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“Was it Mrs. Callahan?” I asked.
“No. Ms. Callahan,” he replied. “Mrs. Callahan won’t call until you’re ready.”
Frowning, I shifted. “Are you trying to be vague on purpose?”
“No. Is there something you’d like me to clarify, ma’am?”
“Seriously? You’ve got like thirty years on me. Just call me Ivy. Enough of this Ms. O’Davoren or ma’am—”
“You still haven’t gotten it,” he stated, never once looking up. “You are no longer just Ivy.”
“No, I get it, the Callahan family is rich and powerful and you don’t want to upset them. But I’m not—”
“Not wanting to upset them?” He finally put his phone down and looked back at me. He looked like he was thinking it over for a moment before nodding. “You’re right. Offending them is dangerous. However, that isn’t why either I or Thomas here address you as we do. It isn’t why you were suddenly protected in there…that wasn’t fear, it was respect.”
“Respect?” My lips turned up out of a mixture of amusement and shock.
He nodded seriously. “Seven years…that’s how long you’ve been in prison. Whatever the reason, being so young, that is a tragedy…I’m sure just one of many in your life. And while you may feel like you have the worst, you do not. There are many people just like you. People cheated, victimized, abused, forgotten, the list goes on. Why? Because the world isn’t black or white. Sometimes you need to do bad to do good and worse to do even better. The Callahans made themselves the worst. The money, the fame, the power, was built on blood and bones. Why? Because no one else could do it. And in doing so, a kid who grew up living in Chicago’s most ghetto neighborhood, with an abusive father and junkie for a mother, came out of prison, with a full ride to college, where he became a lawyer. In doing so, helped other kids, kids no one even looked twice at, get reduced sentences, off death row, a second chance at life. So when I say you are not just Ivy, I’m saying you are now part of a family, that yes, has hurt many people, most deserving, some debatable, and surely helping many more. Anything you’d like to add, Thomas?”
The driver just shrugged. “They ain’t sent me to any college or anything. And I’ve heard things…but…” He met my eyes in the rear-view mirror again. “After what they did for my kids, I’d die if they needed me to.”
“Sounds like a cult. They take care of you and your family so you’d give up your life,” I muttered to myself, feeling ganged up on. The Callahans…I’d heard things too.
“By that definition, any government aid in America is also a cult.”
I sulked at him. “You’re definitely a lawyer, all right.”
They both smiled at my obvious loss and said nothing more. I closed my eyes for what I thought was only a second. The car came to a stop, and Mr. Barrow was calling me again.
“Ms. O’Davoren.”
I scowled, opening one eye.
“We’re here.” He nodded to his left.
Looking out the window, I saw the glass doors of a very fancy looking hotel. Sitting up, he stepped out of the passenger side, Thomas already standing outside. He didn’t open the door until Mr. Barrow made it to my side. Stepping out, the first thing I felt was the harsh wind, like ice pricking through me. Wrapping my arms around myself, I just watched as the valet took the keys of the Bentley in front of us and parked it near three Lamborghinis.
“Follow me. Don’t make eye contact with anyone,” Mr. Barrow stated, walking up the red carpet, and I did as he directed, but once we stepped into the warmth of the cream and gold marble lobby with a massive chandelier hanging above us, I couldn’t help but whisper.
“What are we doing here?”
He didn’t answer…so much for answering my questions.
I felt like a rat that had entered a five-star kitchen. People, not just any people, people who wore diamonds the size of doorknobs around their figures, stared at me confused as we walked toward the elevators. Mr. Barrow said nothing. He didn’t even look fazed as we waited for the elevator.
“Good morning.” A bellboy dressed in black and gold scared the shit out of me when the doors opened.
“What floor?” he asked, looking at Mr. Barrow when we entered, pretending not to notice me.
“Penthouse,” he replied, handing him a black card, which the bellboy used to swipe the reader before pushing the button.
“Thank you, sir.” The bellboy handed the card to him.
Mr. Barrow didn’t reply.
The ride was silent and fast. We went from the lobby all the way to the top in less than a few seconds, and when the doors opened, we came face-to-face with two men dressed in black suits, standing in front of the suite.
Mr. Barrow stepped out first and then moved for me to get off.
