Authors: Michelle Lindo-Rice

The Fall of the Prodigal (2 page)

BOOK: The Fall of the Prodigal

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Chapter Two

“You can't be serious about representing him! You haven't practiced law in years. Have you forgotten what that man did to you, me, and our children on live television? And, did you forget he was a no-show at his own mother's funeral?”

“How can I? You've been reminding me about it for weeks. He's my brother. I'm going to take the case.” Keith Ward addressed Gina Ward, his wife of three years, with as much patience as he could muster.

Gina jutted her chin. “And, what about the church? Did you forget the four thousand members of Zion's Hill who depend on you every week?”

“Did you forget I have several qualified people like Bishop Combs and Deacon Broderson who are more than capable of delivering the Word? I'm not abandoning the television show or the church. I'm taking a hiatus while I help Michael. He's my blood. I have to help him.”

Gina's face crumbled. “He's your brother but he's also the one who put Trey and Epiphany through hell. You might be able to forgive, but I won't ever forget, and you're all kinds of foolish for even talking to him. Michael is not the man you knew as a child. He's bitter and evil. For all we know, he could've staged this whole thing to get close to you.”

Keith looked up from his law journals. This time she had call him foolish, which was better than stubborn mule, ox head, buffoon, or, his personal favorite, nincompoop.

“Not even Michael is that diabolical. He could spend the rest of his life in jail,” Keith said.

Her chocolate eyes darkened. “You mean to tell me after three years of excommunicating you, all he has to do is come begging and you jump to do his bidding? Some things never change.”

“He's my brother and your ex-husband!” Keith said.

Gina clutched her chest. “Don't remind me. You don't think I regret marrying Michael because of guilt? You don't think I regret walking down that aisle, all the while knowing I was in love with you?”

“I was making a point that Michaelâ”

“That Michael's what?” she interrupted. “He's not the same! He's cold, unfeeling, and heartless.”

Keith glared. “How would you know?”

“Don't you read the papers? He holds his employees to an exceptionally high standard. Any little mistake and they're fired.”

“Don't believe everything you read.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “It's true. He bragged about it on CNN, said his clientele is particular and he prides himself on delivering the absolute best.”

“That's business. This rape charge is personal. Even if he's tough and demanding, it doesn't mean he's a monster,” Keith said.

“Quit defending him!” Gina yelled.

The woman was exasperating! “I'm taking the job.” He injected a note of finality.

Gina changed tactics. “Well, make sure you charge him four times whatever your retainer used to be,” she demanded.

Keith played with his tie. “I'm not accepting any money.”

“You mean to tell me you're willing to bring this monster into our lives and disrupt our household for free?” Her chest heaved. “I'm not having it. Michael makes an obscene amount of money. You need to make him pay.”

Keith shook his head. “Gina, this isn't about money for me. I make enough money from my stocks and investments to live a comfortable life. Plus, the church is more than generous.”

Her lip poked. “Yes, but you refused their money at first. If I hadn't . . .”

“Honey, we both know you don't care about money. This isn't about finances. You're holding on to a grudge, which will fester and rot if you don't give it to God,” Keith said.

Gina clenched her fists. “He pays.”

Keith leaned farther into his chair and looked at her. How he loved this woman: his little spitfire. He could not believe she was his. Even when she aggravated him he had to smile. He could not help it.

“Don't go showing me those pretty teeth of yours, 'cause they won't distract me.” She rolled her eyes. “You think all you have to do is flash your dimples and I'm putty at your feet. Well, it's not happening this time. I'm not caving.”

Before she was finished speaking, Keith was on his feet. He moved toward her. Gina read his intent and retreated. “Stay away from me, Keith Ward. If you come any closer, I'll . . . I'll scream.”

“You wouldn't.” Like a lion, he cornered her until she was flush against the door of his office. He stooped to bite her ear. “Hmm. You're wearing my favorite scent. Could it be you've planned this whole seduction?” He peeked under her shirt. Eyeing the lacy camisole Gina had on confirmed his suspicions.

“Well, is it working?”

