Page 17 of Big Daddy

She ended it. I need you.

I write back immediately because this breakfast with Brielle helped me squash some wild Big Daddy fantasy that I had low-key built up in my mind.

I need Howard’s money and he needs my feet, and that’s the truth of it. I can’t ask Big Daddy for more money, and for what it’s worth, I already feel the urge to pay him back, just like the therapy appointment. That way there is nothing between us that would ruin my relationship with Brielle.

I take a moment, staring at my green “ONLINE” activity status while thinking of a message. Finally, I reply.

54035forYOU

I can do a live call tonight.

A moment after hitting send, $600 hits my account, available for transfer.

There. Now I no longer need to worry or even think about Big Daddy. A few weeks with Harold and I’ll pay Quincey back and be able to afford therapy and meds.

Everything is back to normal.

Yay.

chapter seven

quincey

“And you explainedthe obvious risk involved with going to trial?” I ask, hand pinched at my hips as I hover above the speaker unit on the conference room table.

The associates around me fill legal pads with loads of information as they, too, wait for a response. A moment later, my partner, who is with our client in a holding cell, replies.

“He’s aware. But he refuses to take a plea deal.” He lets out a sigh. “Another innocent man.”

“He drove fucking drunk and killed two people!” I shout, the veins in my temples bulging with each aggressive word. “How can he be innocent of that when it’s on camera?”

I shake my head, realizing this isn’t the time or the place. And quite frankly, not even part of the job. If the client wants to go to trial, we’ll go. We’ll prepare and we’ll fight and we’ll get paid either way. I am no man’s moral compass, I’m only a legal shield. Period. “Never mind. We’ll discuss this when you’re back.”

I click the big red END button, severing the conversation between Pen and myself. I look between the associates. “You heard the man. Prepare for trial.”

I didn’t get into law to guide people into virtue and morality. People are going to do what they want, what serves their ego and their narrative. Plain and simple. I got into law for money because money is security and security allows you freedom. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for my family.

I never expected to raise my daughter alone, to be a hard ass and a grouch, to be the dad that yells instead of listens but somewhere along the line, soft parenting while chasing a law career just didn’t mix.

Back in my office, I slam the door closed and sink into my leather chair, my eyes sliding to the framed photo of Brielle and myself.

She’s thriving the way she always has, and this very job has helped give her many opportunities. That’s how it works, after all. Money buys opportunities, and I want my girl to have everything she can.

Guilt curls my shoulders, squeezing me for a moment while I stare at a photo of my daughter as her best friend slips into my mind.

Winnie’s parents died when she was young, that much I remember.

She’s had to hustle her way through school, and earning good grades for Winnie likely came down to going to college or not. She’s had a ton of pressure and stress on her shoulders from a young age. She hasn’t had the life my daughter has.

And for some reason, that disturbs me. Greatly.

Drumming my fingers along the desk, I stare at the computer screen. Icons, saved documents, folders full of unorganized bullshit.

I could open my email and start answering everything I’ve missed for the last hour. I could make a few phone calls or even review the stack of secretary applicants Pen snuck in here earlier.

But what do I do?

The one fucking thing I shouldn’t.

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