Page 81 of The Trust We Broke
“I happen to be a good lawyer, Dad. Something utterly lost on you because you don’t appreciate any lawyer who doesn’t bleed every single dollar out of their clients. You believe in guilty until proven innocent and have abused your status within the Colorado legal system for decades. I’m not here for it anymore.”
Unable to find words, my father just lets out an exasperated grunt of exertion.
“I can only imagine how hard this is for you. And while, as a human being, I have tremendous sympathy for what you are going through, I have zero interest in sugar-coating what I am about to say. The majority of your clients are leaving, and you should let them go. I’m not going to waste a moment of my time trying to help tax dodgers and immoral human beings in their quest for more money.”
He grabs the notepad and writes so furiously, he rips through the sheet of paper.
Mine.
The word is underlined five times.
I shake my head. “You can scribble words all you want. Nothing changes. You kicked me when I was down. You used the fact I was sexually assaulted by a senator’s son to force my hand, so I would divorce my husband to protect your own reputation. You never asked what he did to me, how he violated me with his fingers.”
My father winces, like I just told a distasteful joke at a dinner party rather than sharing one of my most painful memories.
“You didn’t want to know. You just used the situation to further your own gains. But I know what you did. I found the documents in your office. I’m going to apply to have Zach’s sentence expunged. And yes, that will implicate you. So, it’s probably best you let me offload all your clients and close down your office now, so you won’t have a mass exodus when all this is revealed.”
My father’s eyes go wide, and I know he understands me. He reaches for the pen and paper, but the nib hovers over the sheet.
Tears fill his eyes, and for a moment, I almost buy into the emotions he’s feeling. But then, I remember that when I was still carrying the bruises of Justin Loeb’s assault, my father was engineering the deconstruction of my relationship with Zach. The only man who actually showed up and made a sacrifice to protect me and stand up for me.
When he doesn’t write anything, I stand to go. “On second thought, I don’t even want to be tied up in your mess. Close it down yourself. I’ll be filing paperwork this week.”
“No!” The word is shouted. I know it doesn’t mean no. It’s one of the few words he can still get from his brain to his vocal cords. But he scribbles something on the paper, then holds it up.
WAIT!
Then, he scribbles again.
It’s a mess of letters, then two words that don’t belong to one another.
Black mint.
“Black mint?” I ask.
Dad grunts and vocalizes frustration, but no words come out as he scores a line through the wordmint. Then, he sighs. He reaches for his phone and scrolls through until he finds what he’s looking for.
It’s a photograph.
Of my father and a woman who isn’t my mother. She’s younger. Prettier. And he’s kissing her in a way I’ve never seen him kiss my mother, either.
From his hairline, he looks younger too, although, how much younger, I’m unsure.
He points back to the wordblack. Then, rubs his thumb over two of his fingers in the gesture that suggests money or payment.
It’s a leap, but when I see an explanation, my heart lurches. “You were being blackmailed because you were or still are having an affair?”
My father drops his phone and the pen and nods.
I drop back into the chair. “How long?”
My father picks the pen back up, then drops it and holds up six fingers.
“Six months?”
He shakes his head.
“Years?”