He laughed. “Yes, your strategy is proving to be most successful.” Keith scanned the rest of her getup. “Are the kids awake?”

She shook her head. Her labored breathing clued him in that she was as excited as he was.

“Well, let's make the most of it. Shall we?” he asked.

Gina batted her lashes. “Does this mean you've changed your mind?”

He poked her on the nose. “No, it means I'm going to assure my wife she doesn't have anything to worry about. There's no need to fear anyone but God.”

She pushed against his chest. “Too late. I am afraid. I'm afraid of Michael Ward and his malicious ways.”

“You leave my brother to me,” Keith said. “I know how to deal with him. I've been praying for years for God to lead Michael home and put him back on the straight and narrow. This may be the means through which God is answering my prayer. It took a lot for Michael to call and ask for help. Believe me. I can't turn my back on him.”

Gina's face showed she did not follow his logic. Keith did not bother to explain. It would take too long, and he had a much better way to bring in Monday morning. He lowered his voice. “How about you let me give you a good morning welcome, before you take off for one of your ministries and leave me here all by my lonesome?”

She undressed with speed, a sure sign she was more than ready for some good loving.

Keith scooped Gina into his arms and headed for a small door. It opened to a sparse room, boasting a queen-sized bed. When they designed their home, Gina had the room built in. “For emergencies,” she'd said, slyly.

He had caught on and agreed. Making love to his wife was an emergency. One that required his immediate attention.

Later that day, Keith reviewed the court files and police report. Evidence and motive were both there. The accuser, Mindy Laurelton, was the daughter of one of Michael's business partners, William “Bill” Laurelton. As Keith examined the statements, he could not picture the Michael the young lady described. Nor could he see his brother dating one so young, although there was an intriguing e-mail exchange.

Keith cupped his chin. Michael could be described as many things. A rapist was not one of them.

“Mr. Ward? Your brother's here.”

Keith looked up and flashed his Jamaican housekeeper, Josephine “Josie” Smalls, a weary smile. He rubbed his eyes. “Okay, can you bring him back here?”

“I'll go get him. I made oxtail and rice and peas if you're hungry,” Josie offered, wiping her hands on the apron she always wore.

Keith looked at his watch, noting it was about three in the afternoon. “Thanks, Josie. I'll wait for Gina to get home.”

Gina was out with Epiphany at Nassau Coliseum.
Dora the Explorer
was in town and Epiphany was ecstatic to go see her live. Trey was at basketball practice. Josie would pick him up and take him out for ice cream before bringing him home. Keith had it all planned down to a tee to avoid any run-ins with his brother and Gina and the kids.

He supposed he could've set up the meeting at the church, but Michael was his brother. He could not remain impersonal.

“Thanks for taking my case. The grand jury returned with an indictment and now I'll have to stand trial. But I suppose you know all that.”

Keith looked up toward the voice and his eyes widened. It had been three years since the brothers had seen each other. Michael looked cold and hard, and he had lost weight. He looked lean, more like a runner, than the football player he had been throughout high school and college. Michael had shaved his head and his signature goatee. The new him would take some getting used to.

Keith rested his palms on his cherry oak wooden desk and stood. He extended his hand, knowing a hug would not be welcomed. “It's been awhile. Sorry it took something so tragic to reunite us.”

Michael returned the handshake but didn't waste time. “I'm here because I need you. You're the only one I can trust.”

Keith arched an eyebrow. Trust. He never thought he would hear his brother use that word to describe him; “traitor,” “hypocrite,” were two that sprung to mind.

“I know what you're thinking,” Michael said. “But, it's true. My life is at stake and you're the best. Name your fee. My freedom is worth any price.”

So, he was making this all business. Keith gritted his teeth. “You don't have to pay me,
brother.
We're family. I love you and I'm happy to use my skills to help your case.” He hunched his shoulders waiting for the venom to spew at his family comment.

Michael scoffed, slid into a chair and clasped his hands. “How are my ex-wife and my ex-children doing?”

Keith took a deep breath.
Lord, give me strength. Lead me and guide me. Help me keep my cool.
“My wife and children are well,” he emphasized in a brittle tone.

