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“The vegetable. It’s used in a lot of Asian cuisine. You know what, hang on, I’ll figure out where we can stop?—”
Just then, my phone rings. I glance down, and my jaw tightens.
It’s Jason, Judge Myers’ clerk.
“Trevor, could I have a minute?”
“You got it, Mr. Black.”
He raises the partition between us as I answer the phone, grinning.
“Tell me you’ve got good news.”
Jason chuckles. “That I do. I’m on the move so I haven’t had a chance to look at the goodies myself. But the un-redacted files hit the judge’s desk an hour ago. I just sent them by courier to your house.”
I glance at my watch.
“Fantastic. I’m on the way there now. Thanks, Jason. Really. I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do,” he chuckles. “You agree to hear my idea for cash bond reform when you’re in the Governor’s mansion, and we’ll call it even.”
“You bet. And thanks.”
I’m just stepping out of the car outside my place when the guy on the bike rolls up. Fuck it, I can get bok choy later. These require my signature and mine alone. I sign for the documents and immediately rip open the sealed bag, sitting on the steps of my building as I yank the documents out and start paging through my nuclear weapon.
Fucking hell, it’s good.
There are details about the campaign staffer Governor Hall had the affair with, and the fallout of after she threatened to go public. Internal emails between Hall and his campaign manager about paying her off, discussing how much to give her. There’s even a really fucked-up exchange where his campaign manager starts questioning the legitimacy of her parents’ immigrant status. One particularly vile exchange jokes about having her “taken care of by a professional”.
I mean fuck me, Hall is going down for this shit.
A dark, devious smile crosses my face. This is it: the atom bomb that’s going to destroy Hall’s reelection campaign.
I’m going to win.
A warm, smug feeling washes over me. Then I flip to the last page, where the allegations against Hall are completely dismissed, and the female staffer in question is officially fired from the campaign.
My eyes drop to the bottom of the page, where this woman who had the affair with Governor Hall willingly signed her own dismissal.
And my whole world crumbles.
It’s a signature I’ve signed my name next to as the lead attorney on a dozen cases.
It’s the signature next to mine on my fucking marriage license.
The teenaged campaign staffer was Fumi.
“Hey!”
The way she smiles at me as I charge into the kitchen almost rips me in two. But it also brings to the surface a fury that turns my skin to napalm, turning to ash whatever happy little domestic thoughts I had in my head just twenty minutes ago.
Those are all gone now. There’s only burning anger and hatred remaining.
It’s not just that she had an affair with that motherfucker. It’s not just that every shred of evidence in the file in my hand points to her trying to shake Hall down when he tried to end things. I mean, yes, obviously cheating on your wife with a nineteen-year-old employee makes you a piece of shit. But it’s not illegal.
Lying about being assaulted sure is, though. So is asking for money in exchange for your silence. It’s called blackmail.
I stare fixedly at the back of Fumi’s head as she hums to herself and stirs something on the stovetop.
