Reasonable Doubt 3

  “Probably.”

  “With hot chocolate?”

  “Would you prefer something different?”

  I smiled. “No…”

  He leaned over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I thought I was doing the right thing by kicking you out that night, by pushing you away…It was definitely a mistake.”

  “I’m not coming back to you just because you said that.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.” He trailed his finger against my lips. “I would, however, like you to consider forgiving me.”

  “I’ll think about it. Just because you—”

  His lips were on mine—kissing me, begging me, saying all the things he couldn’t say with words. And this time I was listening, missing everything we once had before he pushed me away.

  Not letting me go, he ran his fingers through my hair and caressed my neck.

  “Go think about that,” he whispered, slowly pulling away from me.

  “Um…” I struggled to catch my breath as he stepped out to open my door.

  “I’ll see you tonight.” He kissed my lips before leaving me standing in the middle of the street, completely breathless again.

  Shit…

  I headed toward the dance hall, confident that I would dance like I was on air today. I opened the doors and felt someone grabbing my shoulder from behind.

  “Aubrey?” The voice asked. “Aubrey, is that you?”

  I turned around, shocked. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you…”

  I noticed the pin on her suit, “Vote Smart. Vote Everhart,” and knew that wasn’t true. She was in town for something that had to do with my father’s campaign; I was only a pit stop.

  “Well, now you’ve seen me…” I turned away and slipped inside the building.

  “Wait, Aubrey.” She followed me. “Do you really think that moving across the country was the best way to get me and your father’s attention?”

  “I didn’t leave North Carolina to get your attention.”

  “Well, you certainly have it.”

  “And look, it only took twenty two years…”

  She sighed. “We’ve decided to talk to the department chair about letting you pick up where you left off during the summer semester. We can do that since you’re so upset about being a part of the campaign.”

  “I’m not upset. I honestly don’t care.”

  “Of course you do.” She sounded offended. “But if it makes you feel any better, we placed a picture of you and one of your ballets in our campaign brochure.”

  “Did you do that so you could look like you actually care about college arts?”

  “No, we donated fifty thousand dollars to Duke’s dance program to look like we actually care about college arts. The brochure picture was personal, although it would’ve been even better if you wrote that essay we begged you to write. We could’ve put that next to the picture. ”

  I felt a pang in my chest. “When does your flight leave, mother?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When does your flight leave?” I repeated, my voice cracking. “I’m pretty sure it’s in three hours or less so you won’t have to spend a full day here, so you can go back and tell Dad that you tried to convince me to come home after you fulfilled your campaign work. I’m sure that’s still all that matters to you.”

  She was silent.

  “I left Durham because I’ll be living here for at least three years—which is the length of my contract with the company, where I’ll be pursuing my real dream. And I must say, it’s just a bonus that I won’t be anywhere near you.”

  She gasped.

  “Have a safe flight. Tell Dad I said hello.”

  “You’re just going to leave me standing here?”

  “You’ve done it to me my entire life.” I left the building. I was too angry, too hurt, to completely focus.

  I sent Ashcroft an email—letting him know I was using a sick day, and headed for the street.

  “Aubrey!” My mother called from behind, but I kept walking. “Aubrey, wait!”

  She finally caught up to me and grabbed my arm. “I can miss my flight…”

  “And why would you want to do that?”

  “So I can spend time with my daughter before she forgets that I exist…”

  I held back tears.

  “I can stay here for a few days and we can catch up in between your dance schedule,” she said. “I’ll make your dad fly up too if that’s okay with you?”

  “That would be perfectly fine…” I nodded, but then it hit me. “No campaign talk, though.”

  “Done deal.”

  “No talking about me going back to law school, either.”

  “I can live with that, too.” She nodded.

  “And no talking shit about ballet.”

  She hesitated, but she nodded again. “Okay, fine.” She hugged me. “Can you hail us a cab so I can book a room at the Four Seasons?”

  “Why? You can just stay at my place.”

  “Oh, please.” She slid a pair of shades over her eyes. “I looked up what professional ballerinas make. I know what type of apartment you can afford in this city, and daughter or not, I refuse.”

  I didn’t want to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. I knew making up would be a long process, but I was willing to give it a try.

  She walked over to a newspaper stand, and I held out my hand for a cab.

  “Oh, The New York Times always picks the best cases to cover.” She flipped through the paper. “There’s one hell of a trial going on this week.”

  “Criminal or corporate?” I asked as a taxi flew right past me.

  “Both,” she said. “And I actually know this guy. Well, I know of him anyway…Absolutely incredible lawyer…”

  “We’re never going to get a cab at this rate.” I shook my head at being snubbed again.