This was the first and last time he would invite Michael to his home, for now. He had relocated from his previous residence in Jamaica Estates to Garden City. His home was close to his church, which was an added bonus. Zion's Hill was about twenty minutes away in the neighboring town of Hempstead.

Keith shuffled the papers on his desk to get down to business. “I've been looking over your file, and the evidence is damning. This is going to be a tough case.”

Michael followed his lead. “That's your specialty, isn't it?”

Keith saw the confidence reflected in his brother's eyes and cautioned, “I'm going to do my best but it's been years since I've practiced. I'll need to do some research and I'll have to hire an assistant. I definitely have my work cut out for me. I'll need your full cooperation.”

Michael gave a dismissive wave. “You won't need to hire an assistant. Verona will help.”

“Who's Verona?”

“You remember the attorney I hired for the custody case?”

Oh, yes. How could he forget Verona Stachs? Michael had sued to take his children from him and Gina, their rightful parents.

“Yes. I do remember her.” He couldn't disguise the edge in his voice.
Maybe Gina was right. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
He felt resentment rise, along with his own guilt, and silently prayed,
I rebuke this feeling, in Jesus' name.
God had delivered him, given him a second chance, and Keith wasn't about to dwell in the past.

He knew God had a hand in all this. Somehow, his brother would be led to Christ. Michael would find the right path.

“What do you need from me?” Michael asked.

The question brought Keith back to the present. “I need you to tell me everything. I need to know every contact you've ever made with Mindy Laurelton. Leave nothing out. Tell me the whole sordid truth.”

“There's no sordid truth to tell more than I didn't do it.” Michael's voice was firm but his eyes pleaded with Keith's. “You've got to believe me. I know how it looks, but I'm innocent.”

For the first time since he entered, Keith saw humanity in his brother's demeanor. Underneath that tough guy cloak was a scared man, afraid of losing it all.

“I believe you. Tell me everything that happened,” Keith said.

Michael exhaled. “I don't even know where to begin.”

“How about you start with Mindy and the e-mails? Start by telling me why you made it very clear in your note you had no problem taking her by force.”

Chapter Three

“That man is infuriating!” Verona plopped her Burberry satchel on the white Samoa Italian leather sofa she'd snagged at 30 percent off for $9,000. She yanked her teal blouse out of her white pencil skirt and sank into the couch, ignoring the panoramic view of Central Park from her penthouse. Well, it was not really hers. She lived in the five-bedroom penthouse courtesy of Michael Ward.

In her haste, Verona twisted her ankle, almost breaking her five-inch red bottoms. “Awww!”shescreamed. “Michael Ward is going to pay for these Louboutins.” She snatched the offensive shoe and its partner off her feet and tossed them across the floor.

Her cell phone buzzed. She did not feel like talking to anyone.
I ought to let it go to voicemail.
Nevertheless, she dug inside her bag until she had located it.

Nigel Lattimore's face filled her screen. Verona pressed the answer button. “What do you want?”

“I hear you'll be working with my former client,” he drawled.

Verona rolled her eyes. “And what of it?”

“Didn't you tell me you were quitting Ward Enterprises? So, what gives?”

“Nigel, I don't have time for you,” Verona screamed. “And, I certainly don't owe you any explanations! Why are you calling anyway? I only answered because I knew you'd keep calling until I picked up. Ugh, you're so annoying!”

Again, he did not take the bait. “To offer my services as I know this isn't your specialty. I told you we should start our own firm.”

“As if . . .” Verona heaved a long sigh. She heard his chuckle and cursed herself for allowing Nigel to get to her. He needled her on purpose, and when it came to him, she was an easy target. “I don't need your help. Besides, I wouldn't open a firm with you no matter how you plead. You don't have the capital,” she bragged.

“Not everyone can be as lucky as you to score such a cushy retainer.”

She grinned before serving a jab of her own. “How's Rupert?”

“His name is Raymond. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Verona snickered; pleased she had gotten under his skin. Nigel was a preacher's kid, hailing from Tampa, Florida. He had moved to New York, away from his father's prying eyes, to live with his life partner. No one knew. Except for her. She had found out by accident when they were back at Stanford.

