Problem Child (ARC)

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Problem Child (ARC) Page 27

by Victoria Helen Stone


  to let us in. Kayla stays glued to my side as we enter, her pale hand holding tight.

  “Hello, Bill,” I say darkly, giving the woman something

  to gossip about later. I’m on a first-name basis with him

  and I’m bringing a child along for a mysterious personal

  appointment? Oh, Bill Morris, what have you done?

  The man tries to keep his glower aimed at my face,

  but his eyes can’t help a few darts toward Kayla.

  “It’s okay,” I say softly as I lead her over to one of the

  chairs. “Sit down. You’ll be fine.”

  She makes a show of letting go of me reluctantly before

  she takes a seat, scooting back too far in the chair so that her sandals dangle above the ground.

  I take my own seat and cross my legs as the receptionist

  draws the door slowly closed behind her.

  “What the hell is this filth?” Bill Morris growls, slap-

  ping the card down on his desk.

  “I wouldn’t know, Mr. Morris,” I answer. “It’s il-

  legal to even view that kind of content, as I’m sure you

  understand.”

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  “I had no idea what I was looking at!”

  “This is Kayla,” I say, gesturing toward the pale

  girl with her head bent in shame. “Did your brother

  explain exactly what he was getting you into when he

  asked for help further terrorizing my niece after sexu-

  ally abusing her?”

  “Your niece.” He’s still angry, his eyes shaded by a

  cliff of furious brow, but the words come out as a resigned statement instead of a question.

  “Yes. Kayla is my niece, and she was fifteen years old

  when she … encountered your sick brother. Since then she’s been stalked by a bald man in an SUV who I believe is in your employ, and that same man assaulted her

  childhood friend, Brodie. Did you know that Brodie was

  found murdered two days ago? Because I find that very

  interesting.”

  He blinks hard and sits back a little in his huge leather

  chair. “Excuse me?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Who didn’t tell me? I have no idea what you’re talk-

  ing about.”

  “Why don’t you call up your brother and ask him

  about Brodie, then? He might know him as Little Dog.”

  “Ms.—”

  “Sir, I’ve worked overseas helping victims of sex traf-

  ficking, and I never thought I’d come home to find that

  my own little niece has been victimized by the same type

  of monster I fought so hard against in other countries. I

  assure you that I have taken steps to protect this child,

  and those steps include storing the proof of this assault in several different safe places, both online and in multiple

  secure locations with instructions on how to proceed if

  anything happens to us. This problem will not go away

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  no matter the threats of violence. Kayla is not alone any-

  more. She’s not the helpless child she was a month ago.”

  Kayla sighs and reaches out to touch my hand. I grasp

  her fingers briefly before she slumps back in on herself.

  This girl is a master actress, and I have to fight not to let my mouth lift in amusement.

  Morris crosses his arms on the table and studies me

  for a long moment. “And yet you’re here in my office.

  You haven’t gone to the police.” I see his eyes dart down

  to the phone on his desk. I imagine he’s recording this,

  hoping I’ll make an extortion attempt.

  “To what end?” I ask. “I have no idea how far your

  tentacles reach. The only guarantee of consequences to

  your brother would be making this public, and that would

  further damage a vulnerable child.”

  “I see. So you’re not going to the authorities.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Right. So how much do you want?”

  “How dare you?” I snap. “How dare you treat this as

  some seedy financial matter! I’m an attorney and an aunt

  and a decent human being. But, considering your family,

  maybe you’ve never encountered one of those before and

  have no idea how to interact with one.”

  His confidence has finally slipped a notch. I watch his

  shoulders drop and I pounce.

  “Your brother is a pervert and a danger to the com-

  munity. If I had any hope at all that we’d find justice, I’d see this through. But look at you, still treating my niece

  as if she’s the cause of this instead of your predatory, rapist, pedophile brother!”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You most certainly did. We don’t want your tainted

  rape money, Mr. Morris. I want your brother to get

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  extensive treatment and my niece wants to get the hell

  out of this state to somewhere safe. A boy is dead! Do you

  understand that? My niece might have been murdered

  already if I hadn’t been the one to find her.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. And I can’t force

  my brother to—”

  “Oh, you can make your brother do whatever you

  want. Don’t feed me that bull. Your specialty in life is

  pulling strings. Chair of the state board of development,

  head of the council on economic growth, a member of

  the insurance council. You’ve got more strands to pull

  than a spider, and you use them to devour everything

  you can. Try using your power for good just this once.”

