She turns her scrutinizing gaze back to Ender. “And if you were smart enough to draw up an alternative custody agreement, you should understand we didn’t plan to hear testimony from you during this arbitration.”
“Well, you should have been planning to hear what I had to say about it,” Ender answers, sounding a lot like a Calson with a Jamaican accent. “This is me own life we talking about. And I do want to get to know my father, I do. Been wondering about him for years…”
Ender turns his head to look at me and for a moment, we both take each other in, as if seeing one another for the first time. Which in some ways, we are. And now that I know he is my son, I can spot all sorts of things I hadn’t noticed before. Many of his facial features are all Sylvie—the brown eyes and full, thick lips. But he has sharp cheekbones like me, and the same long thin nose as my mother. I can’t believe I couldn’t see it before.
However, after getting his fill of looking at me, Ender turns back to the judge to say, “I wonder about my dad, but I do not want to be taken from my mother—even if I’m plenty mad angry at her for not telling me who Mr. Calson was from the beginning. And I don’t think it be fair that my custody can be decided without having me ownself say, too.”
Gil stands at this point. “Your honor, with all due respect, there is no precedent for children drawing up their own custody agreements—especially ones that include a third party that shares no blood ties to the proposed primary custodian. In fact, if Ms. Pinnock were here, we would use this request to establish how she has obviously exploited her bond with her former charge, Wesley Calson, to further manipulate his father, Mr. Calson.”
“That makes no sense,” Ender says.
At the same time, Wes yells, “Don’t talk about Vee like that! She’s nice. A lot nicer than my dad who doesn’t even love me and never wants to spend time with me or do anything but work.”
My eyes widen at his accusation. It’s both vicious and unexpected. But Gil puts a restraining hand on my shoulder before I can respond, and says, “Your honor, I must object again. Obviously this young boy has been manipulated by his half-brother and Sylvia Pinnock.”
“Oh, I hear your objections, I do. You may sit back down, Mr. Meier,” the arbitrator answers with a grumpy look. She then gives Ender and Wes an apologetic shake of her head. “As compelling as your handwritten custody agreement is, I’m afraid Mr. Meier is correct. There is a chance you both may have been unduly influenced by Ms. Pinnock. Also, it is well after the appointed time for our arbitration, and she has yet to show up. I’m afraid that doesn’t speak very well of her commitment to this process.”
The arbitrator purses her lips before saying, “And because of her absence, I’ll have to side in favor of Mr. Calson’s proposed custody agreement—”
The door suddenly slams open a second time, and the room once again turns, along with Yahto.
But his time instead of two little boys, Sylvie is standing in the open doorway with Luca’s blind ex on her arm.
“Wait a minute! Not so fast there, Judge Wallins,” Amber calls out.
Chapter Forty-Four
SYLVIE
I owe my lawyer fifty bucks. In fact, Amber underestimated. I count six lawyers watching us walk in. Enough for a basketball team, with one left over for sub ins. And my heart thunders in my throat as Amber and I come to stand on the empty side of the table across from Holt’s squadron of dark suits.
Amber was right. About how Holt would come at me…and how low he’d go. She’d been right about everything—hold on, is that Wes and Barron?
I screw up my face when I notice the two boys standing next to an older woman who I assume must be the retired judge arbitrating our case. “Barron? Wes? What are you doing here when you should both be at school?”
One of Holt’s lawyers comes to his feet before Barron can answer. And I jolt with recognition, because it’s the same man who’d been with Jack Calson in the back of that car Javon pushed me into ten years ago. With a binding legal contract on a clipboard, waiting for me to sign.
“Your honor, Ms. Pinnock is over 25 minutes late,” he says, throwing Amber and I a snippy look. “If not for the untimely interruption, the case would already be declared for our client—”
“Yeah, and I bet you are some kind of pissed off that didn’t happen, aren’t you?” Amber says, glaring in the general direction of his voice. Then, voice bright, she asks, “Who do I have to thank for this untimely interruption?”
