Page 73 of Just Like That

He grabbed the telephone we needed to communicate and leaned back in his chair. The orange jumpsuit stretched and accentuated his paunch, but somehow he still managed to look like he was the one in control—like this was all just another business meeting, and he was about to close the deal. The flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows that made his face look even more hollowed out than it already was.

“So,” he drawled, that irritating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Finally found the time in your precious day to see how I am holding up?” He leaned forward. “Or have you been too busy running my business into the ground to step away?”

I clenched my fist under the table, willing myself to stay calm. But the anger was there, simmering just beneath the surface, and I wasn’t sure how long I could keep it in check.

“I didn’t come here to play games, Dad.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I hated that I still called himDad—he didn’t deserve that title. “I came to ask you something, and I want a straight answer for once in your life.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I’ve always been honest with you.”

I ignored the outright lie and swallowed around the pebble in my throat. “Did a woman ever come to you ... tell you she was pregnant? With my child?”

For the briefest moment, something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by an old, familiar smugness.

He leaned forward, his voice low and dripping with condescension. “You were careless with that woman, JP,” he said, shaking his head as if I were some errant schoolboy. “But there’s not a chance that child is yours. Don’t worry, it was taken care of.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly it was all I could do to keep myself from slamming my fist against the glass between us.

“Taken care of?” My voice rose despite myself. “What the hell did you do?”

He smiled, a slow, cruel grimace that made my blood run cold. “You don’t have to concern yourself with it anymore. The woman was handled. Just like I always do.”

The room seemed to close in on me, the gray walls pressing in, the air growing thinner by the second.

I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor, but I didn’t care. “You’re a monster.” My voice shook with barely controlled rage. “I stood by and watched you manipulate good people foryears, but I kept my mouth shut. This is different—it was mylifeand I had a right to know. You should have told me.”

He scoffed, unfazed by my uncharacteristic outburst. “She was a whore looking for a paycheck. Didn’t even look pregnant, if you ask me.”

I shook my head. There was absolutely no getting through to him, even now. “I’m glad you’re rotting in here. I’m going to celebrate the fact that you get to spend the rest of your miserable life locked away for everything you’ve done.”

He didn’t flinch. Instead, his smile widened, as if he was reveling in my anger. “Rotting in here? Oh, JP,” he said, his tone almost pitying. “You really think this is the end for me?”

I glared at him, my breath coming in sharp, angry bursts. “What are you talking about?”

He settled against the back of his chair, the picture of calm, his eyes glittering with something dark. “I’ve been offered a plea deal. And I intend to take it.”

The words hung in the air between us, thick and suffocating. My grip tightened on the telephone. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. “A plea deal,” I repeated, the disbelief clear in my voice. “For the murder of my mother, which you admitted to ... you’re just going to walk away from this?”

He shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I was coerced. There’s no proof. Bootsy and Bowlegs were blackmailing me. All those years I lived in fear for what they did to my beloved wife.” His teeth glittered as his smile widened. “It’s all just a game, JP. And I always win.”

I stared at him, at this man who had once held so much power, so much influence, and I felt something break inside me. Not just anger, not just hatred—something deeper, a final severing of whatever thin, frayed thread had still connected us.

His lips were dry and cracked as he spoke. “I know you want excuses—you want to blame me for what you’ve become, but I can’t give you that. You’ll come to see that every move you’ve ever made was born of selfishness and self-pity.”

Fury bubbled inside me. “Selfish?” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I have done everything you’ve ever asked of me. I ran the company when you couldn’t. All I ever wanted was a shred of acknowledgment. Of love.” I clenched my jaw and refused to let my voice crack despite the emotions thickening my throat.

He scoffed. “Love? Is that what you wanted?” The chair creaked as he shifted. “You know, I learned early on that Abel was too stubborn to fall in line. Royal, too reckless. Whip loved your mother too much to ever listen to me, but you ...” He wagged a finger at me. “You were my insurance policy.”

Lead filled my veins.

“You were moldable.” He thumped his chest with one stubby finger as he continued, “I made you. Everything you are is because of me. I deserve athank-youfor the life I’ve given you, not this blatant disrespect. You’re better than that.”

Tension in my neck wound tighter, like a screw twisted into soft wood and ready to snap.

I stood and smoothed a hand down my dress shirt, calming my nerves before I broke through the glass and wrapped my hands around his neck.

The conversation was over.

“You might think you’ve won,” I said quietly, my voice steadier and angrier now. I had heard all I needed to hear. “But this isn’t over. Not by a fucking long shot.”

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