  When I go quiet, I can hear him swallow even from

  ten feet away. “I’m not a bad man, and I am certainly not

  my brother’s keeper. I don’t know anything about this

  death you mentioned. But I will try to direct Roy into

  treatment. He has trouble with alcohol and it causes him

  to…” His gaze darts toward Kayla and then back to me.

  “To act out.”

  This time I’m the one to reach for Kayla’s hand. I grasp

  it in mine and nod. “My niece has been traumatized, and

  I want to help her leave this violation behind her and get

  a good education. I have reason to believe her mother

  will agree to a change of guardianship, but there will

  still be a hell of a lot of red tape to work through. All I ask is that you call off your attack dogs and do what you

  can to help us leave. It will be good for everyone to get

  Kayla into a new environment.”

  His eyes narrow. “That’s all that you want?”

  “Yes. I’m not here to blackmail you. I’m here to ask

  you to do the right thing, if you know what that is.”

  “And the … evidence?”

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  I shrug. “There’s nothing to be done about that. There’s

  no physical tape I can turn over. No proof that it’s re-

  ally gone. The best you can do, Mr. Morris, is distance

  yourself from your brother in every way possible. Reject

  him. Let him sink or swim on his own. If you do that,

  then his criminal evidence has no hold over you, because

  your future isn’t tied to his. You won’t have anything to

  worry about.”

  He uncrosses his arms and presses his hands flat to

  the desk. “So you can�
�t give me any assurance that this

  won’t come out.”

  I lean forward and let him see the natural darkness in

  my eyes. “Let me make something clear. You are not the

  victim in this situation, and I’m not here to assure you

  about anything. You don’t need protection. You are not the one who has been damaged. What I’m giving you is the

  opportunity to do right by a young girl who was raped

  by your brother and further victimized by your support

  for her rapist. You will get no reassurance, and I have

  put automatic safeguards in place in case of any further

  malfeasance on your part, and I promise those protec-

  tions are airtight and legal. Is that reassuring enough to

  you, Mr. Morris?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” He says the right thing, but he’s an-

  gry again, backed into a corner and hating it. But that’s

  fine. He can hate it as much as he wants as long as he

  understands that I hold the power here.

  “And those strings we spoke about?” I press.

  He clears his throat and I see him set his anger aside.

  He’s a businessman, and this is business now. “I’ll do what I can to make sure your application for guardianship is

  expedited.”

  “And you’ll call off your dogs?”

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  His jaw clenches. Clenches again. “I’ll speak to my

  brother and make sure there is no further contact of any

  kind. If he was the one responsible.”

  He’s too smart to admit he was involved, and I can

  respect that, so I dip my head. “If anything happens to

  me or to Kayla, this will not work out well for anyone.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. I hope your brother gets the help he needs.”

  It’s his turn to incline his head.

  I stand and tug Kayla up too. She keeps her head down

  as we exit, her sandals slapping against the floor. My neck prickles, my animal senses warning me that Bill Morris

  is watching from his desk.

  He can watch all he wants, but there’s no good way to

  solve the problem his brother has dropped at his doorstep

  like a decomposing rat. If they’d gotten to Kayla while

  she was alone, maybe. But now she’s got me.

  I’m grinning widely as I wave goodbye to the recep-

  tionist and step onto the elevator.

  Kayla jerks her hand away. “We could’ve gotten so

  much money from him!”

  “He’s a politician, Kayla. If we pushed him too far,

  he would have turned us in to the cops for blackmail and

  painted himself as an innocent victim in his brother’s

  crimes. Then he probably would have started a task force

  against child exploitation while we were still waiting for

  a trial.”

  “Whatever,” she snaps.

  “You’ve still got the recording. Do whatever you want

  when you’re eighteen.”

  “I can do whatever I want right now.”

  “Not if you want to get out of this place. You start

  throwing that video around and you’re on your own. I’m

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  not going down in flames so you can score five thousand

  dollars and a permanent audience on the dark web. I have

  a law license to protect, and you might have a future if you listen and learn. Might. ”

  Rolling her eyes, she pops a piece of grape bubble

  gum into her mouth.

  “You were amazing back there,” I say, and that bright-

  ens her expression.

  “Yeah?”

  “Great acting.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You should try out for the school play.”

  “Dumb,” she answers, but her anger is gone, smoothed

  out by praise. I know what a little girl like her wants.

  Praise and admiration. I know because I want the same

  and I always have.

  She blows a purple bubble. “If his guys try to grab us

  on the way to the car, you’re on your own. I’m quicker.”

  She flashes me a mean, narrow look, but I smile. Then I

  giggle. Then I’m laughing so hard, I have to hold myself

  up on the elevator rail.