“Me!” Barron calls out eyeing Amber like he’s dying to throw a bioHelmet on her.
“Well, thank you, young man,” Amber says, sending a smile down the table in the direction of his voice. “You’re obviously as clever and bright as your mother described.”
“Your honor. Obviously, you must rule for Mr. Calson. It is the logical thing to do and what you would have done had they not shown up just now. Over 25 minutes late. Like you said, she is obviously not committed to this process.”
“On the contrary, my client and I would have been here early if we hadn’t been held for questioning after our key character witness was gunned down right in front of us. So the fact that we are only 25 minutes late shows just how committed my client is to maintaining full custody of her son, who Mr. Calson is apparently determined to see he goes without a mother.”
“That is an unfounded accusation!” Holt’s lawyer yells. At the same time Barron comes running over to me yelling, “Mama, did that really happen? Are you okay?”
There is no coming back from Amber’s bomb drop. The room soon descends into chaos with Amber full on yelling at the gang of lawyers across the table.
In the end, the judge shouts that she will need to make a full review of Ms. Reynold’s claims before she can properly decide on the case. Which means that Barron will remain in my custody for at least another thirty days until we can get another date set for arbitration.
Oh, mercy! That means I won’t have to give up custody of my son. Not now, maybe not ever if Amber can connect Holt to the attacker who shot Kyle. But even as I hug Barron, I find myself looking over at Holt mournfully.
However, he doesn’t look back at me. Just angry talks with the lawyer from Jack Calson’s back seat. I see no remorse in his eyes. Whatsoever.
Mika comes running in, apparently having been called by Allie or Yahto.
“No!” Wes runs over to me when he sees her. “Can I come with you? I want to stay with you!” he pleads.
I look down to at Wes, the boy both Barron and I have been missing since our hasty departure from his life. “Oh, Wes…”
I can hear Amber’s previous warnings about how important it is not to have any contact whatsoever with Wes before an official custody agreement is in place. But I bend down anyway and tell him,“This battle can only last so long. After that you will have Barron back, I promise.”
“But I want you, too!” Wes answers, tears welling in his eyes. “You’re Barron’s mom. Why can’t you be my mom, too?”
“Sylvie…” Amber’s voice intones. I glance up to see she’s now standing above us, her face tight with disapproval. I can also feel the eyes of Holt’s lawyers on me, recording everything I do like dog’s preparing for a pounce.
Neither Amber nor Holt’s pack of lawyers get it. How badly I have hurt this boy with my secrets. How guilty I feel for adding to his grief.
And that’s why I defy everything Amber has told me, and pull him into my arms to hug him tightly as I vow, “I will always be here for you. I might not have access to you after this, but please know when you are feeling lonely, I am somewhere thinking about you. When you are having big feelings, I am praying for you. No matter what happens, I will always be here for you. Even when you can’t see me.”
I tell him that, then just as I advise parents when they’re dropping off children at the daycare, I give him a quick squeeze and leave.
I’m grateful Mika is there to swoop in and comfort Wes right after I’m done. As I walk out of the conference room w
ith Barron and Amber, I can hear her behind us, reflecting Wes’s feelings back to him and encouraging him to breathe. As a child psychology grad student at CIT, she has all sorts of strategies for helping Wes that I don’t yet.
And I’m relieved Wes has her at a time like this, and that I will be able to keep my son with me—at least for another 30 days.
However, those are the only things I am relieved about. I still can’t believe we managed to escape that mugger…if not for Amber’s quick thinking, using her stick to knock away the attacker’s gun, he would have shot me, too. But Amber wielded some serious martial arts moves. By the time the police came, she had the would-be “mugger” fully prostrated on the ground with his mask off.
And my heart sunk when I saw the man beneath the mask. Designer skinny jeans, a trendy blunt haircut, and well-manicured nails. I couldn’t help but notice that the mugger didn’t have the looks or wardrobe of a man desperate for cash.
