Have you ever had a premonition? Or even just an uneasy feeling that something is going to go horribly wrong? I can’t shake the feeling on the cab ride out to Rikers.
Yes, cab ride. I could have called Ed, but then this trip would have been run through Creighton, and I definitely didn’t want my brother to know about it any more than I wanted Cav to be aware.
I can’t shake that feeling, though, like something terrible is going to happen. With my luck lately, there’ll be a prison riot with a full lockdown, and I’ll get stuck inside. Cav and Creighton will have to tear Rikers apart brick by brick to get me out. I can only imagine the lecture I’d get from Creighton then.
Maybe I should have brought Ed . . .
Last night after I called the prison, I called Holly to see if she wanted some dinner, company, or both. Creighton had just walked in the door with her favorite fried chicken in the city, and she was happily moaning about how amazing it was. Creighton liberated the phone from her.
“You’re home?”
“Yes, I came as soon as I heard. Is there anything I can do?”
Creighton sighed before replying, and once again I felt like the little sister who was a constant screwup. I’m not that girl anymore.
“Nothing you can do. We’re all just waiting on the autopsy results, and that’ll determine what’s next.”
“And Dom?” My question was quiet because I didn’t want Cav to overhear.
“He’s in charge of looking out for himself. He doesn’t need either of us worrying about him.”
That was probably the truth.
“And Aunt Katherine?”
“Elisabetta said the last she knew, she was heading to an overnight spa place and hadn’t come back yet. She didn’t remember which one. I’ve got Cannon trying to track her down.”
So once again, my brother had everything under control, down to checking with the housekeeper. “Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything from me.”
“Just stay out of trouble, Greer.”
Again, the fuckup feeling grew exponentially.
“Will do. Glad you’re okay, Creighton.”
Recalling the conversation while in the back of a cab headed for Rikers Island almost surely makes it a little more ironic.
“Just stay out of trouble, Greer.”
That’s what I’m working on, brother dearest.
I’ll be in and out, and no one will be the wiser. All I need is my client’s signature on the letter requesting my withdrawal from the case, and this will all become a bad memory.
The process to get into the prison is almost as hard as getting out. Because I don’t have a formal appointment, I have to wait longer than I hoped, and the Saturday crowd waiting to visit loved ones is out of control.
One woman waits with a baby bouncing on her lap. She’s dressed neatly in black pants and a pink-and-white striped shirt that matches the baby’s onesie.
Is she visiting the father? I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have to stare at the man you loved through inches of bulletproof glass or across a table while he’s wearing a prison jump suit.
I glance down at the clock on my phone for the seventy-seventh time. I told Cav this morning that I was going to meet someone from work because there were still some loose ends to tie up on my exit from the firm and handing over the case. I don’t know if he didn’t realize today was Saturday, but he didn’t ask any other questions.
It isn’t a lie, I tell myself as the guilt creeps up again. But it definitely isn’t the whole truth either.
Cav’s preoccupation could probably be chalked up to the fact that he was heading to meet Dom, which sounded more than a little ominous to me.
Finally, an hour later, I’m called in to meet with Stephen Cardelli. A rush of relief sweeps through me because for the last thirty minutes, I truly thought he was going to decline to meet, which would screw me on multiple levels. But he didn’t.
As I walk into the interview room, I’m mentally rehearsing the very apologetic and persuasive conversation I’m about to have with Mr. Cardelli. I’m seated in the molded plastic chair bolted to the floor and table when the guard brings him in.
His gray hair is greasy and falling over his forehead in chunks, and his skin is flushed red, either from exertion or something else. His faded blue gaze fixes on me and intensifies.
I’ve never truly understood the real meaning of feeling my skin crawl until now. But under the scrutiny of Cardelli, I absolutely do. Both Jade and Cav’s warnings run through my head, highlighted in bright colors and underlined several times.
“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” the guard says, locking Cardelli’s shackles into the bolts on the floor and table.
This is new—and disturbing. Did something happen since last time to necessitate the extra security precautions?
The man in front of me gives me a cruel, disgusting smile, and I know I’m not going to pose the question to him.
