A TIME FOR
JUSTICE
PETER O’MAHONEY
A Time for Justice: A Legal Thriller
Peter O’Mahoney
Copyright © 2018
Published by Roam Free Publishing
1st edition.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Also by Peter O’Mahoney
In the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:
Will of Justice
Redeeming Justice
Fire and Justice
In the Tom Whiskey Private Investigator Series:
Whiskey Justice
A TIME FOR JUSTICE
PETER O’MAHONEY
This story is dedicated to all the wonderful and interesting people that provide the fuel for this work of fiction.
Chapter 1
Although it’s only a single thin envelope, it sits in the hand of criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey like the heaviest stone he has ever held.
The pressure from the envelope is pulling on his shoulders, causing the muscles in his arm to strain, and forcing tension to race up his neck. The muscles pull, tighten, almost as if they want to drag him into the ground.
Although it’s only one thin piece of paper, it holds his future.
It holds everything that he has fought so hard to keep.
It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
This envelope holds a statement that he saw coming but never wanted to admit. For all the highs, for all the excitement, for all the good times – it could all end here.
Over the last five years, life has been good to Bill Harvey. He’s worked hard, he’s changed lives, he’s found his place in the world. He’s built a reputation, developed relationships, made a difference to the house of justice.
But none of that matters now.
This time, he won’t be defending the innocent or dealing with the guilty. This time, he isn’t tracking down a killer.
This time, he has to fight for himself.
Prior to becoming a lawyer over a decade ago, he was a registered hypnotherapist helping others overcome their addictions to cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol. His reputation grew far and wide, with people waiting months for an appointment, but he knew it wasn’t his calling. He knew that it wasn’t how he wanted to spend his life.
Kevin Wu was the last client Bill ever had as a hypnotherapist. He hadn’t practiced for five years when Kevin came to his door, pleading for help. An illegal brothel owner and alleged people smuggler, the Hong Kong-born L.A. resident had previously beaten a pimping and pandering charge with the help of Bill Harvey as his defense attorney.
But then death came knocking at Kevin’s door.
His business partner’s young daughter, only five-years-old, all innocent and sweet, found a bag full of cocaine at his house and unknowingly played with it. The kid was dead within an hour.
Only four weeks later, Kevin’s young daughter was dragged from her bedroom in the middle of the night, but despite the desperate searches, a body was never found.
They blamed the business partner, Monty Lee, but the evidence wouldn’t stick. ‘An eye for an eye,’ they said.
Kevin Wu came to his lawyer seeking help to get out of the criminal game. He had watched two families fall apart, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Kevin was convinced that hypnotherapy was the way to change his need for high-risk behavior, and for the good of society, Bill agreed to assist him.
Against his better judgment, he sat with Kevin for many hours. His need to help others outweighed his intuition that it was a bad idea.
But Kevin Wu was the most cunning and calculated man he had ever met.
After five hypnotherapy sessions, Kevin claimed his life was changed. He claimed that he was out of the drug game, out of the criminal world. He claimed that something switched in his mind, and he would never be involved in criminal activity again. He claimed that his attitude to life had changed, and he had developed empathy for the people that he previously took advantage of.
It was only days later when Tiffany Lee, the eldest of Monty’s three daughters, still just seven-years-old, went missing – also taken under the darkness of night.
Tiffany’s face became the centerpiece of a massive media scrum; the innocent girl in the middle of dueling Chinese-American fathers. The LAPD did everything in their power to find the girl, but just like Kevin’s daughter, the body of Tiffany Lee was never located.
The rumors that she was still alive kept the story in the media for well over a year.
Bill Harvey didn’t hear from Kevin Wu again. Reports were that Kevin went off the rails and dived back into the drug game – set up another two illegal brothels and dealt enough drugs to sink a cargo ship.
Then, last month, the rumors started.
Bill heard the stories.
The police finally came hard at Kevin Wu’s brothel operations, arresting him for trafficking women from Hong Kong to sell to rich American businessmen. He beat the charges on a technicality, but his illegitimate businesses were destroyed. With the LAPD watching his every step, waiting for a mistake, he had no chance to re-establish his operations. With large debts to pay and no income to speak of, he became desperate.
Kevin began to claim that the hypnotherapy sessions changed his life for the worst. He claimed he was under the influence of the hypnotherapy sessions for the past five years. Everything he did during that time was a result of the influence that Bill had exerted over him during the sessions. Kevin claimed that he had no conscious control over his actions, and Bill had manipulated him into corrupt behavior. He lost millions of dollars through bad investments in small companies and millions more through a crypto-currency crash. Despite his skills in illegal brothel management, he had made bad investment decision after bad investment decision.