Actually... her death wasn’t nearly as hard on me as it was on him
Suddenly I saw Holt’s words about his first wife’s death in a new light. His first wife’s very untimely but rather convenient death….
And, apparently, one did not have to be sighted to figure out who might have sent a clean-cut assassin disguised as a mugger to come after us.
“Still think Holt Calson’s not a monster?” Amber asks, standing beside me as the police drag the shooter into a squad car and paramedics lift Kyle onto a gurney to be ferried to the nearest emergency room.
For a little while in Arkansas, for one brief weekend, I actually thought Holt could change. That if not for the boy-shaped secret between us, love might have given us another chance, and maybe we could have made it work the second time around. Maybe even started the next generation of our family like Holt had talked about.
But it didn’t go our way.
And as we leave the courtroom, I risk one more look back over my shoulder at Holt.
He is still surrounded by lawyers, hovering around their client like bats. I can’t see him, and he can’t see me.
No, Amber didn’t have to say or do anything further to convince me. There is no denying it now. Holt is a monster. And I would be dead right now if it were up to him.
Chapter Forty-Five
AMBER
A rhythmic knock sounds on my door, just as the computer informs me I have reached my final destination, a document entitled, “IN CASE OF MY DEATH.”
It’s Prin, the former hip-hop princess turned legal intern who still can’t help but put a little rhythm into everything she does.
“C’mon in!” I call out.
“I’ve got a call on hold from some guy who says he’s an old friend of yours. Just want to make sure it’s okay to put him through.”
“Yeah, give it to me and close the door behind you,” I answer, holding a hand out for the phone.
“Hey,” I say when the door closes behind Prin.
“You let your assistant handle your personal phone?” an incredulous voice I’d hoped to never hear again says on the other line.
“She’s my intern and you would be surprised how distracting a smartphone can be when you’re filing lookalike motions against people and businesses who think ADA laws are just a list of suggestions. I leave my phone with her and tell her not to let me have it until I’m done with everything on my list.”
“Huh…not a bad idea. Course if I’d tried that, I’d lose my job and probably get sent in for psychiatric evaluation...”
I chuckle, because no, it wasn’t a good idea for people in my friend’s line of work to give other people access to their phones. Speaking of which, “Were you able to push it through?”
“Yeah. My director’s not happy about it, though. Going to need some proof that what you’re claiming is true. And soon.”
“I’m working on it,” I promise him before hanging up.
Gotta say, this case is a lot more exciting than filing a bunch of motions against businesses and landlords for violating ADA laws, I think to myself as I type another name onto the list of people who might be responsible for my death.
It’s the biggest name yet. Holt Calson, the tight-jawed Connecticut accent who’s tone always seemed to be thinking something else while he said all the right things as one of the best men at my wedding.
My heart squeezes at the thought of that time in my life, my stomach cramping with remembered pain…
Just one more reason I’m glad I took this case, I decide, pushing the thoughts of Luca away. It might be an unusual one for me, but I really can’t think of another lawyer who’d be more passionate than me about winning it.
Another knock sounds on the door. Sharper this time. Not Prin.
And he doesn’t wait for me to say, “Come in.”
I jump to my feet as soon as I hear the clicking sound of the door’s knob engaging, but keep my body in a neutral position. I am ready to use all the years of martial arts training that I started after my divorce for the second time today. But it could just be a pushy client. And as a blind lawyer, I have learned it is usually better to not advertise that I know martial arts unless I’m just dying to be asked a thousand Daredevil questions.
“Hey, you can’t go in there! You can’t just walk up on her like that—” I hear Prin protesting, only to cut off with a gasp.
Someone has quieted my big-mouthed intern. And I can’t say I’m surprised when the next voice I hear is the same tight-jawed Connecticut accent that somewhat insincerely wished Luca and me luck at our wedding.
