Page 115 of Boss

“Get out!” Henry shouted and tears welled in his eyes. “You fucking monster. Dale was right about you. You are a fucking monster.”

Tarek winked and turned and left.

52.

One Year Later –

Tarek didn’t move. He didn’t speak. The attorneys did so for him. After a year of legal wrangling, this is what his life came to. He glanced over to the table where his father sat surrounded by his team of lawyers. The old man refused to look him in the eye. He was no longer confined to a wheel chair. He was the great Alek Marshall again. And he loathed Tarek. In fact, since Dale’s death, Alek Marshall cut off all communication with Tarek. The police never caught the person or persons responsible, but everyone knew, including the feds that Dale’s car crash and the subsequent explosion was no accident.

What kind of son puts a hit out on his own brother?That is what his father yelled into the phone when he called him in the middle of the night to deliver the news. I know it was you. I know it! I will make you pay for this. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? What kind of son turns on the only family he has ever known? Answer me!

His only reply was: the son you raised, and I’m not done.All of your sons lives belong to me now.

“You are no longer a son of mine!” Alek Marshall shot back.

“I never was.”

Reese Johnson fate wasn’t as dramatic. She cut a deal with the prosecutors and got five years for her attempted murder charge. Henry had absconded. But Tarek had no doubt he’d eventually find his brother. Now it was time for Tarek and his father to face the law. The prosecutor would call Tarek to the stand to give his testimony. And under his plea agreement he’d be ushered off to a four-year sentence in a minimum security federal prison. No early release. He’d have to serve every single day of his time. That was the price he’d pay. The federal prosecutor stood when the attorney for Alek Marshall rested.

“Your honor I’d like to call our witness Ms. Kassandra Turner.”

Tarek’s gaze slowly lifted from the polished dark wood surface of the table.The feds guarded her like the jewel she was. He'd lost contact with her soon after he set his plan in motion. His heart raced, his palms began to sweat as he anxiously waited. The door opened to the left side of the courtroom. Kassidy entered. She looked the same. Except her hair that was once short and tapered to her face, was longer and in a curly style and it reached to her neck. She wore a blue dress under a dark blue long sweater that covered her curves. When she looked up to the courtroom, her gaze was immediately drawn to him. And he saw everything he wanted to hear her say in her eyes.

“Ms. Turner, please take a seat,” the judge said.

She blinked out of her trance. “Yes, Your Honor,” she mumbled. She stepped into the booth and was sworn in as a witness by the bailiff. She sat without removing her coat. Her eyes never returned to him. Instead she focused on the prosecutor. She would play the role to the very end.

“State your name.”

“Ah, I’m Kassandra Grace Turner,” she said.

“And how do you know the defendant?” the prosecutor asked. “Mr. Alek Marshall.”

At first she looked at the elder Marshall. Then to his surprise her gaze slipped over to him. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Don't do it Kassidy. We've come too far. Don't look at me. Stay focused. I miss you too baby. I miss you. She turned her gaze away. Their time together was so brief, he was an idiot to think she felt any of the things he felt. But he knew she did. And she had proven it by never veering off script in the past year.

“Ms. Turner? How do you know the defendant Mr. Alek Marshall?”

She leaned in to the microphone and answered. “He was my boss.”

53.

Three years later –

“Inmate!”

Tarek lifted his gaze from his book. He sat up on his bed. The doors to their cells were open all day except for the nighttime lockdown. They had the freedom to come and go around the penitentiary. No hardened criminals amongst them. Not for white-collar crimes. His biggest worry in prison now was boredom. Since he didn’t enjoy television, he took to reading to pass his time.

“Come with me,” the guard said.

To be summoned by a guard meant something of importance. Maybe he had a visitor. Maybe the warden wanted to speak with him. He no longer had a family or an identity. His father was in prison, the woman he called his mother had severed all ties. And dear poor Henry’s body had washed up on the shores of Jamaica with a single bullet to the back of his head. The press had labeled Tarek the Judas who turned against the prominent Marshalls. Like a reality show Tarek and Alek Marshall legal battle of the patent to the Marshall fortune played out. And with the secret backing of Pakhan Vladimir he defeated his father and bankrupted the Marshalls. People respected and hated him for it. And the world went on.

Tarek followed the corrections officer without speaking. Prison was good for one thing. It kept him fit. There was not an ounce of fat on his body now. He was lean, he was focused, and he was ready for the year to pass to reclaim his life. He walked with his corrections officer out of his wing and through several doors. They headed to the back of the prison where the kitchens were. Three other guards waited. Tarek was led past the cooking area to a steal door like that of a meat locker. The guard gave him a smirk and pulled the door open.

Inside the steel refrigerator Yegor was seated at a table with two other men that were of his same age. They all stared at Tarek as he walked in. These men weren't alone. Tarek only realized it when the door closed. There was a chair waiting for him.

“Do you know what today is Tarek?” Yegor asked.

He glanced to the men and then back to Yegor. “Thieves in law,” he said.

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