TAINTED EVIDENCE (N.):
IN A CRIMINAL TRIAL, INFORMATION WHICH HAS BEEN OBTAINED BY ILLEGAL MEANS OR HAS BEEN TRACED THROUGH EVIDENCE ACQUIRED BY ILLEGAL SEARCH AND/OR SEIZURE.
JAMESON
The best liars in this world are the ones who don’t know they’re lying.
They’re so committed to the role they’re playing that they actually believe they’ve become someone else. And no matter how many times you try to show them reality, they refuse to take off their masks.
They’re incapable of stepping off the stage.
“Scarlett Winters,” though?
She’s a fuckingterribleliar.
And her real last name is apparently “Hunter” like her father’s…
The slight clench of her jaw, the flash of “please believe me” in her irises, and the soft stutter before she serves certain sentences—her lying is some of the most obvious I’ve ever seen.
What’s different about her lying is the timing—the way her bombs drop in the silence and derail the peaceful ride that came before.
I’m now convinced that she just frolics through life lying for fun.
She’s not even getting paid for it.
I look over at where her father—my client—is staring at her and try to mentally rewind the words he just said. To see if maybe—just maybe—I misheard them.
“She’s my daughter…”
“Is this my karma of some sort?” I ask. “I’ve heard it doesn’t usually work this fast.”
“Huh?” Lucas looks at me. “What did you say, Mr. Tate?”
“I was talking to myself out loud,” I say. “Ignore me.”
He shoots me a confused look before returning his attention to Scarlett.
“Now isn’t a good time for us to talk,” he says to her. “I’m meeting with a special lawyer about some business, and I’m sure you can see that…”
“Yes.” Her cheeks flush red as she trails off. “I can see that.”
“Well, leave us to it then.” He flicks his wrist, flashing a million-dollar watch that looks similar to one of mine. “I’ll deal with you once we’re finished here.”
As will I…
She stands still, not moving.
“Scarlett.” He narrows his eyes at her. “Leave the room so we can start our meeting.”
“I was hoping I could stay—to maybe help?” She slightly stutters. “Since I’ll be a part of the family business someday, I can take notes.”
“That’ll be years from now.” His expression softens, but he walks to the door and opens it. “Out.”
She shoots an “I’m so sorry” look at me before leaving the room.
Her father locks the door.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “My daughter can be quite unpredictable at times.”