“Sit down, Amber,” Holt Calson says, his voice harsh and angry.
Chapter Forty-Six
HOLT
Two days after my conversation with Amber, I do the one thing I vowed I never would after becoming the acting CEO of Cal-Mart.
I show up at my father’s home in Johnson’s Ranch to get some advice.
He is watching a football game in the den when Carlotta, his long-time housekeeper, shows me in. However, he merely glances at me before telling Carlotta she can take the rest of the day off.
“Thank you, Mr. Calson,” Carlotta answers. She gives me a tentative smile before she leaves and closes the door behind her.
Leaving me to stand there awkwardly, like a dog with its tail between its legs. And as my dad takes his time turning off the game, I can just about feel the burden of my presence on him.
It’s the same not-wanted feeling I’ve been silently fuming about for years, even after he decided I should be named acting CEO when he stepped down. Not because I was a better fit for the job, Dad informed me when he called me into his office to discuss the possibility, but because it was time to start grooming me for the position anyway.
But oh, what a difference a few years make. Now, it’s not my father calling me into his office to inform me it’s time to step into the role for which I’d been groomed, but me seeking him out. And my past resentments are all but forgotten as I wait for him to give me some much-needed advice.
“Might as well sit down, I suppose,” Jack says, indicating the leather wing chair where some of the nation’s greatest business leaders have sat while Big Jack poured them a drink from our private barrel Rushton whiskey.
I take the seat. But he doesn’t pour me a glass of whiskey.
Instead, we sit in silence, and though we don’t talk, I notice we’ve never looked more like father and son. We are both “out of uniform.” In polos and jeans like we discussed our clothing before I came down here. Though we didn’t. Of course, we didn’t. We’ve never been that kind of team.
Until now. When I need him.
The den sits right beside the gravel driveway at the back of the house where the servants are expected to enter, so we know when Carlotta leaves. Tires roll over gravel. It’s clear to talk.
As usual, Dad gets the first word in—“first and last word belongs to me.” That’s his policy, even with his son. Especially with his son.
“Ain’t going to ask why you showed up here unannounc
ed. Already know it’s because of this custody agreement you been trying to keep from me.”
I regard him for a second, considering how best to respond. But since he’s not beating around the bush, I decide I won’t either. Like father, like son, in more ways than I ever knew…
“I thought I could handle it on my own,” I admit. “Keep it a secret so it wouldn’t interfere with my chances of being named the Cal-Mart CEO. But now…” I shake my head miserably. “Everything is falling apart and I need you to help me out of this one.”
I wait, bracing myself for one of his southern tongue lashings that the New York Herald relayed in stark detail in an article that not only went viral, but was responsible for my father’s sudden decision to hand the reins over to a son many thought was still too young to be the CEO of a multi-billion dollar international corporation.
But instead of looking disappointed in me as he so often does, even when I think I’m doing a good job, my father sits forward in his seat. Obviously waiting to hear more.
And that’s when I get it. What I never got when I was killing myself to be the perfect son. In the years preceding my drugged out summer and the years after. He never wanted me to be perfect.
This. This is what he wants. For me to fly too close to the sun. For me to need his guidance the way he needed my grandfather’s even after he died. Which was part of the reason his tenure as CEO went downhill so fast, with him stepping down just four years after my grandfather’s funeral.
I think about the days after my overdose. The one time he showed up for me… after all the times when he didn’t. He had been kind to me by his standards. No yelling, just swooping in for the fix. Because for once, I needed him. Truly needed him. And only then could he be the father I’d always wanted him to be.
But after Sylvie, I vowed to never be the needy son again. I’d been so busy trying to prove I wasn’t like my mother. Trying to prove to him and the board that I was not only the right man to turn the company around, that I never understood why Big Jack seemed to hate me more and more with each increasingly successful day.
Holt, Her Ruthless Billionaire Page 25