She deflated when I told her I just want a massive screen and surround-sound system set up in the lobby, the cost charged to me. “I’m not billing you for such a trivial amount. But listen, my dear. Speeches and explanations are boring. You want a victory in the courtroom, striking them where it hurts the most. Always hit below the belt, make them drop to their knees and beg for mercy—which you’ll show none of, of course. Enemies are to be eviscerated, not to be given a second chance to return and take another swing at you.”
I raised my eyebrows. She wasn’t just talking about Viv and Peter—this was life advice. “Oh, this is going to hurt. I promise.”
She tsked. “It better, or I’ll be sorely disappointed in you and take the matter into my own hands. Nobody messes with a Huxley and gets away with it.” Her tone was brusque and businesslike, but the sentiment was anything but.
I smiled, feeling like a general who just received a huge, unexpected reinforcement and support from HQ. “Thank you, Jeremiah.”
“You may call me Mother. Don’t forget—pietas et unitas,” she said, and hung up.
“Do you have everything?” Huxley asks, scanning the lobby.
“Yes.”
“I’m looking forward to this, although I feel like I already got a big present.”
I cock my head curiously. “When?”
“When you called yourself Mrs. Huxley Lasker.”
“Well, obviously. That’s who I am now.” I keep my tone prim, but my lips twitch with a smile.
He kisses my temple, pulling me close. “Look, if this doesn’t work out, it’s okay. I’m still going to get them.”
“Get in line. Your mother offered, too. Something about hitting below the belt and making them drop to their knees.”
He chuckles. “That’s Mom. But I have my own personal revenge planned.”
“You do?”
“See the people there?” He tilts his head. “That’s the crew I use for filming commercials. Half of them are going to livestream this, while the other half are going to record it for posting online everywhere. Since they decided to take it online, why not?”
I blink up at him. “That’s brilliant.” I hug him.
He wraps his arms around me. “I know.”
I laugh at his arrogance, then decide it’s not arrogance if he can back it up.
Murmurs rise when the doors open and Ted and Joey walk in, surrounded by their entourage of thirty or so, consisting of bodyguards and…whoever follows famous Hollywood people around. Ted is in a button-down shirt and slacks, a stylish cream fedora on his head. The hat would look over-the-top on any man who can’t strut à la Ted. He could teach a peacock a thing or two.
Joey, meanwhile, is in a movie-poster T-shirt—one of Ted’s—and dark slacks. His hair is practically vertical; he probably ran his fingers through it one too many times, and now it looks like an orange flame.
“My daughter!” Ted announces dramatically as he spreads his arms open and hugs me. He air-kisses both my cheeks. “So. I heard you wanted me?”
“Yes,” I say, laughing.
“You don’t know how much it delights me to hear it. I really should’ve had seven girls, rather than seven boys.”
Huxley shakes his head. “And you would’ve made at least seven therapists very wealthy.”
“Wealthy? They would’ve become impoverished because there wouldn’t be any need formeto see them!”
When it was just me and Huxley, people were glancing at us surreptitiously—they’ve likely seen Viv’s ridiculous post with over a thousand comments. But now that Ted is in the group, people openly stare and pull out their phones. Many linger, rather than leaving. Some are probably gathering the courage to approach the man.
The huge contemporary clock embedded in the wall facing the main street chimes noon. Lawyers and other professionals start to trickle out of the elevators for lunch.
Showtime. I go to the security desk and insert a USB stick into the AV system control, then hit play.
The screen comes on. A man and woman roll around in my old bedroom, their clothes strewn around them. In the upper-left corner is a nightstand with a framed photo of me and Mom on it. It’s obvious the room doesn’t belong to the couple.
