“So, your mother’s case was reopened five years ago.”
He held up a piece of paper that I couldn't read, but I knew it was sitting in an attachment file in an email he'd sent seconds before calling. "After an appeal that took about six months—"
“Six months?”
“Yeah, it never ceases to amaze me how fast the justice system works when you’re rich and white. No offense, man.” He quickly added.
None was taken. Dev was right. I was once an angry teenager with parents who could afford to get me out of trouble. I was also aware the color of my skin got me the benefit of the doubt more times than I probably deserved. RJ and I got two very differenthow to deal with law enforcementtalks from our dad.
“So,” he continued, “after six months, her conviction was overturned—”
“Overturned?”
"Keep interrupting, mate, and you sort this shit out on your own," he said in a low clipped tone.
I nodded, and he continued.
“Her conviction was overturned due to new evidence that the prosecution didn’t have during her first trial.” He flipped through papers again.
Dev's revelation made my head spin. Crystal had lied to me again. She said she'd gotten early parole. I thought she was breaking the law when she left the state, another reason I was pissed at her.
"One of the witnesses that ID'd her at the scene recanted, and she had an alibi for the night of the robbery."
Bull-fucking-shit. She did that shit. She told me as much.
“You’re gonna tell me that you didn’t know any of this?” Dev asked.
“No, I was still in school when she got out. I thought she’d fled parole when she moved down here.”
“Looks like your dad wrote Bryce Cameron a giant check and told him to get your mum out of prison. And it looks like Bryce delivered.”
The woman I recognized from her photo on Dev's phone walked into the frame wearing with her long dark locks piled into a bun on the top of her head, reminding me of the way Lisa sometimes styled hers. She was holding a steaming mug and wore black leggings and a Ravenclaw t-shirt. My eyes went to Dev, and I noticed he was wearing a matching Slytherin shirt. I made a mental note to order Hufflepuff shirts for Lisa and me.
She set the mug on the desk next to Dev and ruffled his hair.
“Don’t stay up too late, eh?” she said to him before planting a kiss on his cheek. She looked into the screen of the computer and waved at me, smiling. I waved back, returning her smile.
"Cole," Dev said with the proud grin I'd seen on his face a lot these days. "This is my better half, Manjula." He slipped his hand into hers and brushed his thumb lightly across her knuckles. "Mani, this is one from the handful of people I can tolerate at the office."
“Hello, Cole.” Her face spread into the brilliant grin I recognized from her picture, in response to Dev’s introduction.
“Hi,” I responded. “Has this guy beaten you at chess yet?”
"Ha," she said, still grinning. "He wishes." She looked at Dev, and he brought her hand to his lips. "I'm going to bed," she whispered before bending down to press a kiss to Dev's temple. His head followed her as she walked out of the frame, and I heard the door close with a soft click.
“Gotta go, mate.” He grinned at the camera.
"Thanks, man," I said. He nodded, and the screen went black. I missed Lisa even more.
The houseI stood in was much larger than Vanessa's and more ominous. It was colder and darker, and I felt uneasy.
"If you'll follow me," a middle-aged Black man led me down a corridor on the ground floor to a large room with giant windows that were covered by heavy dark curtains. The room was sparsely decorated. There was a king-sized hospital bed flanked by beeping machines and IV bags. A few people in scrubs milled around, but the place was eerily quiet.
My escort beckoned me closer to the bed, and I followed him, finally taking a seat in a large, plush, high-backed chair. The figure in the bed looked frail. He reminded me of a zombie mannequin at a haunted house. There were tubes in his nose and tubes running from his arms connected to the IVs.
“Mr. Welles?” the man called to the figure in the bed. “Your grandson is here.”
I bristled at the word grandson. This man left my mother's corpse on the side of a mountain road to protect himself from embarrassment. That wasn't someone I would call family.
