Chapter 9 – Prescot

 

“We’re gaining ground,” Thomas said to whoever was on the other line.

My partner in the firm.

His office was on the other side of the building with the associates.

I was stuck in the corner.

I liked my space; it was my solace.

It was best.

It was perfect.

Vicki wasn’t quiet.

My biggest regret.

“You good?” Thomas asked.

“They made an offer this morning.”

My client was innocent.

Very innocent.

“And?”

“Two years.”

He laughed and stood from his chair. “No deal.”

“I know.”

“You hear about the new signs?”

His name was on the door.

He wanted the signs.

They were black.

Shiny.

Simple.

Elegant.

My law partner.

He was loyal.

Ki seemed loyal.

“No.”

I stood at his doorframe.

I didn’t like his chairs.

I didn’t like Ki’s chairs either.

They were too small.

She was too small.

“I’ll have Mary call about the signs again.”

Mary was his executive assistant.

I didn’t have one today.

Today was Friday.

Mediation.

No court.

Vicki.

Ki.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, stopping next to me.

“Nothing.”

“I know how your mind works, Prescot. Short, sweet, and to the point. I don’t know how you do it, but you come to conclusions and find details in things that most people can’t.”

I shrugged a shoulder.

“You’re a genius.”

I hated that word.

Genius.

Smart.

Talented.

The expectations of others.

The pressure.

 

“Oh, you think you’re some big shot because you’re smarter than your mama?”

I knew by now not to look at her.

My words stuck in my throat. No, Mother; I’m nothing.

My math test trembled in my hand before she snatched it away. I thought she would be proud of me, but I’m never going to be enough to make her happy.

She hasn’t been happy since Dad died.

Always taking her anger out on me.

Always screaming for my words.

Never giving me enough time to organize my thoughts before she beat me.

“You’re nothing, Prescot! You hear me? You’re nothing! These stupid teachers don’t know anything. You don’t have one brain cell worth a damn in that empty head of yours.” She laughed as she stepped closer to me and I instinctively curled into myself. “You can’t even speak; how the hell can you pass a fucking test if you can’t say one fuckin’ word to your mama?”

Her lip curled in disgust and her hand fisted at her side. That’s when I felt it, a sob bubbling from my throat. No, not one sound. It only makes it worse.

Lightning fast, she struck me with a bamboo switch, her new favorite weapon against my silence. She gave me twelve lashes, one for every miserable year of my existence. Crisscrossing lashes scarred my back, reopening scabbed skin, blood sliding down my back. She’d whip me again once she saw the bloodstains on my clothes.

“I wish your daddy had left you where you belonged,” she sneered as the switch hit my back one last time, my silence pushing her to her breaking point, “tied up, in a rubber.”

 

Thomas’ heavy hand on my shoulder brought me back. “Sorry,” he said patting my shoulder, “I know you hate that word, but it’s the truth. Let your mind wander; do your thing and get your client home safe with his family.”

He walked out.

I walked back to my office.

Molly waved at me.

I didn’t stop.

I went into my office and stopped next to my desk, where I saw two crumpled up, one-dollar bills.

Dirty money.

I looked at the desk outside my door, it was empty, so I walked around my desk.

It thumped.

Ki.

“You scared me!”

“You’re under my desk.”

She crawled out with her phone in her hand.

“I was reading a book.”

“Under my desk?”

“Yes! I was hiding.”

“Is my wife here?”

“I don’t know.”

Ki was back.

I pushed the money to the side of the desk with my pencil.

“I need you to take that money.” She rubbed her head while walking to the door to shut it.

“It’s dirty.”

“Then put it in your drawer?”

Money.

Dirty money.

My other client had dirty money.

In his mattress.

Millions of dollars hidden in the mattress.

I sat down and did as she asked.

It was in the drawer.

Not a mattress.

She sat down in front of me.

“I just hired you as my lawyer.”

I raised an eyebrow at her and opened my briefcase. “Now you’re in trouble?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why do you need a lawyer?”

She thought about it for a few minutes while I pulled my files out of my briefcase.

My first briefcase.

I had work to do.

So many people.

She crossed her legs.

It started to bounce.

“I’m bound by the attorney-client privilege or whatever.”

She was serious.

She was in trouble.

Mediation.

“You paid a retainer.” I reminded her.

“I sure did.”

“Talk.”

She didn’t.

She crossed her legs again.

The other leg started to bounce.

Blue jeans and multicolored running shoes.

Black tank top.

Braces.

Blood.

Focus.

I put my files in order.

Pictures in one.

Papers in the other.

“I’m not sure what I should tell you,” she finally said. The more she talked, the less I thought. The less shit in my head to confuse me.

“Start at the beginning,” I told her.

I grabbed a clean piece of paper for her.

“Well then,” she smiled, “I was born on April tenth, nineteen-ninety—”

“You’re twenty-seven?”

I’m thirty-two.

Five years.

Five years I’ve been married.

Not one of them good.

“I am,” she confirmed.

