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Prologue.
2013
Jacon Edwards.
Isat at my desk, wondering what the hell had happened to my roommate. The little idiot had been missing for forty-eight hours, and I was considering reporting him.
It was a beautiful summer’s day, and most of the class had been out on a boozy weekend. Whereas I had stayed in the dorms and studied. The finals were soon, and no way was I going to waste time drinking when I needed to study. This was my final year in med school.
In September, I started at the hospital that my dad worked out, following in the footsteps of my four brothers and two sisters. Although I was the youngest, being a doctor was in my blood. So Father said. Honestly, I’d craved something different. But no, Dad being a leading heart surgeon and even an attending doctor for the President of the United States, meant medical was my route. Even if it wasn’t my dream job. And while it came easy to me, I wasn’t interested. I wanted something special. Something to challenge me in new ways.
Bored, I bent my head to rest on the books. Nothing less than perfect marks would appease my father.
Deep into studying, an hour later, I nearly fell off the chair when boots kicked the door in, and armed police burst in.
“What the hell!” I exclaimed.
Two cops leapt and wrestled me to the floor as a poorly dressed detective entered.
“Son, you’re under arrest for dealing,” he said. He dropped a warrant in front of my face and opened my closet.
“Hey, I’m no drug dealer. What the fuck are you doing?” I yelled.
“We’ll add resisting arrest if you keep struggling,” he warned.
I watched as the cop banged around in the closet and suddenly knocked a panel loose. The blood drained from my face as he pulled a bag out of the hidden space.
“That’s not mine!”
“Ain’t that what all you little gang bangers say?” the detective sneered and opened it. My life flashed before me as I saw the packs of cocaine stuffed inside.
“I’ll kill that fuck!” I swore as the detective grinned. “That ain’t mine. It’s my roommate’s. No wonder the bastard ain’t been home!”
“Keep the story up. It’s what you people do.”
I bristled at the slur aimed at my black skin and shut my mouth apart from one sentence.
“I want a lawyer and my phone call.”
???
Six months later, I stood outside the shithole that had been my torment. What a surprise, nobody from my family was here to meet me. Despite protests of innocence, I’d been charged and arraigned. Father had gone ape shit, even though I kept yelling I was innocent. Luckily, I had savings and hired a private eye to hunt my roommate down. It had been that one man who’d saved my ass from being locked up for life.
None of my family visited after I’d been charged. Father publicly disowned me, even though he knew I was no dealer. Well, fuck them all. Not even one of my brothers or sisters bothered to contact me. The last time I’d seen my dad, he’d yelled I should have known my roommate was a drug addict, and he was ashamed of me. Fine. My savings paid for the private eye and also for a new lawyer.
Now I was finally free and vindicated. But the hurt didn’t stop. The deep-seated pain that Dad and the family could turn so quickly. Even being aware of my innocence didn’t matter to them. Well, that misery wanted an outlet. The humiliation and shame I’d been forced to feel was a bitter pill to swallow. Now I channelled it into something useful. The detective who’d arrested me had a civil suit pending against him as he’d fumbled some of the investigation due to me being black and clearly guilty. Not.
The lawyer filed against the university, police station, the prison for the beating I’d received twice over, and against the state. My lawyer hit them all with multiple charges, from racial profiling and hate crimes to wrongful arrest. I’d fuck everyone over and make sure my name hit the papers as an innocent man. My goddamned family didn’t want shaming? Fuck them; I’d show them shame. And how a shitty family treated an innocent man because of their reputation.
Anger burned deep inside of me, and I wanted vengeance. And I’d damn well have it. I marched towards a man who I knew to be a reporter, and a genuine smile lit up my face. Time to make the news.
Chapter One.
Jacon. July 2016
I’d toured the country for several years. Because, oh boy, did I get several large payouts from my lawsuits. Plenty to allow me to roam where I wished and to live on for the rest of my life without working. But today, I was restless and sat in a bar in Rapid City after attending the Sturgis bike rally. It wasn’t the first time I had found myself feeling unsettled recently.
Sadly, I’d not had contact with my family since the media picked up my tale, and they came out looking like the worst bunch of elite snobs to walk the earth. My father had been hammered for not standing by his innocent son. The newspapers had torn his reputation to shreds, and I’d revelled in it. As bitter as that might sound, it vindicated my six months in prison, alone and unloved.
