Page 6 of Defend Me

Daisy looks hurt. “He’s our friend, Von.”

“You think bad guys can’t look like friends? You think murderers can’t wear nice smiles and fit in with their communities? Tell that to Ted Bundy’s neighbors.”

“Are you seriously telling me you think Noah did this?” Caden demands.

“No,” I shoot back. “But you all need to stop looking at this from the family perspective.Weknow Noah. The outside world?” I gesture out the windows. “When someone gets arrested, most people assume they’re guilty. I’m just preparing you for what the police and the prosecutors are going to say.”

“But isn’t it supposed to be innocent until proven guilty?” Daisy asks.

I can’t stop my heart from softening at the plaintive look on my sister’s face. She’s really the best of all of us. She’s the most like Mom.

She looks like Mom too, the same blue eyes, the same dimple in her chin, the exact same smile. The only difference is Mom’s hair was a vibrant red, where Daisy’s is strawberry blonde. We both inherited Mom’s red strands. Mine are more subtle, buried in my auburn locks.

“Technically,” I say. “But sadly, in the real world, that’s often not how it works.”

“But you defend guilty people all the time,” Caden says.

“Thanks for that astute assessment,” I say dryly.

“I’m just saying—wouldn’t it be nice to represent an innocent person for once?”

I feel a sudden pinch in my chest. Mom said something similar, a long time ago, in private.

You’re going to make one hell of a lawyer, Von. Don’t you think you could use that silver tongue to make a difference in this world? Represent those who truly need it?

I did think that way once. But then she died. And Dad was the only parent I had left.

I had to get his attention somehow. And Dad cares about two things. Power and money. So I set out to accrue both.

They’re all staring at me, waiting for me to answer. It feels unfair. Like I take some sort of pleasure in letting asshole finance bros walk free.

I glance at Dad. His face is still unreadable. He’s not even looking at me anymore. He’s staring out the window across the bay.

“Von, please,” Caden says. “I think someone is trying to frame him.”

“Who?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Caden says. “That’s what I want to find out. And the only way for us to have access to everything the police and the prosecution know is to have our own player in the game.”

I can’t take my father’s silence any longer.

“What do you think, Dad?” I ask.

He finally stirs. He’s changed since Caden came back—and even more since Caden agreed to take over the company. He’s staying at the house more. He’s engaging with his children. He’s not as hard or cold as he was before Caden returned.

After Mom died, Dad basically moved to the family apartment in the city. I stayed in New York too. I didn’t want to be out here—in this house, where the memories of her still linger, around my family, who all dealt with her death in their own, unhealthy ways: Caden fled, Al partied, I worked, Finn repressed it, and Daisy tried so hard to be happy it was sometimes painful to see.

Dad stands. “Von, you will go meet with Noah. Alistair, you will craft a statement to the press. Something neutral. We are letting the police handle the investigation, we ask for privacy at this difficult time, that sort of thing. Don’t announce Von’s involvement yet. We do not speak toanyoneabout this outside of the family. Do I make myself clear?”

He looks each of his children in the eye, and we all nod dutifully.

He turns. “Von, come with me.”

I follow my father out of the sunroom, then to a set of back stairs usually used by the staff. We reach the second floor and he strides into his private study.

“Close the door,” he says, and I obey without hesitation. Following Dad’s orders got drilled into all us kids from the day we were born.

“Dad—” I begin but Dad holds up a hand to silence me.

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