Don't Ask My Neighbor (6 page)

“You’re not his savior, Parker,” I interrupted, focusing on the knife slicing through my steak, avoiding any eye contact with him.

Parker dropped his knife and fork on the side of his platter. His thump attracted the attention of the bar patrons in our direction. He sat back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest, and sighed. He breathed, as if what was about to roll from his tongue was very difficult.

“My relationship with Nigel is not up for discussion. Now, I was almost certain you called me here to discuss Samantha, and Samantha only. Let’s stick to that, shall we?”

The waiter kept his distance while Parker and I ate and talked, although since our food arrived, our conversation had been dominated by silence.  I wasn’t going to strong-arm him into discussing something that still left him feeling uneasy. I knew Parker well. This time tomorrow night he’ll be on the phone divulging everything he’s pretending to hold in now. Parker was right about one thing. I had invited him to dinner to discuss Samantha Wells, and the fact that she had been able to get away with murder
, with absolutely no scars to show for the disruptions caused in the lives of so many. She’d killed my marriage to the father of my children and the only man I loved. She slaughtered the career of Mr. Ryle Lucas, and now she had her sights on J.B. Graybourne.

“You’re absolutely right,” I said, reaching my hand into the outside pocket of my Rose Purple handbag. I removed the news article, unfolded it, a
nd placed it directly in front of Parker.

“What’s this? Samantha Wells, Esq. to be named Trial Lawyer of the Year,” he read, allowing his voice to wither into a whisper as he read her impending accolade. “We can’t let this happen.”

“My sentiment exactly,” I said, drooling at the thoughts churning in my head. “This is where we do it. She’s being honored by the firm…”

“How do you know this?”

“Just trust me.”

“Trust you?”

I tilted my head forward and looked at Parker through squinted eyes. I couldn’t tell him everything…not yet.

“Yes, Parks. Trust me.”

Degrees was empty by 9:45, leaving Parker and me to finish up our dinner and conversation. I’d caught him up on Cody and Alexis’ week at school, including Cody’s upcoming soccer games. He’d promised to make it to one or two games, if he could get away from the shrew that is Samantha Wells. 

A few minutes later, Sekayi handed the small black binder with the bill in front of Parker. He looked at the bill and laughed.

“What so funny?”

“It says to complete for room charges. What room are we staying in?”

“We aren’t staying in a damn room, you simple bitch,” I said, laughing.

“Fuck you. Make one up.”

He winked and smiled. I guess he was reminiscing his college days.

Parker removed a leather money clip wallet from the inside of his jacket and placed his firm’s credit card on the table.

“Consider Samantha Wells business.”

After the bill was paid and the waiter was tipped generously, Parker and I held hands and walked out of the restaurant and into the hotel lobby like a couple. The lobby was deserted, with the exception of the two desk attendants who smiled as they bid us a good night. They weren’t the same two that occupied those positions when I walked in over two hours earlier.

Outside, the temperature had fallen a few degrees. The wind felt cold and razor sharp against my face. Parker didn’t complain, although I could tell by his tight grasp it was a little too cold for his comfort.

“How far did you park?” he asked, holding his jacket closed with his right hand.

“Four cars from the corner.”

Once we turned the corner, I pressed the remote, opening the door and starting the engine to my black sapphire X6. After kissing Parker on his cheek, I sat in my car and waited for him to give his version of a goodbye.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” he said before closing the car door.

He knew I was a sucker for an apology, but honestly, this one was not needed. I wound down the car window and stared at him as he walked away.

“Your snaps are like paper cuts. I never notice them because they never hurt.”

I drove back down K Street, ruminating on a plan of action that I still needed to put the finishing touches on. At the stoplight, I dialed the number to Gage’s mother, Leandra, to say goodnight to the kids, since they would be staying the night with her. Leandra and I haven’t had the best relationship since the divorce, but for the children’s sake, I remained co
rdial whenever they were around. I kept my distance otherwise. I was going to miss my nightly mommy duties and the morning routine of watching Cody’s sluggish walk to his bathroom down the hall, usually with his eyes still closed, and helping Alexis get dressed as she recites “I’m still sleepy, Mommy”, as if I were going to relent. Still, I was looking forward to a quiet night and a less busy morning.

