Page 106 of This Reckless Home

I think about my mother, quietly gathering evidence for years, instructing her lawyer to continue to do the same after she died. I think about her protecting me from the grave.

I pull my laptop towards me, open it, bring up the email from a journalist from The New York Times who wanted an interview a couple of years ago.

I hit reply, but don’t write anything, not yet. I sit with the blank screen and the weight of what I’m about to do.

Wilson always told me that the outside world doesn’t need to know our business, not unless it would further our name, and this journalist wasn’t interested in that. They wanted to explore some project Wilson had been part of where the facts didn’t add up. Wilson vetoed the interview of course.

I was in agreement, I didn’t want the kids to suffer any backlash, any bad press. They’ve been through enough.

But sometimes things change.

Sometimes your world needs to be burned to the ground so something new and pure can rise from the ashes.

Sometimes light needs to be shone on the dark places, exposing them to the world and forcing people to face the consequences of their actions.

I place my fingers on the keys, and start typing.

“LET IT BE - LONG VERSION FROM THE MOTION PICTURE ACROSS THE UNIVERSE” BY CAROL WOODS, TIMOTHY T. MITCHUM

STEELE

Days pass and no fucking news from Dwight. He told us to be patient, that it would take time, most likely weeks. But being stuck in these cages of fucking concrete is making my skin itch.

We’re at the table we’ve claimed in the corner near the TV, the few others in general milling around, the low murmur of chatter over the top of some daytime news program. I’m shuffling a deck of cards, there really is fuck all to do with your day in here other than play cards and shoot shit, when a name coming from the TV catches my attention.

Blossom Devonshire…

My head comes up before my brain catches up, and I see the moment Blossom, our fucking Flower, comes onto a small platform, mics in front of her, cameras flashing.

“Ant, Nox.” My words are clipped, and I nod at the TV when they look at me. Nox’s chair scraps as he turns it slightly to get a better look.

“Hey, turn it up,” Ant calls, and the guy with the remote does.

She looks stunning, but not quite like herself. A dark navy knee length skirt with matching sleeveless blouse, gold jewelry, hair perfect in an updo and a light coat of make-up make her look like the rich heiress she is. But it’s all armor, the public version of Blossom from the gala that night. Not the mother of wayward kids.

The headline scrolling along the bottom of the screen catches my attention.

BREAKING: Business magnate's daughter speaks out over false arrest of three men

My body goes still, my stomach clenching as I look back at her beautiful face and watch her lips part.

“My name is Blossom Devonshire. My father is Wilson Devonshire, a man many of you will know as a successful businessman and philanthropist. I'm here today because three innocent men are sitting in a jail cell in Augusta County because my father used his connections in the police department to have them falsely arrested on manufactured charges.”

All the breath leaves my lungs, the cards in my hands forgotten as her words hit me.

“These men — Anatole Reed, Steele Vaughn and Nox Kane — have committed no crime. They are good men. They are part of my family. And my father had them arrested because he wanted to control me, and he has never once in his life faced a consequence for anything he has done.”

“Shit,” Nox whispers, goosebumps peppering across my skin as she names us and what her father has done publicly, for the whole fucking world to see.

“I have documentation — gathered over decades — of my father's pattern of corruption. Of financial and emotional abuse. Of using his wealth and connections to make problems disappear. I am turning that documentation over to the relevant authorities today.

“I am also calling for an independent investigation into the conduct of the officers involved in the arrest, specifically the use of unnecessary force and the use of racially motivated language during the arrest of two of these men.”

I see Nox freeze at that, his lips parting as he stares at the screen, as she names what was done to us that night. My jaw tightens at the memory.

“My father told me the outside world doesn't need to know our business. He was wrong. Sunlight is the best disinfectant. And I am done letting him operate in the dark.”

My hands flatten on the table, my eyes glued to the screen as my lungs expand, and her promise flows over me like a soothing balm on a wound.