Once A Liar. A.F. Brady

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СКАЧАТЬ Harrison that I have all the ammunition I need to take him down and ruin his reelection bid, and that it’s in his best interest to stay in line. So, I play with him now and again. I know he’ll get drunk and ask me to come to the DA’s office, his typical move to try to settle the bad blood between us. He wants me in his pocket. With me as his underling, he would gain control, and I won’t allow him to take away the power I have over him.

      He thinks if he shows me affection and professional courtesy I’ll forget what he did to me, and I’ll forget the things I know. But I have no plans of joining the DA’s office and becoming complicit in Harrison’s dirty work.

      I lean against the bar and look anywhere but at him and his droopy, drunken eyes. He is tuned into my every move, like a schoolgirl with a crush.

      “Pete, Pete,” Harrison is saying. I ignore him, not even bothering with one-word answers, sipping my drink and scanning the room for more interesting company.

      “Nice work on that assault case last week, by the way. Didn’t think you’d be able to pull that one off, not even you.” He plies me with faux sincerity and compliments. I’m beginning to feel nauseous.

      “Not even me?”

      “I mean, the guy had the gun in his possession, right? With her blood on the handle? You really have a way with overcoming physical evidence.”

      “Mmm-hmm.” I swirl the ice cubes in my drink.

      “Pete, I asked you here tonight because we’ve got to talk about my offer. I need you now more than I ever have.”

      Harrison is covering his ass, and I can see right through him. When he gets worried that I’ll jeopardize his career ambitions, he invites me out and tries to entice me into submission, but he can’t acknowledge this. If he admits that he’s scared of what I know, he’s essentially admitting he has something to hide. It’s amusing for me sometimes, keeping up this cat-and-mouse game, watching him squirm.

      “I’ve said it before, but clearly you don’t listen, so I’ll say it again.” I don’t even bother to look at him. “I am not, ever, going to work for you at the DA’s office.”

      But again, he isn’t listening. “Pete, I’m up for reelection. You know this. The campaign is strong, but I need someone like you—some soulless bastard like you—who can win cases without even getting out of bed in the morning. Use your talents to clean up the streets. Put the bad guys behind bars instead of defending them. Come on. What can I do to convince you?”

      If I work at the DA’s office, then I’ll be complicit in his illicit dealings, and I won’t have a leg to stand on if I want to roll over and expose the things I know.

      I laugh right in his fat face. “Nothing, Harry. There’s nothing you can do to convince me. If I were to go to your side, I would take your job. I’m not working under you or anyone else. We’ve been having this argument for years and I’m tired of it.” Already sick of his drivel after just one drink, I throw my black card onto the bar behind Harrison’s hulking form.

      Harrison tries to steady himself on the corner of the bar and instead his elbow slips, and he barely catches himself on the seat of a barstool. “Jesus, Harry, you’re in public.” I quickly scan the room for onlookers, trying to ensure no one sees me with this classless mess. “People know me here. They know you, too. Pull yourself together.”

      As the bartender hands me back my card with the tab, I flick away the plastic Four Seasons pen and draw a Montblanc from my jacket pocket. I leave an enormous tip, hoping to keep the bartender’s mouth shut when it comes time to gossip about drunken bigwigs.

      “I need you, Peter. The ADAs have no fight in them, no spark. It’s all perfunctory. No one grabs the bull by the horns like you do. I can guarantee you’ll take my position when I retire. I only want one more term, make it five total.” Harrison pulls my lapels. “Come on, Peter, whatever it takes.”

      His desperation is becoming revolting. “Get home and get some sleep, Harry. You’re never going to get me away from criminal defense, and you’re never going to get me to work under you.” I gently slap his hands away from me and lead him down the stairs.

      “I’ll fix the Bogovian thing,” Harrison proclaims. “Now that he’s getting out, it’ll be in the media again. I’ll make amends publicly, righting whatever wrongs may have come to you, and then I can announce that you’re coming to work for me. I mean with me.”

      I glare at Harrison with raised eyebrows. I knew he would offer me some kind of recompense to sweeten the deal, but I didn’t think he would dare bring up Bogovian.

      “No,” I manage to growl.

      Harrison sways and bobs and I reach a hand to his elbow to stabilize him. A man of his size should learn to handle his liquor.

      “Charlotte.” Harrison shakes a perceptive finger at me. “I know you have a thing for her.” He pulls his arm away from me and stares me squarely in the face. “Come to the DA’s office, and I’ll give you Charlotte. What more could you possibly want?”

      Both bemused and taken aback, I let a smile stretch across my face. His expression remains cold. “You’ll give me your daughter? How could you possibly do that?” I laugh incredulously and walk down the wide steps in front of me.

      “I’ll give you my blessing, to—you know—sleep with my daughter.” Harrison stays two steps above me, leaning against the banister, certain this offer will be what turns me.

      “I didn’t need your blessing, Harrison,” I sneer through gritted teeth.

      Harrison’s face registers shock before sliding into understanding. Of course I’d already slept with his daughter.

      With a laugh, I saunter down the steps. Still grinning when I reach the landing, I look back up to Harrison. He’s walking back toward the bar, unruffled, appearing completely sober.

       THEN

      Marcus and I had rented office space for Rhodes & Caine, LLP, in downtown Manhattan on Church Street, just north of Leonard. I walked to work from my loft in Tribeca, and as I strolled to the office one morning when the trial preparations for the Bogovian case were just beginning, I thought back to home for the first time in a long time.

      I had lied to Juliette about where and how I grew up, and although I didn’t quite regret it, it was becoming clear to me that she was more than just a girlfriend and maybe she should know the truth. I had buried my past behind a curtain of carefully designed lies, and I never pulled back that curtain.

      Juliette believed I spent my childhood moving from one European city to the next, but in reality, I grew up in Vermont. Not the only child of an art dealer father and sophisticated mother, as I told Juliette, I was raised by my uncle Tommy and his wife, Lee, amid the chaos of their already overstuffed home and family. Lee was pregnant with her fourth child when they reluctantly took custody of me. I was only eight months old. As my uncle frequently reminded me growing up, they took me in because he loved his sister, not because he loved or wanted me. My mother was deemed unfit by the courts to care for me, and she was never married to my biological father, who disappeared after I was born anyway. So, Tommy was my only option.

      I СКАЧАТЬ