  “Weirdo,” she mutters, but I don’t mind. She likes me.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I completely forgot about dealing with the police.

  With Kayla reported as a missing child, there were

  interviews and written reports and talk of child neglect

  charges for her mother. There was even a murmur of

  charging Kayla with truancy, but I shut that down.

  They spent so little time looking into her disappear-

  ance that they never even connected her to Brodie, so

  there are no questions about his death. I assume they don’t care about him at all either. I wonder who his house will

  go to now.

  Kayla and I made up a much more palatable story

  to tell the authorities, of course. Something about her

  hitchhiking and then living on the street for a while.

  The intense questioning about her circumstances did

  help move her mother’s decision along. The woman was

  eager to assign me temporary guardianship by the end of

  that first day and wash her hands of the entire situation.

  A true case of parental devotion.

  Permanent guardianship will take longer, but we’ve

  greased those wheels. A judge immediately approved

  Kayla’s voluntary move to Minnesota, expressing grati-

  tude that an attorney was taking this troubled girl under

  her wing.

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  A temporary situation is better for the two of us regard-

  less. She’ll be slightly more malleable if there’s a chance she could easily lose all her new luxuries. And with a

  budding little sociopath, malleable is better.

  It’s our third day back in the boonies, and there’s been

  no sign of trouble. We could still be gunned down on

  the highway back to Oklahoma City, but my hunch is

  that Bill Morris decided to take my deal. The emergency

  hearing with the judge came through suspiciously quickly.

  We’ve got one last stop before we head to the city to

  catch a flight. That’s right. It’s time to say goodbye to

  Grandma and Grandpa!

  That’s a joke, of course. Kayla wants to pick up the

  belongings she moved to their trailer. I’ve advised her to

  leave that shit behind, but I guess she has some useless

  crap she wants to drag to Minnesota with her. Fine. I

  drive her to my parents’ place and we both step out into

  the crunching brown grass.

  My mother, ever a lover of drama, rushes out of the

  trailer as soon as she spots Kayla. “Oh, my baby!” she

  cries. “I heard you were back!” Today she’s wearing

  baggy white jeans and a pink Hallmark sweatshirt. How

  apropos for our touching family reunion.

  She throws her arms around Kayla, who stands stock-

  still and waits for it to be over. “My sweet little Kayla!

  Where have you been?”

  “Mom, there are no cameras or social workers here.

  Cut the crap already.”

  She snarls like a vicious dog over Kayla’s shoulder

  before letting h
er go. “Look at these fancy-ass clothes,”

  she says in a sharp whine.

  “Yeah, they’re great,” Kayla answers.

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  “Go on and get settled in,” my mom says. “I put a few

  things in your room, but you can just shove those boxes

  out of the way, no problem.”

  “She’s coming home with me, Mom. Seriously, cut

  it out.”

  The kindly grandmother act falls from her face for

  good now, and she swings around to glare at me. “What

  are you yapping about?”

  I wave her off wearily as Kayla slips past her grand-

  mother to bang through the metal storm door.

  “You can’t take my granddaughter away; I only just

  got her back.”

  I glance around with huge eyes. “Seriously, who

  are you playacting for? There’s no one else here, and I

  heard all the shit you talked about Kayla the first time I

  dropped by.”

  “I have custody, and you need my permission to take

  her out of state no matter how high and mighty you think

  you are, and I’m not giving it.”

  Permission. What she means is that she wants money;

  she always wants money, and she’s not smart or steady

  enough to work me for it. All she can ever do is lash out

  and attack, because she resents having to beg for what

  she wants.

  I used to send money sometimes. I used to do it because

  my best friend told me I should. “They’re your family,”

  she’d insist. “The only family you’ll ever have.” True,

  thank God. And Meg was the only conscience I ever had,

  but she’s dead now, so Mom is out of luck.

  They raised me, yes. But puppy mills raise animals

  too, offering paltry shelter and shitty food, just enough

  to keep them alive, and no one ever thinks the owners

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  of those places are owed any love. I have no idea why it’s

  supposed to be different with parents.

  “You don’t have custody, Mom. She was crashing here

  and you were charging her rent. We’ve already worked

  all this out with Kayla’s mother.”

  “You’re a liar just like you always have been.”

  “I’d show you the signed court document, but I hon-

  estly don’t care that much. Kayla is getting her stuff and

  we’re leaving.”

  Mom’s face is drawing tight and desperate now. As

  much as she hated me, she always wanted me under her

  control and in her orbit. She’s pulling the same thing

 

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