Nine

_______

Second Time Around

Ryle  

THE MORE I THOUGHT ABOUT HOW I treated Samantha and what I got in return, the more intense the desire for retaliation. No one warned me about the second coming; Samantha’s second coming, as if I had forgotten how she nearly destroyed me before. Samantha was painstakingly beautiful, even from a distance, but her ways made her ugly. She looked just as I remembered her. Three years had passed since I last saw Samantha, and just like she had disappeared without warning, she reappeared just the same, only this time she came with a hidden agenda. Unfortunately, at the top of the agenda was my demise. Why had I
let Samantha in my life again?

Everything I did was to help Samantha. Everything she did was to hurt me, even the second time around. Just like the time before, I’d done nothing to deserve her conspiracy, but when had she ever cared about that. Even though she came wearing the same face, she somehow managed to convince me her worst days had been left behind her. My biggest ally, Jelani Brennon Graybourne, sat composed and watched me fall. Samantha stood poised to steal my success, and that is exactly what she did. Without his knowledge, J.B. became Samantha’s accomplice.
What have you done to make your lies so believable?
I thought
.
My question was rhetorical. I had a pretty good idea how she outwitted J.B. She probably presented him the same damsel-in-distress persona and he fell for it. I became disappointed all over again. J.B. treated me as if nothing but lies spewed from my mouth in my attempt to exonerate myself.

Throughout my fifty-minute ordeal, my presentation to the Board, I knew I was doomed. My reputation, my hard work, my loyalty to J.B. and the firm all destroyed by a woman’s scorn and desire to have it all, by any means necessary. In that moment, J.B.’s impending failure, which had kept me awake most nights, and held me from making good on all the promises I made to myself to destroy Samantha, disappeared from my mind. Of all persons, he should have known better. He knew I hung my hat on the dream of one day occupying the office of United States Attorney for the District of Columbia, and I wasn’t going to let what Samantha or anyone else had between their legs be my deterrent. He knew only those with honor and dignity would be granted the chance to hold such lofty position. I couldn’t be decorated with scandal and libel.

I sat behind my desk with my eyes tilted toward the ceiling, tapping my pencil on my laptop, ruminating on my plan to destroy Ms. Wells. I no longer had the keys to the expansive corner office. I didn’t have the large window or the immaculate view that captured my attention as I deliberated my tactics in navigating a challenging case or a cutthroat attorney. Fortunately, I didn’t have to start from too far down, but the top was now farther than it was five years ago.

I’ve enjoyed the warm October days and cool nights, and Friday’s predicted seventy-six degrees provided no reprieve from what had become predictable D.C. weather. I was looking forward to what had become my usual Friday in the office: reviewing depositions, finalizing my list of potential witnesses, and smelling my first of many cups of coffee that would carry me through the last day of what had been a very long week. Since Tuesday, I had been
preparing to meet my client for the very first time since his name came across my desk. This wasn’t going to be an open-and-shut case, but I was certain the prosecutor had hung his hopes on exactly that.

DeVin
ce Paxton was a twenty-year-old standout athlete from the University of South Carolina who got caught up in a deadly home invasion. I’d checked his records and already gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was too smart to get caught up in something so stupid, but somehow he did. They always did. DeVince was my second case as lead attorney and my fourth since joining Ledger-Houston, Smythe and Troxler four years earlier. After defeating Nixon Lorenzo, a charismatic, shrewd attorney with a Santa Clause-like figure, a low pitch voice like Morgan Freeman, an impeccable record, and a knack for eating young lawyers alive, he gave me an uncharacteristic congratulatory handshake, handed me a business card, and then instructed me to call him if I ever wanted to be on a winning team. I guess it wasn’t yet apparent to him that I was already on a winning team. Many thought Attorney Lorenzo had many of the judges presiding over the cases he prosecuted or defended in his back pocket, but I knew better. I’ve spectated his courtroom antics, and what he displayed was a testament to his knowledge of law, and his willingness to protect his clients’ constitutional rights—that’s why they hired him. He’s represented clients accused of some of the District’s most heinous crimes. I had no intention of ending my tenure with Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne, but thanks to Samantha, my intention wasn’t her worry.

Until my reminder popped up on my computer screen, I had forgotten about my 10:30 a.m. appointment at the Corrections Facility in Southeast D.C. I still had a few minutes to kill before making the drive through traffic across town. I began making a not
e on a ledger next to my laptop when my door slowly crept open.

“Do you have a minute?” she asked, and entered without my permission.

She held two cups of coffee securely in both hands and held a magazine tightly under her right arm. She smiled as she walked closer to my desk. I’ve seen that same walk when she was summoned to a judge’s bench. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Priscilla Benedict?” I asked, standing to meet her.

