“Nothing,” I say. “I’ve never claimed to be a good person.”
Silence.
“You haven’t mentioned any of this when we’re on the phone…” I try to lower the temperature. “What’s changed?”
She sighs. “Would you ever defend a murderer?”
“An alleged murderer, you mean?”
“No,” she says. “Someone who you know committed a murder.”
“It depends on why they did it.”
Her face pales.
“You asked. I answered.”
“I don’t think I can be with someone who thinks that way,” she says. “Someone who would willingly defend someone who’s killed before.”
“Just because someone is accused of something doesn’t mean they did it.” I push my plate away. “That’s literally the first lesson they teach in defense law. Feel free to watch some courtroom dramas if it’ll help you.”
“I think my dad has had people killed before.” Her voice cracks. “Certain people who used to work for him when I was younger just suddenly disappeared or went missing.”
“Maybe they found new jobs.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Her eyes are watery. “I was thinking today about how I could never reach them again when they quit, and that maybe—he got away with it so often that he probably kept going.”
“There’s this thing called attorney-client privilege.” I glare at her. “Do you know what the hell that means?”
“He’s a bad person, and you’re a fucking terrible person if you help him in any way.”
“I don’t recall your father being charged with murder, Scarlett.” I shrug. “Where is this coming from?”
“Here.” She pulls an envelope from her pocket and tosses it across the table.
It’s my fucking personal mail with his potential upcoming charges laid out in black and white.
“Good people don’t open other people’s mail.” I can’t believe she opened my shit. “You’ve officially lost any standing on your fake moral high ground.”
“I can’t be with you if you represent my father.”
“You think I’d give up an eight-figure client for you?” I hiss. “Because of your feelings?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Oh.” I lean back. “You do think that, don’t you?”
Her expression says it all.
“Well, I won’t, because contrary to your non-fucking legal brain, there are these things called ‘evidence’ and ‘trial,’ and you have to get through those before you get to a not guilty verdict.”
“I’m sure my father is guilty of other terrible things.”
“You’re not a lawyer or a juror, Scarlett.” My blood is boiling. “Sometimes the guilty people get set free and the innocentpeople get convicted. Sometimes it takes men like me to make the system balance for all the mistakes it made in the past.”
“So, that’s what you’re doing by helping people like my dad?” She grits her teeth. “Evening the scales until you feel like the system has paid you back?”
“It’s not about me.” I glare at her. “And last time I checked, I don’t have to answer to you.”
