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I knew it was going to be tough listening to the audio; after all, someone was trying to kill me, but nothing prepared me for the emotional avalanche that hit me when I heard the words uttered while my brain was running a visual montage of the man uttering the words, and visuals of the man he was talking about . . . the man who wanted me dead: that man being my father.
There’s a lot for us to discuss, and decipher, and figure out, but right now, all I want to do is lay my head on Tony’s chest and hear her heartbeat.
It’s the only place I seem to be able to find solace . . . knowing that, whatever challenges lie ahead of us, we'll be facing them together, side by side, as man and wife . . . no longer bound by the shackles of my father's insidiousness.
Chapter fifty-four
A HOUSE DIVIDED.
LIAM
Tony and I travel back to Miami today. The city lights shimmer against the dark horizon as our plane descends. The familiar sights feel foreign now, tainted by the betrayal of my own father ordering a hit on me. My stomach churns, anxiety twisting within me like an unwelcome guest as I mull over my relationship with this place I have called home all my life—now, all it represents is nothing but pain. I can’t wait to get out of here and go set up a home and shop in South Africa. That is where we are headed as soon as this madness is put to rest.
The balmy Miami sun beats down on my face, and I can feel the sweat forming along my hairline as Tony and I make our way tothe courthouse today. The trial has been going on these last six weeks, but I needed time to wrap my head around all this and come to terms with my new reality.
This is going to be my first time sitting in the courtroom listening to conspirators talking about all the planning that went into wanting to annihilate me. My heart races in anticipation of what awaits us inside—the hearings for my father, the man who tried to have me killed.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Tony asks, with eyes that say, “I wish it were me than you.” I have never known a more nurturing, selfless, giving person. Is this why she chose nursing as a profession, or is it that she is that way from her training . . . having so much empathy and compassion, even toward those least deserving.
I look at her now and nod, swallowing hard. "I have to be," I say, giving her hand a slight squeeze.
As we enter the courtroom, I am temporarily overtaken by a feeling of guilt for not visiting my father in jail these past two weeks, but every time I think about facing him, anger boils in my chest. How could he do this to me? What would I say to him?
"Mr. Dexter," the judge addresses my father, and I see him for the first time since we got back. He looks older; more tired than I remember, but still exudes an air of arrogance.
"Your Honor," he replies, his voice gruff and authoritative as ever.
Just then, Noah decides to lean over and whisper in my ear, "You should give a positive victim impact statement. It might help Dad's case,” making me miss what was said next.
I glare at him, incredulous, resisting the urge to flatten his nose right there and then. "How many hits must I take for this family, Noah?” I whisper harshly. “Haven't I done enough?"
I have no idea what he was expecting, but he just sighs, defeated, and turns back to the proceedings.
It is amazing how completely selfish and self-centered some people can be.
My relationship with my mother and other siblings is strained at best. We are so fractured, split over what the right thing to do is or the proper position to take when people ask questions pertaining to my Dad. We can’t seem to be in agreement on how to respond to direct questions like, “Did he do it?” “Is he guilty?”
No one has a good fix for that.
My mother struggles with her loyalty to her husband versus the weight of the charges against him.
James, always the pragmatic one, distances himself from our father, focusing on protecting the family's name. "Dad might be going away for a very long time, if not forever, but we still have to live in this community," he says, "We're in survival mode. Just keep your heads down. This, too, will blow away."
It is amazing how cavalier James is about all this. Our father ordered a hit on me . . . a man died in my place.God.
Muriel, my only sister, is angry and devastated. She's the only one who seeks guidance from me, while the rest of my family either ignores or blames me for not helping our father.
The trial has been dragging along for six weeks, with my father's expensive lawyers trying to shift the blame onto Martin, claiming he was a disgruntled employee acting alone.
Their tactics became futile today when Martin revealed that he had a recording of my father ordering the hit on me. I bet my father’s cronies never saw this coming. What a stunt. I can only guess that the reason they held on to it until now was to let my father and his lawyers drone on, supplying enough rope to hangthem all; otherwise, why else keep it in wraps for six weeks? Martin had the recording all along. . .
My heart pounds as the recording plays, sealing my father's fate. The room goes silent, and I can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
I look over at Tony, her hand gripping mine tightly, offering support in this nightmare I am living just now. I didn’t know about this . . . nobody knew apart from Martin and his crew.
They should have warned me that this was coming. Until the day I die, I will never forget the sound of my father’s voice on that tape, threatening Martin with all sorts of things; the things he will do to him . . . “If he is still walking this earth three months from now.”
It's funny, isn't it? How karma works. The very words my father used to decree my demise are now the ones that will seal his own fate. It's a bitter irony that I can't help but acknowledge, even amidst the chaos of this moment.