She hated when I called her Ms. Priscilla Benedict and knew I did it for that reason only. She never got upset about it, though. She usually gave me that you-got-one-more-time-to-call-me-that stare, though she knew my “one more time” wasn’t too far behind.

Priscilla Benedict was the only offspring of Georgetown Law professor and accomplished author Hope Benedict and Criminal Defense Lawyer Phillip Evan Benedict. We met on my first day at the firm, walking toward the elevator. Although I had a few years of experience under my belt, we were both new faces in the firm. She was fresh out of Cornell Law, ready to blaze her own trail in an area already familiar with the Benedict surname. She was ready to build her own reputation, refusing to rely on the status Phillip and Hope had previously established. She had the smile to melt hearts, but kept that dagger close when she needed to go in for a kill.

“Please, sit down,” she said, placing one cup of coffee next to my laptop.

She stood in front my desk and waited for me
to comply.

“You’re going to need to sit down for… this,” she said, dropping the copy of the Super Lawyers magazine on my laptop keyboard. “You didn’t tell me she was…”

Priscilla paused and took a quiet sip from her AKA coffee mug in its familiar colors. She sat back in one of the two leather chairs facing the desk and held the mug between both palms and close to her mouth. She crossed her legs and stared at me.

“You didn’t tell me she came back. Is she the reason
why you left Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne?” Priscilla continued in a brusque tone.

“Is that your assumption?”

I reached for the steaming hot liquid and sipped as I waited for her to respond. The taste of sweet Hawaiian coconut offered a quick escape to a familiar place. I returned the mug back on my desk and pushed it away from the edge. In the years I’ve known Priscilla, she was never one to prevaricate.

“I wasn’t assuming. That was a direct question.”

“There you go, treating me like a defendant during one of your cross examinations.”

Priscilla placed her cup on the desk and then stood. She firmly pressed her palms against the desk and leaned her face closer to mine in an attempt to intimidate me. It wasn’t going to work, and to make certain I didn’t promptly surrender to her intimidation, I pushed my chair back and stood with authority. I gawked at her. I knew she wasn’t going to concede. Soon, I broke my stare, and then walked and stood closer to the window with my hands in both pockets. I waited for her to break the silence that crowded the space around us.

“What happened, Ryle?”

I pretended her question fell on deaf ears. I felt a freeze overcoming my body as my day of destruction began replaying in my mind. While I showed Samantha what love could do, she spent her time teaching me a valuable lesson in what hate and greed could do, because she must have hated me.

“Ryle!”

Priscilla’s voice was closer.

“She raped me,” I said, and paused.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Priscilla asked, looking around as if someone heard her shout.

“She raped me of everything I spent my entire life working hard to earn. My dream of one day becoming United States Attorney was destroyed because of her.”

“How did you let her do that?”

“Let her?” I said, finally turning around to face Pricilla. “I didn’t
let
her do anything but walk back into my life when I knew I shouldn’t have. I ignored the lesson I learned the first time. And why?”

“I’m sorry. You know what I mean.”

“You think if I could have stopped her, I would’ve let anything she did happen? I didn’t know what she was up to. I was blindsided. A fucking football helmet under my goddamn ribs, and he just stood there, staring at me as I watched my dream crumble.”

“Who is he?”

I was going to start talking, but my cellphone buzzed, reminding of my meeting with DeVince at the Central Detention Facility in Southeast D.C. I walked back to my desk, grabbed my briefcase from the floor, and began to carelessly place the files, my laptop, and notebook inside. I walked to the door and removed my suit jacket from the coat rack on the left side of the door. Priscilla stood and looked at me as if she were looking at craziness and didn’t know how to react to it.

“Priscilla,” I yelled as I pulled the door open. “Are you coming?”

“Sure,” she said, quick-stepping toward me. “I just have to grab my coat from my office.”

“Fine. Meet me in the front of the building,” I said, walking out the door with Priscilla followin
g a few steps behind me.

I purposely kept Samantha’s actions from Priscilla. If Priscilla were going to be the associate attorney on the cases I defended, I needed to have her trust. I didn’t need any cloud of uncertainty hanging over her head. I knew and believed in my innocence. Unfortunately, those I expected to believe lik
ewise, held firmly to my guilt.

I rode the elevator in silence. I leaned against the hardwood handrail and concentrated on my image in one of the full-length mirrors on either side of the elevator cab. I fixed the knot in my tie and pondered my imminent conversation with Priscilla. I’ve had this conversation formally with four others in the firm, which included Nixon Lorenzo. As if they took an oath of silence or had been issued a gag order, the other employees in the firm had spoken no evil since my arrival.