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Detective Stark takes my phone from my hand.
“Will I get that back? I have essential contacts that I’d hate to lose.”
“You’ll get it back,” she says. “Someday.” She looks at her watch. “So, is there anything else you’d like to say, while we’re waiting for your lawyer?”
“My apologies, Detective. Please don’t take my silence personally. First off, I’ve never been very gifted with small talk and when I’m forced to make it, I often say the wrong thing. Second, I’m aware of my right to remain silent and so I’ll begin employing it immediately.”
“Fine,” she says. “Have it your way.”
After what seems like an unholy eternity, there’s a loud knock on the door.
“This should be interesting,” Detective Stark says, rising from her chair and opening the door.
It’s Mr. Preston, in civilian dress. I’ve rarely seen him out of his doorman’s cap and coat. He’s wearing a perfectly pressed blue shirt and dark jeans. There’s a woman with him dressed much more formally in a tailored navy suit, carrying a black leather briefcase. Her short, curly hair is perfectly coiffed. Her dark-brown eyes immediately give away who she is because they’re so much like her father’s.
I stand to greet them. “Mr. Preston,” I say, barely able to contain my relief at seeing them. I move a bit too quickly and hit my hip bone on the table. It smarts, but it doesn’t stop the surge of words that flows from my mouth. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. It’s just that I’ve been accused of some terrible things. I’ve never harmed anyone, never touched a drug in my life, and the only time I’ve ever held a weapon was—”
“Molly, I’m Charlotte,” Mr. Preston’s daughter says, interrupting me. “It’s my professional advice that you remain silent at this time. Oh. And it’s very nice to meet you. My dad has told me a lot about you.”
“One of you better be an attorney, or I’m going to lose it,” Detective Stark says.
Charlotte steps forward, her sharp heels clacking loudly on the cold, industrial floor. “That would be me, Charlotte Preston, of Billings, Preston & García,” she says, flicking a business card to the detective.
“Dear girl,” Mr. Preston says to me. “We’re here now, so don’t you worry about a thing. This is all just a big—”
“Dad,” Charlotte says.
“Sorry, sorry,” he replies, and zips his mouth shut.
“Molly, do you agree to be represented by me?”
I don’t say a word.
“Molly?” she prods.
“You instructed me not to speak. Should I speak now?”
“My apologies. I wasn’t clear. You can speak, just not anythingrelating to the charges lain. Let me ask you again: do you agree to be represented by me?”
“Oh yes, that would be most helpful,” I say. “Can we discuss a payment plan at a more convenient time?”
Mr. Preston coughs into his hand.
“I’d offer you a tissue, Mr. Preston, but I’m afraid I don’t have one on me.” I eye Detective Stark, who is shaking her head.
“Please don’t worry about payment right now. Let’s just concentrate on getting you out of here,” Charlotte says.
“You realize that to release her you’ve got to post bail of $800,000. Now, let me see…” Detective Stark says as she puts her index finger to her lips, “I think that’s just a spot above a maid’s earnings and assets, am I right?”
“You’re right, Detective,” Charlotte says. “Maids and doormen are often underpaid and undervalued. But litigators? We do all right. Better than detectives, so I’m told. I’ve personally posted bail with the clerk out front.” She smiles at Detective Stark. I can say with one hundred percent certainty that it’s not a friendly smile.
Charlotte turns to me. “Molly,” she says. “I’ve arranged for you to have a bail hearing later this morning. I’m not allowed to represent you there, but I’ve filed some letters already on your behalf.”
“Letters?” I ask.
“Yes, from my father, who has provided a character statement, and from me, saying I’ll post your bail. If all goes well, you’ll be released this afternoon.”
“Really?” I ask. “Is it that simple? I’ll be released and this will be over?” I look from her to Mr. Preston.
