Page 68 of His Gift
I'm so proud of him, for overcoming his limits and being such an impactful presence in the lives of children who have been beaten down too many times. The other upside is that between teaching, renovating the beautiful one-story house we bought, and collaborating with a few small pharmaceutical companies, his days are as full as mine.
Are you coming home soon?
Last appointment and I'm done. I miss you.
I miss you too, my gift. Love you. See you soon.
I put down my phone and the smile Conrad put on my lips disappears. My last appointment of the day is with Marcus "The Mark" Johnson. He served five years for aggravated assault stemming from a bar fight when he was younger and involved with a bad crowd. Since his release three years ago, Marcus has worked steadily as a construction laborer. He's clean, attends regular AA meetings, and is actively involved in a local community outreach program for at-risk youth. He's even started reconnecting with his estranged teenage daughter. But he's been unlucky and I'll have to deliver some bad news.
A week ago, tools worth several thousand dollars were stolen from his construction site. The foreman immediately pointed the finger at him, citing his "history." The police investigated briefly, noting Marcus was the only one with a prior felony conviction who had access to the storage shed. No other evidence links him to the crime—no witnesses, no fingerprintsbeyond those expected, no recovered stolen goods. However, because of his record, the District Attorney's office is pushing for charges: grand larceny.
It's not exactly my field, but Marcus has no money to spare, and he's worried what will happen when they'll arrest him and he'll be assigned a public defender. So I've done my best, researching and then asking a colleague I've met since we moved here, and the answer he gave me matched what I thought.
The door swings open, and Marcus enters with a frantic look on his face. I've forgotten to lock the door. Conrad would kill me if he knew.
"Counselor… where are we?" Marcus sits heavily on the chair in front of me, his massive body making the poor thing creak ominously. I drag a long breath, hoping he'll understand I have his best interest at heart.
"Marcus… at first look, this case is weak. But your prior conviction… it's going to make things harder. The prosecution will argue a pattern, even without solid proof this time."
Marcus's face tightens. "That ain't right, Counselor. I swear on my mother's grave, I didn't touch them tools. I been workin' my ass off to stay straight. This job, my daughter… this is everything to me now. They only see 'ex-con' and that's it." His voice is rough, tinged with frustration and weariness. It breaks my heart.
"I believe you, Marcus. I promise you I do. But the system… it's not always about what's right. They have a case, however flimsy, and they have your record to lean on. They'll likely offer a plea deal—maybe a misdemeanor theft, probation—to avoid a trial and secure a conviction."
Marcus slams his fist on the table, the sound echoing in the quiet office and making me jump. Then he's off screaming, his voice raw with anger. "A deal? For somethin' I didn't do? Hell no! I ain't pleading guilty to nothin'. I done my time for what I did back then. This? This is bullshit. They wanna sweep it under the rug 'cause they ain't got no real leads. And I gotta pay for it 'cause of my past?"
I'm paralyzed with fear, my chest tight, heart pounding like a drum, every breath a struggle. I know he's just frustrated and sad and desperate. But I can't control the fear. The panic.
"Counselor?" Marcus stands up and I start trembling.
"Counselor… oh fuck, I'm sorry! I didn't think… I didn't want to… You have to understand. Plead guilty to bein' a thief again? That sticks with me, Counselor. It's like this damn record is a life sentence. I finally get a shot at somethin' good, and this happens. And you're tellin' me to roll over and take another hit?"
I grab the wood of my desk, knuckles white. Until it hurts. Until the pain grounds me enough to give him what he deserves: a coherent answer.
"I hear you, Marcus. And it's infuriating. But proving your innocence beyond a reasonable doubt to a jury who will know about your past… that's a heavy lift. They might not see the reformed man you are today. A deal, as much as it sickens me to say it, could be the most certain way to protect the life you've built. I've consulted a more experienced colleague, and he agrees." Every word is an uphill battle.
"Alright, Counselor. Alright. You tried. I appreciate that. Guess some of us can't outrun the past, no matter how hard we try. And… sorry for yellin' at you back there. You were tryin' to help. It's just… this whole damn thing… it gets to me, you know?"
"I understand. Thank you for trusting me enough to share what you're going through. We'll start the process for the plea agreement, and I'll be here to guide you through every step. We'll schedule another appointment to discuss the details once I've spoken with the prosecutor."
Marcus nods and leaves, defeated, and I feel so guilty. I should have done more. I should have explained better. I couldn't. I'm shaking like a leaf when I go to lock the door, and then all I can do is sink to the floor and try to breathe.
fifty-three
Conrad
Tears—fucking tears—roll down my face as I park my car in front of Harper's office. The lights inside are off, but her car's here.
What's going on? Why hasn't she returned home after her last appointment, or responded to any messages or calls?
I should have never accepted to lift surveillance. I should have been with her. If I've lost her… My stomach turns and I have to steady myself on the car door before slamming it shut and entering the building like amadman.
A doorman. I told her she needed to choose a building with a doorman!
Like it made any difference last time.
I ignore the elevator and run up the two flights of stairs, barely seeing where I'm going. The door is locked, and when I open it, it won't budge more than a few inches.
"Harper!"
