hope you enjoy your stay in New York City.”
I nodded and slipped into the back seat, rolling my eyes when Rebecca sat next to me.
“Could you at least stay for one night and think about this, Liam?”
“What did you just call me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Andrew…I mean, Mr. Hamilton. Could you at least think about it?”
“I just did.”
“Fine.” She pulled out her phone, and I looked out the window as the car coasted through the city.
I winced as we passed a billboard where my old firm once held an advertisement, shut my eyes when we passed Emma’s favorite toy store.
“Mr. Hamilton…” Rebecca tapped my shoulder. “As a lawyer, I’m sure you know how much more compelling an oral testimony can be over a written one. I am begging you to reconsider this.”
“And I’m begging you to get over it.” I looked her directly in the eyes. “He and Ava ruined my life and I don’t have shit to gain by sitting in a courtroom full of strangers and explaining how. You want an emotional testimony? Hire a f**king drama student to read my words to the jury.”
“Things have changed. It’s not like it was six years ago.”
“That’s why The New York Times still won’t print my picture?”
“They won’t print your picture because they think you’re an ass**le.” She snapped. “You also won a huge and expensive case against them years ago or have you suddenly forgotten that? Take it as a compliment that they’re even mentioning you in a positive light.” She tossed yesterday’s paper into my lap. “They even ran that piece. Looks pretty damn good to me.”
I picked up the paper and brought it close to my face, and before I could read the article, two words caught my eye: Aubrey Everhart.
Her name was at the bottom of the page, mixed in with several others, in a beautiful black ad:
The New York Ballet Company to Celebrate New Cast Members with Saturday Night Gala.
Tomorrow…
“I just…” Rebecca was still talking. “I just think you should at least stay for a night, clear your head, and really think about this.”
“I’ll stay until tomorrow.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up.
“Yes.” I stared at Aubrey’s name again. “Really.”
Harass (v.):