Page 125 of The Trust We Broke
“Lucy?” My mom’s voice floats down the stairs from the upstairs den. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” I trudge up the stairs, the old runner muffling my footsteps. When I find Mom, she’s sitting on the edge of the sofa in a cardigan I bought her last Christmas. There are shadows under her eyes, and from the cushions, it looks as though she’d been napping.
“Oh, my goodness,” she gasps when she sees me. “What happened to your head?”
I cross the room and sink down beside her, our knees touching. My heart drops, and I suddenly wish with every part of my being that I had good news to share with her. But I’m not a child, and she has never really been my shield.
“I’m okay. But I need to tell you something, Mom.”
Her chin lifts a fraction, and there’s a wary caution in her eyes. “What is it?”
“It’s about Dad.” My voice is calm as I find that place inside that allows me to make closing arguments, even when I’m nervous I haven’t done enough for my client. “Dad’s work. His clients. He’s not clean. He’s been paying judges. Bribing. Fixing trial outcomes.”
Mom’s hand shakes as she puts it to her chest. “I knew something was wrong recently.”
I take Mom’s other hand. It’s elegant, and cold.
“It’s bigger than that. Way bigger. And has been happening for well over a decade. Worse, Mom. The Midtown Rebels Motorcycle Club are involved and there is no way out for him.”
I watch the truth hit her. Her mouth opens, and there’s a soft sound, like a moan, but not quite. She looks around the den, as if she can see her entire life slipping away.
“Are you sure?” she manages, finally.
“Yes. And I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but he’s been having an affair. For years. It’s connected. The Rebels used that to blackmail him. To ruin his reputation if he didn’t help.”
A tear escapes the corner of Mom’s eye. “So, he had no choice?”
“Dad is complicit. His illegal actions go back farther than the Rebels. He set up Zach. My ex-husband never went back to Justin Loeb’s apartment. Dad set it up, so it looked like he did. He’s ruined lives, including yours and mine, because of greed. And some of those choices came back to haunt him when the Rebels found out. I’m sorry.”
“Of course, he did.” There’s no further denial. Just an exhausted acceptance of the truth. “Of course, he did,” she repeats.
“Mom. To make it right with Zach, I need to expose all of this. As a lawyer, I’d remind you that you have spousal privilege and can never be made to share anything about my father. But as your daughter, who wants you to live a happy life, I think you should distance yourself as far from him as you can.”
“What do you need from me?”
“I’m going to search the house for further evidence. A laptop. Notebooks. Any kind of portable storage device. I’m not totally sure.”
For a moment, Mom is still as a statue. With pursed lips, her eyes are fixed on something outside of the window. She looks regal. A tear cuts a clean line through the make-up she carefully applies every day, for a man who stopped seeing her a long time ago.
She inhales. It’s ragged around the edges. Then, she looks at me. “Will you help me through this, Lucy? I’ve tried and failed at being a perfect wife, and as a result, never tried to be a perfect mother. It’s time I switched that balance.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Mom. I just need to know who you really are.”
She laughs, shakily. “I’m not even sureIknow the answer to that question.”
I squeeze her hand. “We’ll figure it out.”
She nods. “A raid. I overheard your father asking for there to be a raid on the Outlaws’ compound. I don’t know who he was asking. But two days before his stroke and heart attack, he heard from the police chief that you and Zach were seen together in the station parking lot when you first came home. And he was furious about that.”
That explained the raid I’d witnessed. And it sharpens the case I intend to bring for Catfish’s injuries while being arrested if he chooses to go forward with the claim. If there were no real grounds beyond an angry father, the warrant was flawed.
“Thank you, Mom.”
She stands, straightens her shoulders. And I get a flash of the inner strength my mom isn’t even aware she has, yet. “If you are going to start looking, can I at least go and make us some coffee? It might be a long afternoon.”
“That would be amazing.”
I follow her out of the den, but as she heads to the stairs, I walk down the hallway, where my father’s office door is closed. It’s ominous.
