Page 72 of Necessary Cruelty

“Smart ass.” His narrow-eyed gaze swings away from me and settles on Zaya. “We haven’t officially met, but I assume you’re Zaya Milbourne.”

She nods, eyes wide.

“So, you must be here about your brother.”

Instead of answering, she hesitates and looks at me. It’s interactions like this that make people see weakness and think they can just roll over her. But Zaya isn’t afraid, she just won’t commit to any course of action until she has thought through every angle. For now, that means letting me take the lead.

I’ve seen the core of steel inside of her every time I try to get her to do something she truly doesn’t want to do.

“She saw the police report,” I tell him. “It looks worse than it should. Zion isn’t some cartel boss.”

With an annoyed sigh, West reaches for the stack of files on his desk. “And you thought it made sense to come see the attorney prosecuting the case instead of maybe, I don’t know, hiring him his own lawyer?”

Zaya has gone tense beside me, her eyes narrowing. I gently tap her knee, a reminder that this is under control. “

He can’t even make bail. The public defender’s office is a joke. C’mon Uncle West, this is ridiculous.”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you about this at all, especially without a defense attorney present,” West points out, voice caustic. “You’re lucky I like you, nephew. Anyone else would have been tossed out on their ass.”

“We’re already here. Spill.”

“These are serious charges.” West skims a few pages before shaking his head. “A group of young men were picked up on suspicion of committing a serious assault and robbery. Apparently, some or all of them held up a convenience store in the Gulch, and the cashier was injured.” He glances at Zaya before looking away. “Your brother runs with a very dangerous crowd.”

“And that makes him guilty?”

My uncle glares at me, and I have a stab of sympathy for anyone who comes face to face with him in a courtroom. He returns his attention to Zaya. “My advice would be to hire the best defense attorney you can afford. This case will be going to trial, there really isn’t any other option.”

Zaya visibly deflates. I hate the stricken look on her face. It makes me want to do things that I never do, like protect people even when there isn’t anything in it for me.

I lean forward. “But there isn’t any evidence that Zion was actually there when the crime was committed.”

West snaps the file shut. “I won’t comment on an active investigation. All the men involved are in custody.”

“Zion isn’t a man.” Zaya’s voice is a touch louder than it should be, as if she is out of practice with modulating it. She winces slightly, but then squares her shoulders. When she continues, her voice is a little softer. “He’s still underage.”

Eyebrows raised, West glances down at the file. “So he is. The only one, in fact.”

“That has to count for something,” I reason. “Couldn’t you at least get the case moved to juvenile court?”

West drums his fingers on the desk as he stares us down. “First of all, Zion requires an actual lawyer to represent him before he can get any sort of deal. Another teenager with a God complex doesn’t count as effective counsel, just because he happens to be my nephew. Nothing is official unless you use the proper channels.” His gaze moves from one of us to the other, drilling in so we know how serious this is. “That said, there is a diversion program upstate that is intended for juvenile offenders of serious crimes whom the state thinks are potentially good candidates for rehabilitation. It’s new, still in the pilot stage, and like everything else in this world worth a damn, admission to the facility is pay to play.”

My ears perk up at that, buying our way out of things is a Cortland family tradition. “You should have just said this is a money problem in the first place.”

“Everything is a money problem,” West says, voice droll. “But we’re not talking about getting off scot-free, here, not with these charges. Juvenile offenders can be held in the system until they’re twenty-three, so we’re still talking about a significant amount of time, just better than twenty years to life.”

Zaya’s face is carefully blank. “Tell me more about this program.”

“Blackbreak Academy is set up as much like a private school as it is a juvenile prison. Everyone there would otherwise be in the state prison system, but we hope this setup will encourage a lower rate of recidivism. If the participants complete the program successfully, then their records are expunged. It was only approved by the governor because most of their families are paying dearly for the privilege of keeping their children out of the regular system. Apparently, this fits the definition of a public-private partnership according to our state legislature.”

West isn’t exactly a bleeding heart, but it’s obvious from his tone that he recognizes the fundamental unfairness of this particular opportunity.

From her pursed lips and sour expression, I can tell Zaya isn’t happy with the idea of a system of justice based on the depths of your pockets, either. But this is the way the world has always worked, she just needs to get used to it.

“Sounds great—” I say.

She interrupts. “And Zion won’t have to do anything?”

West shrugs. “If he’s willing to testify against the other members of his gang, that would help me convince the judge to allow diversion. This will be a hard sell, otherwise.”

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