by Fenton, Liz
But the report was never filed. And according to Sully, the chief of police had intervened. But why? Were they golf buddies? Was Greenwood a large donor to the LAPD? Or had he paid him off personally? I’d heard things here and there about the chief, that he was a schmoozer who occasionally valued politics over the law, but nothing like this. This was borderline obstruction of justice.
I call out to Chase, asking him to come into my office. “This changes everything,” I say when he walks in.
“It sure does. What are you going to do?”
“I can’t ignore it,” I say, chewing on a cuticle, mulling over my options. I feel like I’m in a speedboat racing over choppy waves—exhilarated and terrified all at the same time. I have a choice to make. A crossroads, if you will. But this time there’s no doubt in my heart. No push and pull between the two Lilas that live inside me. Right now I hear only a singular voice, calling on me to be the person I should have always been. “Can you set up a meeting with the wife and her attorney? His number is in the file.”
“Lila, the preliminary trial is tomorrow. You could get—”
I wave my hand at him. “Tell them it’s urgent, and see if they’ll meet me somewhere off the path—discreet. Today. I don’t want anyone to see us. Also, will you take me to grab my car?”
“You can’t go by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine—” I start to say but relent. “Will you follow me there?”
“That works,” Chase says, eyeing me skeptically. “But are you sure you want to do this after everything that’s happened? You’ve barely had a moment to absorb any of it.”
“It’s better this way,” I answer, resolute.
“There’s no turning back once you do this.” He stares at me intently. “You will be throwing away everything you’ve accomplished up to this point. Is that what you want?” His question sounds more like a dare.
I dare you to do the right thing and possibly end your career in the process. I dare you to put someone else first. To do what’s right, even if it isn’t easy.
It’s a dare I’m ready to take. I’m done letting my terrible choices define me. I’ve listened to the bad Lila for so long—let her steer me into ditch after ditch. It’s time to let the good Lila take the wheel.
I look down at the notes on my desk. “There’s no turning back anyway. No matter what happens, I know I’ll have done what’s right for Lynn Greenwood and her kids.” I lean my hand on the desk and take a deep breath. “I never told you this, it was a long time ago, but I had a case early on in my career that went horribly wrong. I’ve never stopped thinking about whether the choices I made ruined the lives of the children involved.” I make the connection out loud that has been sitting on the edge of my consciousness. “I can’t explain it, but I need to do this for those kids. Like the universe won’t right itself until I make amends.” I laugh awkwardly. “That sounds a little bit crazy, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. A little.” Chase takes a step back, as if my confession has knocked him off-balance. And I can’t say I blame him. The Lila he’s always known never gave two shits about the universe and what it wanted. But this week has me wondering if there are much bigger forces at play—energies that try their best to gently lead us in the right direction and, if we don’t listen, will blow up your life to get your attention.
I’m listening finally. I’m going to throw my career under the bus for the greater good—to help Greenwood’s family. There is no way my career will survive handing over crucial evidence to opposing counsel. Greenwood will no doubt report me to the state bar, and it is indefensible. As I stare at Chase’s perplexed expression, it’s obvious he doesn’t know what to do with this Lila.
“It’s okay,” I say as I reach out to steady Chase, who now looks peaked. “You won’t be tainted by this. I’ll make sure your job is safe. That everyone understands you had nothing to do with any of it.”
Chase nods but says nothing, and I feel bad. I haven’t really thought through how all this will affect him. His livelihood. He is well respected at this firm and so young. I can’t have this hurt his chances at moving up the ladder. I can’t have Sam and the others see him as an extension of me.
“Everything will be okay, I promise,” I say, my voice strong. I have no idea what the next twenty-four hours will bring. But one thing is for sure—it’s the first lie I’ve felt good about telling in a long time.
Two hours later, Chase is uncharacteristically reticent as he waits outside in his car (I don’t want him to be culpable for what I’m about to do), no doubt swallowing my confession and pondering what it means for his own future. I feel exhilarated as I walk in and slide into a battered booth in a run-down diner near LAX as Lynn Greenwood and her attorney eye me with curiosity. I take her in—she’s much prettier than her pictures. There’s a softness to her that they don’t convey, her honey-colored hair and porcelain skin dovetailing perfectly with her caramel eyes. Those eyes stare at me expectantly now.