I smiled.

She made me smile.

“The beginning of your troubles, Miss Nicolson; not the beginning of your time.”

“Please just call me Ki.”

Ki.

Beautiful.

Simple.

Ki.

“I think someone’s following me,” she blurted out, her leg still shaking.

“Why?”

“They told me.”

“Someone told you they were following you?”

“Yes.”

“Then wouldn’t you know someone’s following you, not think someone’s following you?”

She pointed at me. “You’re good. That’s why you make the big bucks, huh, Mr. Bale?”

“Observation.”

My paper was still clean.

“The person who’s following you, is it a man or woman?”

“Both men.”

My eyebrows rose. “Both?”

Shit.

What did you do, Ki?

“I’m working on a case. A woman called and said her son stopped talking to her six months ago and that his phone was off. It wasn’t like him. She was worried. She asked if I could find him. Paid us a lot of money to do it.”

Money.

The mattress.

The mattress was new.

The money was dirty.

There was so much money.

Millions.

“Mr. Bale?”

I glanced up. “Names?”

She sat forward. “Are you sure I’ve covered—”

“I’m your lawyer.”

“I think he’s in trouble. This Lucas guy.”

“Why?”

“He said he was protecting me.”

Jealousy.

I could protect her.

“Protecting you?”

“Yes, we watched a movie together.”

My pencil snapped in half.

Movie.

Date.

Mattress.

Money.

“You’re strong,” she said with a laugh.

I dropped both pieces of the pencil into the trash and grabbed another one.

It was new.

The mattress was new.

She had no idea why I broke the pencil.

Completely unaware.

“Names, Miss Nicolson.”

“You call me Ki, and I’ll call you Prescot. Seems fitting now that I’m your client.”

“The check. Have you cashed it?”

“Oh um, yeah, that’s on my to-do list. I’ve been busy.”

“Identity theft is huge, Ki. Please cash it before you lose it, or someone else steals it.”

“Yes, boss.”

I looked at the clean piece of paper.

“I have a meeting soon, Ki. I need names.”

“Lucas Hills. And I took a video of the second guy who I thought was following me, which is also the reason why I ended up under your desk. It’s all very confusing, and I wish I had more information or names, but this is all I know.”

“How exactly did that happen?”

“I didn’t want him following me back to my home and place of business, so I went where I felt most safe.”

Safe.

With me.

Shit.

Ki was simple.

Kind.

She felt safe where I was. She came back. To me.

“By the time I got to the building, he was gone. I came up here, and Molly said you were in a meeting but that I could wait for you.”

“So, you thought you’d hide under my desk.”

“Yep. If you haven’t noticed, you have a rather large desk. It’s pretty roomy under there. So, I got comfortable and watched the video a few times. Then I started reading. It’s a really good book. I was able to read a few chapters before you scared the shit out of me.”

I needed to see the video.

What we were up against.

I had to protect my client.

He was innocent.

Ki was innocent.

I watched the video.

It was a bad angle, but I wrote down the details I saw.

I listened.

I wrote.

Her voice was soft and sweet.

The mattress was new.

Millions of dollars.

Call the investigator.

Mediation.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

“Mediation.”

“Oh?”

“Vicki.”

“Your wife.” She retrieved her cell from my desk and slipped it into her back pocket when she stood. “Have fun with that.”

“You need to come back Monday morning.”

She glanced at the empty desk. “You sure you’re free Monday morning? I remember putting something on your calendar.”

“You remembered?”

“OCD.” She leaned over my desk, grabbed the pencil, and wrote on my piece of paper. “Email me your calendar. I’ll see how much damage was done.”

She was so close.

She smelled so clean and like something else.

Like a mixture of soap and a fresh fruit salad.

Soap.

Clean.

The mattress was new.

Do not look toward her tank top, which was hanging a bit low.

Do not look down.

Maintain eye contact.

Shit. Do not look down.

I saw the roundness of her breasts, I couldn’t stop myself.

Soft.

Mattresses are soft.

Easy to cut and hide money inside.

Millions of dollars.

She smiled, pushed the paper back, and set the pencil down.

I slowly leaned back.

It was best.

“Right.” She stood. “Well then, I’ll email you.”

She started to walk out but stopped to smile over her shoulder. “Have a great weekend, Mr.—I mean, Prescot.” Her cheeks turned pink before she rushed out.

Did she know?

Did she know that I thought of her?

Or how I thought of her.

I took the pencil and put it in the top drawer and grabbed a different one.

Mediation.

Shit.

I re-packed my briefcase.

I got my keys and locked the door behind me.

It wouldn’t be a great weekend.

I pulled my cell out and put it to my ear.

“Need more information on Miss Nicolson.”

“Sure.”

“Someone is following her. Look into the name Lucas Hills.”

“Okay.”

“Call me whenever.”

“Sure thing.”

Mediation.

The elevator dinged.

Molly waved goodbye.

I liked Molly.

She reminded me of Ki.

Ki.

Not Vicki.

My biggest regret.