She and Nigel had dated for a year and a half. He was the perfect gentleman, saying he did not believe in sex before marriage. Verona had been charmed by his old-fashioned ways until she caught him with his pants down.

Needless to say they were through after that.

He turned the tables on her. “Does Michael know you're in love with him? Have you confessed your true feelings, yet?”

In a swift move, Verona cut the line.
Take that, you creep.
One lonely night at the bar they had bumped into each other and she had blabbed. Big mistake.

Her cell phone buzzed again. This time she saw Michael's face. She answered the phone. “I made it clear I wasn't going to continue on your case. I did specialize in criminal law but . . . it wasn't for me.”

“For what I'm paying you, I own you.”

Verona snarled. “Listen, you might sign my checks, but you don't own me. No one owns me. The fact that you'd fix your mouth to say something like that is offensive.” She paused for a second. “Is this what you do to women? Treat them like your property? No wonder you have a rape charge.”

Verona sucked in her breath and covered her mouth. Had she uttered those dreadful words to her boss? “Michael, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that.”

He was not rattled by her accusation. “Why are you angry? Hundreds of attorneys would jump at the chance to work with the legendary Keith Ward.”

Because I'm in love with you. Because I can't watch you lose this case.

“Because you need the best and it's not like you can't afford it. I'll be more than happy to write a check on your behalf,” Verona said.

“Quit being modest. It doesn't suit you. You're ruthless, you're vicious, and you know the law.”

There was a time when Michael's words would have been enough for her. But words were not a warm blanket at night. She was ready to fall in love and settle down. She wanted the babies, the pacifiers, the . . . everything.

“You're right. I am the best. But, there's more to me. I'm more than all that.”
I'm also a woman. Why can't he see me?
Every day men hollered at her about her translucent brown eyes, her long, luscious curls, her body, her style; but not Michael Ward. He remained impervious, seeing her as one of the boys.

He continued, “Oh, wait. I forgot to mention your culinary skills. Is there anything you don't do well, Verona?”

Yes, there was. She changed the subject. “Fine. You win. As usual. I'll consult with Keith, tomorrow.” Verona let out a yawn on purpose, wanting to get him off the phone.

“You'd better not be yawning tomorrow,” Michael warned. “I need you here on your A game. Equipped with boxing gloves.”

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

Verona bit her lip. There was something she really needed to ask. She took a deep breath. “Were you in love with Mindy?”

“What?” His voice raised an octave.

“As your attorney, I need to know.” She lied. The woman in her needed the truth.

“No,” he sputtered. “Where's your good sense? Mindy's a kid for crying out loud. What do I look like? A pedophile?”

Verona's heart sang. “I had to ask.”

“I value my privacy,” Michael mumbled. “I guess my life will now be up for public debate and scrutiny. If you must know, there's only one woman for me.”

“Gina?” Her heart pounded as she anticipated his response.

“No, Gina is history. It's Lauren. Or did you forget about her?”

How could she? Michael mentioned Lauren Goodman at least twice a week. Lauren had been the reporter who helped him expose Keith as the real father of Gina's two children on national television. During that time, Michael and Lauren had a brief tryst.

“She's dead,” Verona said. “Why are you harping on a ghost?”

She heard his sharp intake. Verona could have bit her tongue at her insensitivity.

“I don't care what the obituary says. Lauren is very much alive and I won't rest until I find her,” Michael said.

Verona repeated gently, “She's gone, Michael. You have to accept that. I showed you the death notice myself.”

Lauren had been killed instantly in a bad car wreck in Alabama. The car caught fire upon impact. According to the report, Lauren suffered serious burns. Her mother, alive at the time but now deceased, decided to cremate her daughter's remains.

“Never! I don't believe one word written on that paper.” He disconnected the call.

“Lauren's gone,” Verona whispered. “Why can't you accept that?” She clenched her fists. “But, I'm here. I'm here.”

BOOK: The Fall of the Prodigal

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