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I nod, but swallow hard.
Moving. Working for Camilla. Making appearances and doing design projects for the festival. Co-hosting and all that it entails. Avoiding Theo, which the above stuff isn’t allowing me to do.
It’s a lot. But it’s all for a worthy cause, not the least of which is to add viability to my future branding career. “I’ll keep doing what I can,” I tell her.
And I will. I’ve always wanted this—to be involved in the inner workings of one of the happiest parts of my childhood. Besides, it’s planting good seeds, positive vibes.
I just hope I don’t lose my head in the process.
I also hope that Theo and I suddenly becoming this season’s “It Couple” doesn’t complicate things even more.
Chapter 11
Theo
I make my last moving trip of the day, in our first real snowstorm of the season, over to the new office building. It’s not ideal to move my office stuff in my BMW because there is not a lot of room. And to be honest, I don’t like driving it in the heavy snow. But I’ve carried all the boxes to my new office. And my pant cuffs that are wet from slipping in the snow will eventually dry, right?
My BMW is vintage, and I put a rebuilt engine in it. Buying a brand new, or even a used but fully functioning Beemer so early in my career? Ludicrous. But cars are my thing, specifically taking cars that used to be beautiful and making them beautiful again. Everything deserves a second chance. Heck, everyonedeserves a second chance, right?
Except Marty Fleming.
Marty Fleming is a dirt bag.
I’m not in the legal profession to help scum bags get off scot-free. I’m in the legal profession because I like to argue, in a controlled way, and because my mom was forced to quit her legal career far too early. I’m hoping my work can honor what she started out doing long ago. And the variety of cases at a small-town firm makes me feel like I am doing the worthwhile things my mom would have done if she’d been able to continue in the field.
Also? I’ll be super transparent. Another reason I practice law: I don’t like being poor.
Doing pro bono work, one of a handful of charity cases that Weatherby takes on every year because he’s a decent human being, is okay. I like the money that the bigger family law stuff brings in, of course. But helping people in need has its own rewards.
When it’s pro bono work for the likes of Fleming, however, it grates at my every last nerve.
This is our second meeting. The first one was in the county jail, and even though we’ve only just gotten started, his trial is in less than a month and we’ve got a lot to do.
“So, why don’t you tell me the story one more time? And don’t leave anything out.”
He stares at my desk. He’s got hat hair, an indented rim around his sandy-colored hair from the baseball cap he’s just removed. “I didn’t leave anything out before.”
“I have to make sure, you know.”
Marty nods. “I took the money from my boss’s personal safe. I’d found a slip of paper on the floor with his combination written on it about a week before. I didn’t know what it was at first, and I’m not sure why I kept it. But it dawned on me it could be the combo to his safe. Tried it out, and it opened. So I took the money. Not all of it. Just what I could grab.” He clenches his jaw and runs a hand through his hair. “Had it in my car for two days. Couldn’t stand it anymore, so I put it back. But my boss’s assistant walked in. He thought I was taking it, not putting it back.”
My insides begin to boil. I can’t get invested in this, but the minute I stop caring about the person I’m working with is when I should give up the job and go do something else. At least that’s what my favorite professor in law school always said.
And I’m trying to care. I am. It’s just that he’s giving off vibes that don’t sit right with me.
“And how long ago did you abandon your family?” I ask.
I’ve got my face trained on my tablet, ready to fill in whatever answer he’s going to give me. But I can see from the corner of my eye that his head has shot up in surprise at the question.
“I—” he stammers. “I guess I left the house two and a half months before I took the money. But what does that have to do with—”
“It has everything to do with it.” I set down the tablet and stare at him. “The judge is going to see you as more than a guy who steals money from his employer, okay? It’s going to look like more than a crime of opportunity. He’s going to see you as the dregs of society. You walk out on your wife and kids, don’t give them any money. Your wife has to get another job, your oldest son has to forgo his plans for college so he can work and help support the family. All for what? So you can steal and then go to jail, leaving them even more desperate?”
He sighs and nods his head. “Yeah. Okay. I can see what you mean. My wife and I…we haven’t been in a good place for a year or more. I didn’t want to leave. It just got to the point where I felt like I had no other choice. So I got an apartment.”
“There’s always a choice. You can clean up. Get help for the drinking. Enroll in some financial planning classes. There are always things you can do. You don’t have to skip town and go on your merry way, leaving your wife to put back the pieces. I heard you haven’t given her a single dime since you left or since the arrest.”
“What’s your problem, man?” He stares at me a moment, his mouth in a hard line, before he shoots out a breath and rubs his nose with his thumb.