  “I doubt he’ll ever get recognition for that government case…”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Liam Henderson.” She held the paper in front of me, pointing to a picture-less article. “Remember? He’s on me and your dad’s list of lawyers who’ll never be given the credit they deserve because they went against the government. This guy was your favorite, I do believe.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I remembered. “So, why is he in the paper now? Did he mess up because he didn’t receive his due fame? Is he in trouble?”

  “No, looks like he’s just testifying in a case. Article claims he’s been living down in the South and even partnered at some firm, but that can’t be true. Any firm down there would be bragging if they had him, and I haven’t heard anything.”

  “I’m sure they would.” I finally waved down a cab. “We can go now.”

  “It’s quite weird though.” She tapped her lip. “In all of his career, I’ve never seen a picture of him—maybe one or two, but they were stock pictures from his college days. I’m sure he looks different now.”

  “Mom,” I said, opening the car door. “The cab charges by the minute.”

  “Now the article claims he’s been living in North Carolina under an assumed name for the past six years. But of course, they’re not revealing that name. They need to get better researchers, don’t you think? How could a lawyer of that status manage to change his name, switch states, and still practice the law?” She handed me the paper as she stepped into the cab. “He’d have to erase his entire identity and start all over. Who would do that?”

  I gasped and flipped to the article as I sat in the backseat. I read it word for word, over and over, and everything around me became a blur. I could practically feel my jaw dropping as I flashed back to my first interview at GBH:

  Miss Everhart, are there any lawyers that you wish to model your own career after?” Mr. Bach smiled at me.

  “Yes, actually,” I said. “I’ve always admired the career of Liam Henderson.”

  “Liam Henderson?” Andrew looked up at me with his eyebrow raised. ??
?Who is that?”

  Suppression of Evidence (n.):

  The improper hiding of evidence by a prosecutor who is constitutionally required to reveal to the defense all evidence.

  Andrew

  Former Partners to Finally Appear in Court Opposite Each Other:

  Hart Case Continues This Week.

  That’s what the headline in the judicial section of The New York Times read this morning. To those who knew nothing about the case, I was sure that it was simply another story to pass the time, another superficial scandal to devour with their morning breakfast.

  But for me, it was the end of a six year chapter that had gone on for far too many pages. It was part of the reason why I left, part of the reason why after I testified in a few days, I would leave this city for the very last time.

  I looked outside the window at the Waldorf Astoria’s restaurant, wondering how it could possibly be raining so heavily in the dead of winter.

  “Mr. Hamilton?” A woman in a suit stepped next to my table.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Vera Milton, the general manager,” she said. “You’ve had several calls from a Miss Ava Sanchez… She keeps telling us that it’s important and that she needs to speak with you. She’s on the line for you now…”

  I sighed. “Could you patch her call to my room in two minutes please?”

  “Certainly sir.”

  I left the newspaper on the table and headed straight for the penthouse suite. As soon as I unlocked the door, the phone in the parlor room rang.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “It’s me…” Ava said softly.

  “I’m aware. How did you find out where I was staying?”

  “Really?” She scoffed. “I need you to do me a favor…”

  “Goodbye, Ava.”

  “No, wait.” She sounded frantic. “I really am sorry for everything I did to you, Liam.”

  “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

  “I remember when you visited me when I was being held in jail—before all the hearings started…Remember?” She paused. “I know how hard seeing me must have been back then, how lonely you had to be to come and visit me of all people…You even told me you were contemplating changing your name to Andrew and leaving New York…And then I begged you to save me. Remember that?”

  “I’m really not in the mood for story time right now.”

  “You were such a softie back then…So compassionate, so caring—”

  “Get to the fucking point, Ava.”

  “At the trial this week, I know that Kevin—”

  “I.e. my former best friend that you fucked?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “Him…”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s not the monster you think he is.”

  “Are you calling about a favor that’s never going to happen, or are you calling to be his fucking character witness? I’m confused.”

  “He’s still sorry for what he did…He was—”

  “Which one is it, Ava?” I snapped. “I’m not a fan of this vague shit.”

  “Do you really want to hurt him?” Her voice softened. “I think you’ve already punished us enough. I’m already behind bars, so there’s really no need for him to suffer at this point. ”

  “The two of you will never suffer enough.” I hung up and sent a text to an old contact I had at corrections, telling him that Ava had contraband in her cell.

  The last thing I wanted to think about was my old partner and former best friend. The only time he needed to be thought of was during the upcoming hearing, and never again after that.

  I scrolled through my text messages, noticing that Aubrey had sent me a simple “Okay” when I asked how today’s audition went.

  With the exception of the day I massaged her shoulders, she was still being short with me.

  I opened my inbox to send her a longer message, but I saw that she’d sent me one first.

  Subject: Yes.

  I just received your newest set of flowers and your note about going on a date tonight…I have a few stipulations, though.

