Page 125 of Saints & Sailors

I followed Rick out of the cell and over to an interrogation room. He gripped the knob of the thick black door and faced me, assessing me. “Let’s hope this works out.”

He opened the door and the first thing I noticed was who was sitting at the metal table in the room.

René St. Julien.

I could tell he had just gotten off work. His jacket was gone, and the long sleeves on his designer dress shirt were pulled up to his elbows. He had paperwork out on his side of the table as well as a tablet. End of the day or not, he was still prepared to put in work.

Something in my chest throbbed and I knew why he was here.

Guilt was quick to set in as I approached the table, moved around René, and took a seat across from him.

He looked up from his research and studied me, his hazel eyes doing a silent sweep from my waist on up. When he got to my brown eyes, he just stared, face impassive.

“Hi,” I let out, my voice low and weak.

René smirked and propped his arms onto the table, leaning into them. “Hello, Saylor.” He eyed his papers. “I’ve been going over your case and this is quite the predicament you’ve landed yourself in. I mean, let’s face it, you’re fucked.”

Even my own counsel didn’t see an out for me.

“Okay,” I accepted my fate.

René sighed and sank back in his chair. “Let’s cut to the chase. I haven’t been the greatest father. I’m far from perfect. What I lack in my personal life, I more than make up for in my career. I make a lot of money.”

René listed these things off matter-of-factly, detached almost. And then he frowned, deeply.

“My son has never asked me for anything, despite my having the means to give him whatever he desires. He could bleed me dry, but he doesn’t. He’d rather do it on his own, or ask his mother.” René peered over at me, his lips twitching to smile. “We both know why I’m here.”

No matter how Dreux felt about his father, he’d put his pride aside and reached out…because of me.

Sniffling, I looked away and could only nod.

“Hey,” René spoke gently, gathering my focus once more. “He believes in your innocence, so please, don’t embarrass him.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

René accepted this answer as he sat up and gathered a stack of papers. “Good news? So far, we’re looking at constructive possession instead of actual possession. The drugs weren’t on your person, but they were in your locker.”

“Is that less harsh?” I asked.

“It’s still pretty bad, but it’s not like you were caught red-handed,” René responded. “This can go a couple of ways. If you plead guilty, because you’re a first-time offender, we can get you into a probationary program through the First Offender Act. Your record will be sealed and there will be no conviction on it.”

It was a way out. A way to avoid prison time. But I wouldn’t take it.

“I’m not guilty,” I spoke strongly and adamantly.

René set his papers aside and regarded me. “Let’s talk about how the drugs got into your locker, Saylor.”

I didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know.”

“Dreux says he walked you to your homeroom and you never even stopped at your locker,” René said.

“That’s literally what happened,” I agreed. “That Friday before break I left some books and a hoodie in my locker, and that’s it. I never even saw the weed or touched it.”

René sat and clicked on the end of his pen, ruminating on the situation and the picture I’d painted. “Do you think you were set up?”

It was the only explanation that made sense, but still. “I’m not sure how. I don’t bother anyone.”

“You haven’t made any enemies since moving to Meadow Grove?” René pressed, searching for a loophole.