Page 68 of One of Us Is Guilty

Famous Manhattan Lawyer’s Daughter Caught in Drug and Alcohol Disaster

I clicked on it.

The article was from a gossip Substack and it referenced numerous posts on X, Facebook and Instagram from what looked like a mixture of bot accounts and social-media trolls.

There were hundreds of posts, all with that same picture.

And something else.

A link to another gossip column.

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER. BOOZY NY ELITE LAWYER EDDIE FLYNN COMES TO THE AID OF HIS DRUNKEN DAUGHTER IN ILLEGAL NIGHT OF DEBAUCHED DRINKING!

This was from theDaily Post.

An online news site.

Owned by Julian Vanderpool.

‘I’m just going to text Keisha—’ said Amy.

I snatched the phone out of her hand.

‘Dad?’

‘Eddie? What the hell?’ cried Christine.

‘Don’t let her see your phone,’ I said as I ran out of the ward. Harry was standing in the hallway outside. His face contorted in disgust as he stared at his phone. His head shot up when he heard me running toward him.

Denise must have sent him the same message.

‘Thanks, Harry. I’m sorry. Ask Denise to pick you up,’ I said as I ran past him.

‘Eddie! Eddie! Don’t do it! Stop!’

He kept calling out, even as I ran past the bank of elevators and took the stairs, fast as I could, down two flights and then out the side doors to my car.

By the time I pulled up on the corner, the brakes were burning and beginning to fail on the Mustang. And there was a terrible smell from the clutch. I think I might have burned it out snatching fourth gear from first after that last set of lights.

I got out, popped the trunk, took a straight tire iron from the hidden well beneath the trunk floor and slid it up inside the sleeve of my jacket. I held the steel head in my palm, closed the trunk and turned the corner.

The two guys who I’d first seen accompanying Voss stood either side of the front door. They were wearing the same black overcoats. The same black luxury SUV was parked in front of them at the curb.

The blond guy with the scar running through his hair was closest to me. I was coming up on his left side, and kept close to the building to block the view of his pal. The blond guy heard my footsteps, turned toward me.

For a moment, he was confused.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. He hadn’t been asked to come get me. This was a picture that really didn’t make any sense.

His stance widened and he spun toward me as I sprinted the last ten feet and dropped my right shoulder so it hit him square in the chest, full speed. A hundred and eight-five pounds of pissed-off father knocked the wind straight out of him.

He went down hard, and it was lucky for me he was so solid because I just bounced off and didn’t go down with him. His buddy, the stocky body builder with a bad steroid rash got his hands up, ready to fight.

I opened my left land.

Let gravity fill it with the handle of my tire iron.

His eyes widened as I swung it up, over my head, and he raised his arms to block it as I stepped forward.