And now, he’s blaming Bill Harvey for every one of those decisions.
Only yesterday, Bill received a text message from Kevin’s wife, Eva Wu, apologizing for what was about to transpire. Her hatred for her husband was equal to most. Like her husband, she was born in Hong Kong but moved to California as a young adult, seeking adventure and a new life. For such a smart woman, she made such a bad choice in a partner.
Bill peels back the envelope, removes the piece of paper, and unfolds it to read the formal letter. His eyes scan the page.
There is it.
The statement.
The one that might break him.
Kevin Wu is seeking damages to the extent of…
Bill draws a breath.
Leans against the doorframe.
This is not what he wanted.
Not what he needed.
He reads the line again.
There is no mistaking it.
No denying it.
…$100,000,000.
Chapter 2
The girl struggles with the door, feeling her way around, but she can’t find the opening.
She hates the dark.
It’s when he comes.
Maybe it will be another beating. Maybe it will be another lashing. Maybe it will be something worse this time. That’s what she fears. Really fears. She can take the occasional beating or yelling. That’s ok. They don’t hurt too much, but he hasn’t hit her in more than a year. His behavior changed overnight, and he went from being full of rage to almost loving. He wants to hug her now, not beat her.
Even if she wanted to, she can’t stop him.
She
tried to stop him once before, two years ago, when she tried to escape, but he only beat her worse. When she made a run for the open door, he moved quicker than she ever saw. You can’t go, he said, the world will hurt you more than I can. It’s dangerous out there. Too dangerous for an angel like you.
She’s twelve now, maybe thirteen.
She doesn’t know.
Full moons come and go, as do the seasons.
Sometimes, she daydreams about the last birthday she celebrated, it was her seventh, with her family all gathered around the cake. She had friends. Cousins. Presents. They played pin the tail on the donkey, smashed a piñata, sung and smiled. She plays that game still – the pretend one where she sings happy birthday, opens the presents, and hugs thin air. The person she pretends to hug the tightest is her grandmother; she still feels the love of that close embrace. Every time she thinks about her loving grandmother, with a warm smile and a warm heart, her eyes begin to water.
Not that she hates her life – thanks to the books, she still gets to smile. In the old, damp pages, she finds friends, adventures, and comedy. Things that she can only dream of having one day. Every month, he brings her a new pile of books. That’s her favorite day. When he opens the door, and lugs down a bag full of old books, it feels like her birthday all over again. The children in the books, they’re happy. They smile. They laugh.
Recently, he has been letting her out more and more.
She even got to see daylight yesterday. That was a special day. One of the most special days she has ever experienced. It had been months since she felt the warmth of the sun on her skin, and it filled her with joyous excitement. He even laughed and smiled as she danced in the open yard.
It’s amazing how much you enjoy the little things, he said. But to her, they’re not life’s little things. They’re the moments that she wants to remember, the highlights of her existence.
Above her is one house, probably the one he lives in. She’s only ever seen it from the outside and never been allowed to go inside.
Despite having food, shelter, and now love, everything she needs, she knows that this isn’t the life for her. She has to break free and see what’s beyond the basement in his house. She’s sure that there’s an exciting world out there, she’s read about it in the books, and she wants to experience it all.
As the years have passed, he’s become more and more sloppy – leaving the door unlocked or open, giving her a sniff, a taste of freedom.
Beyond the door is a yard surrounded by a six-foot wooden fence. And beyond that fence is a line of trees. Over the fence, there are two old walking tracks, covered and mostly unused. One to the east and one to the west.
She’ll run for the one to the west. That’s been her decision for a month now. Next chance she gets, she’s running west. How far, she doesn’t know. What to, she doesn’t know either.
But whatever is out there has to be better than living trapped in a dark, damp basement.
It has to be.
Her heart skips a beat when she hears the noise at the door. It’s him again. Sometimes, she can hear a sweet and gentle woman’s voice outside. She never comes in. He never lets her.
The door to the basement slams.
He’s angry. That’s not good.
With a thud, he drops a sack on the floor. This week’s supplies. Food. From the thud of the sack on the floor, it doesn’t sound like much. He must have had a hard week.
“You made a mess,” he growls out.
She cowers in the corner, hands over her head, waiting for the first fist to come.
“I’m not going to hit you.” He moves towards her and rests his hand on her back. “Those days are gone. I said sorry for all that. I’m not going to hit you ever again.” He draws a long breath. “But things are going to change around here.”
The breath catches in her throat.
“I’ll be leaving soon, and someone else is going to have to look after you.”
Her entire body freezes. Only three other men have come to the basement, years ago. They didn’t treat her well, and they did things to her that she tried so hard to forget. Horrible things.
