Page 82 of Nothing To Lose
I think of the text.
My stomach drops.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
He launches into it, his voice like polished marble—calm, detached, like he’s reciting bullet points from a briefing he didn’t write himself. He says there was an emergency hearing this morning. A motion was filed to withdraw my guilty plea on the grounds of ineffective counsel and the sudden appearance of new, corroborating evidence. Leslie was there, apparently, and according to Talon, he wasunexpectedly persuasive. The prosecutor didn’t contest the motion. Didn’t object. Just let it happen.
Then came the dismissal. Just like that. The charges of attempted murder, assault with intent, battery—every charge was dropped.
Talon calls it amiraculous misunderstanding. He says the footage from that night had been reviewed again. That additional statements were submitted. That Guy Montague, in an act of either remorse or political maneuvering, penned a letter claiming he was confused. That I was trying to help him. That everything had happened so fast. Concussion. Trauma. Misidentification.
Honestly, I think I miss more than half of what comes out of Tyler’s father’s mouth, because none of it makes any sense. I don’t even know how long he’s been here, in my doorway, droning on about…This is impossible.
In a practiced move, Talon pulls the letter from his coat pocket and sets it on the table between us, neat and careful. The seal from Montague’s legal team is embossed on the top. I don’t touch it.
“His personal apology,” he says with a small shrug, like this makes it all fine. “Unfortunate misunderstanding. No harm, no foul.”
“What is it that you want in return for all of this?" I ask, wary. It can't be anything good.
“Oh, nothing,” he says, too easily. “That’s just information. A courtesy.”
I wait.
“Everything I've informed you of has already happened. It's done. You'll be receiving a call from your lawyer any minute, I'm sure. I wanted to be the first to deliver the news, because I have other matters to discuss with you."
"And the other matter is?"
"I'd like to discuss your business,” he says finally. "I heard about your troubles with the zoning commission, and I understand you're having some cash flow issues. I happen to have some contacts that could not only expedite your approval process, but also waive any fees associated with the terribly inconvenient ordinance changes. It seems reasonable that you receive some assistance considering those changes were made at a most inopportune time in your journey as a small business owner. A gross oversight, I'm sure," he says in a way that leaves zero question that he was the one to interfere with my opening. "I'd also like to invest in your business, as a philanthropic investor. There would be no expectation of return on investment. I only hope to support a small business in an underserved community."
"And why would you do that?" I ask, my voice flat. Even without knowing who he is from everything Tyler’s told me, men like him don’t do this kind of thing for free or without gaining something in return. "You can't tell me you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart."
"You wound me," he deadpans, not a hint of inflection in his voice. "But that isn't all. As a personal thank you for what you did for my son, I would like to offer you this."
He sets down a second envelope and waits expectantly, but I make no move to open it or even glance in its direction. With a sigh and a barely disguised curl of his lip, he opens it himself and pulls out a check, setting it on top so I can read it clearly.
I don't meanto look, but the numbers are printed large and clear. My eyes widen. It's a check for fifty thousand dollars.
Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.
I'm ashamed of the way my face heats, of the way I start to sweat when I avert my eyes to pretend I'm not looking at a piece of paper that would fix all of my problems.
"That would make a good sized down payment on a decent home, wouldn't it? One that would be big enough for your whole family. There's a house not far from the gym for sale, actually. And did you know the nearby city hospital is running a promising trial for chronic pain management? I hear there are spots available on the trial, if one were to make a call to the right people in time."
My stomach churns.
“What. Do. You. Want.”
Finally, he lays his cards on the table. He speaks clearly and firmly.
“I want you to respect Tyler’s choice. Don’t contact him. Let him go. If he reaches out to you, that is his decision. But give him the space he asked for.”
Polite. Cold. Final.
"You should be hearing from Mr. Preston soon. I'll leave you to discuss and consider your options. I'm counting on you to do the right thing."
And then he's gone.
