Chapter Twenty-Three
Order to Appear
Monday slinked past. Dane hadn’t explained his predicament to Brooke yesterday morning when he should have, but after their argument, which had sent her running straight back into Ames’s arms, how could he? She’d only think worse of him that they were ready to string him up as fast as possible down at the old Bar Ethics Commission.
It was like he was public enemy number one.
Geez.
He stared at his laptop in the public library in Maddox. If he was smart, he would be prepping for his own hearing, figuring out how to preserve his own skin— live to fight another day. But he couldn’t. Even if he couldn’t be there for her at her hearing, he also couldn’t in good conscience leave her to that ravening wolf Sarge LaBarge. Even if she’d chosen Ames instead of him.
But, hello. Ames wasn’t an attorney. He couldn’t help her in this. Whether Brooke knew it or not, she needed him. Dane. Assuming he didn’t get instantly disbarred the second he set foot in his ethics hearing.
His gut twisted. All these years of trying to leave his Rockwell reputation in the dust, and now this— at the moment it mattered most, wham! He’d slammed into it again.
But the what-ifs would have to wait and see. He put his head down and got back to work.
Dane chewed away half his Monday anticipating every possible lie, every possible tactic LaBarge could use to defame Brooke’s name. Some were pretty unsavory. He had to go to the dark side— because surely the enemy would. LaBarge had the biggest mansion on the dark side. Probably right next door to half of Dane’s Rockwell relatives.
Throughout the day, Dane lined things up— duck by duck: a few printouts here, a trip with a subpoena to the bowling alley and then to the hospital there. Brooke might not like the idea of having her life put up for examination, but it was the only way.
The lack of handwriting expert was the biggest sticking point. Norvin North was compromised. Paid to not testify? Or paid to testify in a lie? It killed him that he hadn’t asked.
He’d left six messages for the handwriting expert in D.C. Guy must be out of the country. Was there any point trying to call the one up in New York? Would a New Yorker even think a city the size of Naughton existed? In his experience, New Yorkers didn’t think anything but New York existed. Why would the world need anywhere else?
Oh, except Florida. The world needed Florida for vacation homes.
He dialed the New York number anyway, got no answer, and was shot into the void of voice mail.
“Hi, Dane Rockwell, Naughton, Virginia.” He gave his number, not that he’d get a call back. “Calling because we’ve got a situation here.” In an act of supreme desperation he blabbed the whole situation onto the digital message. For no one to ever hear. No one even listened to voice mail anymore. His Hail Mary pass just went unreceived.
Speaking of vacation homes, Dane would be taking a permanent vacation from his career after tomorrow, joining the illustrious ranks of the Rockwells, in a way. Rockwells definitely liked to go out with style, and Dane’s fiery exit from the law might be worthy of his namesakes— ditching the love of his life while being accused of misconduct with the cougar wife of his boss, and getting disbarred at the same moment as when the sweetest woman of all time got her reputation and dreams skewered by a scoundrel. Total Rockwell move.
And Dane wouldn’t even be there to punch the lights out on that jerk.
Unless…
Dane grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts. There. There it was. Sure, he hadn’t used the number in recent memory, possibly ever. This might be harebrained move, but like co-opting Uncle Georgie’s boat in time of dire need, if Dane had to be a Rockwell, he might as well take advantage of what few benefits it offered.
“Ay. Uncle Vincent. This is your nephew, Dane.”
“Ah, Dane. The white sheep of the family. What can I do for yous?”
__________
It was like someone hit a fast-forward button on the clock Tuesday morning as Dane prepped for court. He’d slept at his apartment in Naughton, secure in the idea that so far no one had discovered Brooke or Aunt Ruth’s location on the boat, but he still woke up well before sunrise to scrape together the rest of the paperwork for Brooke’s hearing.
Losing cause, he knew. With no handwriting expert, they had bupkis. At least nothing that mattered to the judge. Without that, they’d just be engaging in a fierce volley of he-said she-saids. He should have been prepping something, anything, for his own hearing— but his gut wouldn’t let him. Even if Brooke had chosen Ames, and even if Dane couldn’t be there for her, he had to give her everything he had. For his own stuff he’d just have to do what Matthew Chadwick would advise: leave it in God’s hands. And hope that God didn’t only favor the prepared.
Finally, at ten minutes to liftoff, he shoved everything into his briefcase and tore down to the courthouse. It was time to call in the replacements, meaning Quirt.
Down at the courthouse, Dane dialed Quirt, but he cut him off before Quirt could even say hello. “First off, quit thinking whatever it is you’re thinking of me right now. Because you’re wrong. Guaranteed.”
Quirt gave a disgusted snort. “I’d better be, because otherwise you are so dead. How can you leave Brooke hanging like this?” His voice rose in pitch. “You jerk. We’re on our way to the courthouse, and she tells me you’re not going to be there.”
Dane ascended the steps to the courthouse, wherein awaited his fate.
“I’m already down here. Had to come early for …” Should he tell Quirt? He hadn’t thought this through. Might as well plunge headfirst. “For my ethics hearing. They moved up the date and time.”
“Dude.” A sympathy dude from Quirt was more than he’d have expected, especially under the circumstances. “That’s why. What do you need? I’m here for you.”
__________
“Bro, I knew you wouldn’t leave Brooke alone today,” Dane said, shaking Quirt’s hand as he met him outside the door to where Dane’s hearing would be held in just moments. Most likely Crosby was also with them, but whatever. Dane shoved that thought aside. “So, anyway. I need you to take care of something important for me. I mean for Brooke. It’s her case.” He gripped the briefcase he’d brought from home, stuffed with notes and all the information he’d collected.
“Her case?”
“All the arguments.”
“You wrote them up? I thought you couldn’t be her lawyer.”
“I’m acting as her friend.”
Quirt was quiet a second and then said, “She’s lucky. Really lucky.”
The words stunned Dane. They triggered a hitch in his breath, a stinging at the side of his eye.
Dane made a joke to cover his emotion. “Wait. What is this? I thought you had a one-note song: Stay away from my sister.”
“Yeah, well. I’m still kind of monotone, but I’m changing up the lyrics.”
Dane stood at the top of the staircase that led down to his doom; to the room where he’d be meeting the very beige Nieve Ingersoll and her team of Politics of Personal Destruction hyenas out for blood.
“All the evidence and paperwork for Brooke’s hearing are in this briefcase. Here. This should help.”
Quirt looked down at the briefcase a moment and then back up at Dane, his expression a mix of gratitude, admiration— and forgiveness. “I still hope you’ll show up. If you can.”
“If I can, believe me, I will.”
It was a big if.