“I don’t want that,” she whispers, still cowering.
His hand rubs her back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any control over it. Things are going to change. They have to. You’re getting too old to stay here, and I can’t keep looking after you. Someone else is going to have to look after you.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“The horrible men?”
He doesn’t answer, and she feels the tears start to well in her eyes, but she blinks them back. Last time she cried in front of him, he smashed a cup against the concrete wall.
“Not the horrible men. Please,” she whispers.
He shakes his head, not wanting to admit the truth. He has done the best he can for her, but lives are about to change, and he can’t help her anymore.
“No more talk about that.” He ignores her request. “I’m leaving now, but please, don’t make a mess this week, or there’ll have to be consequences.”
As he walks away, still covering her face, still drenched in fear, she smiles.
Not because of the danger, not because of the threats, and not because of her life of torment.
She smiles because she won’t be here next week.
One way or another, she will have escaped.
She has to.
She can’t let a new man take her.
Chapter 3
“Rough morning?”
“How could you tell?”
“I’ve never heard your briefcase slam that hard on your desk before.”
Bill Harvey draws a long breath, staring at his briefcase, wondering how the handle is still attached. The $3000 he paid for the case was clearly worth it.
“I guess the letter came this morning, like you expected?” Kate Spencer sways into his office with a caring smile. Dressed in a pencil skirt and white shirt, she looks a picture of professionalism. Tall, slim, blonde, and growing in confidence, Kate’s organized touch has saved his sanity many times over. She has been by his side for the last four years, riding the ups and downs, listening to him go through his emotions, supporting him when needed.
Staring at his briefcase, the one that holds the letter, he doesn’t answer the question put to him. Sensing his anger, Kate walks to the desk, sitting in the chair opposite him.
“Thanks for what you did last night,” she says.
He smiles, remembering the moment at the bar only twelve hours earlier. When he first arrived at the bar to meet his assistant, she had the pleasure of being hounded by a drunken man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, proudly telling her that he was on a work trip from Washington. When Bill arrived to meet his friend, the man told him to keep walking, that Kate was his for the night.
Without a word to Kate, Bill stood tall and whispered a few comments into the man’s ear. The man nodded, gulped down the rest of his drink, and then left the bar without another look at Kate.
With four older brothers, Kate thought hitting the bars every night was a very normal part of life. Her mother passed away when she was only four, and she was left as the only female in a house full of rowdy men. She grew up thinking it was very normal to laugh at crude jokes, drink heavily, and listen to heavy metal music all night long.
That was until she moved to Los Angeles and found that women were expected to be sipping mojitos and gently swinging their hips to pop music, not sculling pints of beer and head-banging to heavy guitar riffs. Having the occasional pint brings back memories of her late teens, the days spent smashing cans with her brothers in the yard. They were some of the best times of her life.
“What did you say to Mr. Ugly-shirt?”
“I just mentioned that you’re my employee.”
“That’s it?”
“Of course.” Bill winks. One of the benefits of being six foot four is that he can tower over most of the population, and use intimidation as
a weapon of choice. “I didn’t say anything more than that.”
Kate shakes her head. “I can defend myself, you know. I’ve been taking defense classes for over a year now, and I’m getting quite good. I could have destroyed an old man like him. Not that it takes much to defeat a man – one swift kick in the balls and it’s all over.”
“Ouch.” He grimaces. “Remind me not to make you angry.”
“All I’m saying is that you didn’t need to do that.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “But thank you.”
“I have no doubt you can defend yourself, Kate.”
“But I’m not here to talk about who’s defending me.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’m here to talk about who’s going to defend you.”
“Like you, I can defend myself.” He avoids eye contact. “I don’t need anyone else up there telling me what to do.”
“A lawyer that defends himself has a fool for a client,” she quips as she leans back, crossing one leg over the other.
“And Shakespeare once said that only a wise man knows himself to be a fool.”
“So does that make you a fool or a wise man?”
He shrugs. “I guess we’ll see at the end of this case.”
“Well, how do you keep a fool in suspense?”
“How?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“That’s not funny.” He smiles.
“C’mon, it was alright.” She laughs. “All jokes aside, does Kevin Wu really have a case against you? Do you really have anything to answer for?”
“It’s not a common case to take to the civil court, but there are precedents for this.” Bill lifts his takeaway coffee up to his nose, taking a large whiff of the extra-strong coffee. “There aren’t many modern cases, but it was previously considered a form of criminal defense in Europe during the 1800s. More recently, one of Charles Manson’s wives, Susan Atkins, claimed she was hypnotized by him, and he exerted undue influence on her, but that was thrown out by the criminal court.”
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