  —Aubrey

  Subject: Re: Yes.

  Name them.

  —Andrew

  She sent a new message.

  Subject: Date.

  I’m allowed to ask you whatever I want and you have to answer truthfully.

  —Aubrey

  Subject: Re: Date.

  I always answer truthfully. Is the word “stipulations” not plural?

  —Andrew

  Subject: Re: Re: Date.

  You have to be a complete gentleman. I don’t want to be fucked in another bathroom…

  What time are you picking me up?

  —Aubrey

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Date.

  I actually wasn’t planning on fucking you tonight, but since you’ve clearly entertained that possibility, I’ll be sure to send a list of potential locations prior to the date.

  Eight o’ clock.

  —Andrew

  I knocked on her door at 7:58, dressed in a black designer suit I’d purchased hours ago.

  There was no answer, and before I could knock again, the door swung open and she stepped out wearing a short black dress that left little to the imagination.

  “Are you aware that it’s still winter?” I trailed my finger along her exposed shoulders. “You’re going to need a coat.”

  She looked behind me. “You took the subway here?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re taking the subway on our date?”

  “The car will come later.” I smiled as confusion spread across her face.

  She grabbed her coat from inside and shut the door, looking up at me. “Do you even know how to use the subway?”

  “Of course I do,” I said, clasping her hand. “I wasn’t always well-off when I lived here…”

  A light snow fell as we made our way to the subway tunnel, and she leaned against me—pressing her body closer to mine. Holiday lights were strung about the tallest buildings—sparkling against the night, and a faint sense of excitement swirled through the air.

  There weren’t that many people out tonight, and as we boarded a nearly empty train, Aubrey laughed at that fact.

  “This is the first time I’ve ever seen a subway like this,” she said. “I usually have to fight for my own tiny space.”

  “Hmmm.” I prevented her from taking a seat, instead making her share a pole with me. “How did your audition really go today? Surely you have more to say about it than okay.”

  “I was crying when I sent that text. I was overwhelmed.”

  I raised my eyebrow.

  “I landed Odette/Odile in Swan Lake—on a professional level.” She looked as if she was about to burst into tears. “I still can’t believe it…All of my dreams are actually coming true.”

  “Maybe you’re meant to play that role…” I wiped a stray tear from her eyes.

  “Maybe.” She leaned closer. “I’m just happy that they’re giving us the next few days off…I think I’ll be able to relax and keep up with the news a bit more. You know, actually have some semblance of a life outside of the dance hall.”

  “You could spend more time with me if you want to take a break. The news in this city is overrated and mostly false.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” I said, looking into her eyes. “I wouldn’t believe half of the shit in any of these papers.”

  She smiled. “Have you heard anything about the huge trial that’s happening this week?”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s more than one.”

  “No…” She shook her head. “Not like this one…”

  I hesitated. “What makes this one so special?”

  “It’s more intriguing than special…It’s about two lawyers who once shared a firm—both of them were big shots, you know? One of them even won against the government in his very first case.”

  “It was probably a lucky break.”


  “I don’t think so.” She looked into my eyes. “I’ve read the transcripts. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the verdict actually affected public policy.”

  I said nothing.

  “But the thing is, he never got credit for his work—outside of word of mouth from people who knew the details, you know?” She paused. “But anyway, from what I’ve read and pieced together, it seems like he was falsely accused of a laundry list of federal charges a few years later.”

  “Aubrey…”

  “It looks like everyone ran with the story—all of the papers, all of the news outlets, and the truth wasn’t filtered until months later, after his name was already tarnished.”

  I stared at her, begging her to stop, but she continued.

  “The charges are still pending against his old partner to this day, that’s just how many there were. But him—this upstanding lawyer with one hell of a track record, he just vanished. Into thin air.”

  “If he was that upstanding, then I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.”

  “Is it?”

  “It is,” I said.

  “I thought that, too…” She searched my eyes for answers. “But I think the guy I’m talking about is capable of anything.”

  “What are the names in this case you’re speaking of?”

  “The accused is Kevin Hart, and the key witness is Liam Henderson.”

  “I’ll google it tonight.” I sighed, not wanting to continue this conversation.

  A voice came over the speakers, announcing our stop, and I took her hand again.

  “I know you made me agree to stipulations,” I said, looking at her as we stepped off, “but can you agree to one of mine?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “Ask me the deep conversation questions after dinner.”

  “Is that where we’re going right now?”

  “No.” I led her up the steps. “I wouldn’t dare. I don’t want you accusing me of treating you like all my other dates.”

  “Does that mean you won’t fuck me at the end?”

  “It means I won’t leave you at the end.”

  She blushed, and I kissed her forehead as we walked through the streets of flashing lights and sparkling billboards.