He hasn’t even opened his mouth yet and I already know I’ve made a horrible mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. I should have let the firm deal with it.
My belly flips with the premonition from earlier.
“You got some good timing in some ways and shit timing in others,” Cardelli says.
I launch into my rehearsed spiel right then. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cardelli; I owe you an apology. I missed the filing deadline on your case, and I’m not certain whether or not the court is going to waive it. They should because it was my mistake and not yours, but either way, it happened and the firm is going to try to fix it. Everyone agrees that the best alternative is to have another lawyer take over your case.”
His expression grows thunderous. “You fucked my shit up? What the hell? You’re the fanciest lawyers in town. That ain’t right.”
Sitting in front of this disgusting man, I actually feel guilt. He’s the one trapped behind bars, and I have the professional obligation to discharge my duties according to the rules of the court, and I couldn’t even do that. Now my solution to him is please let me off the case and maybe someone can fix it. This is his life, and all I care about is getting myself out of this situation. Nice, Greer.
“I’m very sorry. It was an oversight, and it won’t happen again once your case is transferred. I’m not actually at the firm anymore, so you can see it makes sense that I shouldn’t continue to handle your case. All you need to do is sign this letter, and I’ll get the ball rolling to have another attorney assigned to you.” I pull the letter from the file on the table and a golf pencil.
Shit. Should I even give him the pencil? They’re permissible, but couldn’t he still stab someone with it?
Rather than reaching for the pencil, he leans back in his seat and rests his hands near his lap, as close as the shackles will let him get.
“No.”
What? He can’t say no. I mean, he obviously can, but that’s not how this is supposed to go.
“Mr. Cardelli, I don’t think you’re considering this fully. Another much more senior attorney from the firm will be assigned to your case,” I say, crossing my fingers below the table because I honestly have no idea who will be working on the case. But if I know the firm, they should do damage control and not give it to a junior associate again. “This is a good thing. Actually, a great thing for you.”
His chapped lips form a smirk that stirs up an icky feeling in my stomach. “You want off this case bad and you can’t get off without my say-so.” His words are mocking, almost triumphant.
“The court may remove me anyway.” I cross my arms when I deliver the bluff.
“I don’t know about that. But what I do know is that in here,” he jerks his head behind him toward the door, “and on the outside, you don’t get something for nothing.” He leans forward again, resting both forearms on the table. “So you’re gonna do something for me, and then we’ll see about getting you uninvolved.”
I didn’t come here prepared to bargain with the guy. Actually, I didn’t expect him to put up any kind of resistance when offered a more senior and experienced lawyer. What can he possibly want from me?
“What are you talking about?” I keep my tone firm and cool. I will not let him know that this has me rattled.
“The Innocence Project. You’re going to lay out my case and send it to them so I can get out of here.”
Shit. That’s what he wants. I stare at the man in shackles with dead eyes and a cruel mouth, knowing that there’s no way I can, in good conscience, help him get free.
But the Innocence Project could take years to deal with his case. They’re absolutely inundated with requests, and besides, whatever this guy was locked up for, he probably did do it, so there would be no grounds for releasing him.
“You give me an outline of the facts of your case and why you think you’ve been wrongfully convicted, and I’ll put it together in a way that’s logical and organized for you to submit. Right now, right here, and you sign this letter before I leave the room.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. We still have twelve minutes. How is it possible only three minutes have passed?
“Then you better hurry and start writing, girl, because this is going to take the whole time. If we’re not done when time’s up, I’m not signing anything until you come back to finish the job. Then I’ll sign your shit so you can get off the case and go get your nails done, or whatever fancy broads like you spend your time doing.” He practically spits out those last words.
I pull out a legal pad and retrieve the pencil from the table. “All right. You’ve got a deal. Let’s go.”
He looks around the room, as if checking to see who might overhear. The guard is standing eight feet away, his thumbs tucked into the belt of his uniform.
Finally, Cardelli starts. “Last time you were here, I probably woulda gotten shanked for even opening my mouth about this shit and naming names, but now that the gossip mill says that rat bastard Casso is going down for murder, shit is changing.”
Everything in me stills when he says the name Casso.