“Thank you for meeting me. I know this isn’t conventional—”
“We shouldn’t be here,” her attorney, Mark, interrupts. He has a round face and tiny eyes, his balding head reminding me of a dull pencil. “But Mrs. Greenwood insisted, despite my protests.” He pulls out his phone. “I’d like to record this, so that we keep everyone honest about what’s really going on here.”
I don’t blame him—I could easily have ulterior motives, such as entrapment, that I’d use to tank their case once I leave here. I nod. “That’s fine.”
He pauses, clearly surprised I agreed. We lock eyes, both of us knowing that if I let him record this conversation, I’m basically signing the death warrant for my legal career. Just meeting with them to intentionally undermine my own client, even if I choose not to give them the police notes, would be enough to get me disbarred. He presses a button on his screen, and I begin to speak again.
“Mrs. Greenwood—”
“You can call me Lynn,” she says and fiddles with a strand of pearls around her neck. I notice her phone sitting on the table in front of her, its case personalized with pictures of two little boys I assume are her sons.
“Okay, Lynn,” I say and smile, hoping to reassure her that this meeting will help her. “Can you walk me through what happened the night the police came to your house?”
Lynn’s voice is hesitant, and she glances at her attorney, who nods. “Steve was in a rage.”
“Why?”
“There was something going on at one of the dealerships. They didn’t make their numbers for the third month in a row. He thought maybe he’d have to fire the general manager. He came home drunk. Angry. I was putting the kids to bed upstairs. I had left the kitchen a mess. We’d made slime after dinner.” She smiles slightly at the memory.
“Slime?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s this stuff we make with starch that the kids love, but God, what a disaster it is to clean up—it’s all gooey. But it makes them so happy, so we do it.”
I imagine Lynn Greenwood patiently helping her children divide up the ingredients and blending them together, getting her fingers dirty as she helps them knead the sticky substance.
She continues. “Anyway, Steve flipped out about it. Was screaming. Ran up the stairs, grabbed my arm, and pulled me down the stairs. Clasped my neck and pushed me up against the fridge, only stopping when the kids came down, crying and begging him to let me go.” She chokes on her last few words and wipes her eye quickly. “Sorry,” she says.
I reach out my hand to hers. “It’s okay. Is that the only time he’s been like that?” I ask gently.
“No,” she says, and I see her lip begin to shake slightly. “It’s not. But it was the first time he’d done anything in front of the kids. That’s why I called the police. It’s one thing if he does it to me behind closed doors.”
“That’s still not okay,” I say, mortified.
Lynn shakes her head. “I know that. But I had always told myself maybe I deserved it for making the mista
ke of marrying the bastard. But seeing the kids’ faces that night made me realize it can never happen again. When the police came, I was relieved. I texted Steve and told him I was divorcing him. And not to come back.”
“And the police? Did they help you?” I ask.
“She thought they would,” Mark interjects. “But then they buried the whole damn thing. Fucking criminal! He files for divorce the next day like it never happened. And flips the narrative—alleging that she’s a pill-popping drunk. A bad mom. She doesn’t drink! And without the police report from that night, it’s impossible to prove otherwise. It’s simply his word against hers. And then he fires his normal attorney and retains the most expensive firm with the most ruthless attorneys.” He holds my gaze until I have to look away.
Lynn begins to cry softly. I reach into my tote and pull out a tissue. “I don’t know what to do,” she says. “I feel under attack. Like no one believes me.”
I feel a deep anger rise up in my chest as I think back on the terrible accusations Greenwood made against her. “I believe you,” I say and reach back into my bag, feeling the copies of the officer’s notes beneath my fingertips. Knowing that if I pull them out, if I hand them over, it will be the final nail in the coffin of my career. But I can’t escape the notion of what is right. Right and wrong used to feel like gray areas to me, the two forces often overlapping just enough to make choosing one slightly out of reach. Now the notion of what is right feels visceral, as if I could palm it with my hand.
I think back to the times I’ve ignored what was right. Janelle. Sam. Ethan. Carrie. I’ve made the wrong choice each and every time. I’ve chosen my self-preservation over justice. And it has worked for me for a long time. I’ve been able to outrun the consequences of my actions. But I’m finished running. It’s time for me to face the truth and let the cards fall where they may.
“Here,” I say, removing the papers and sliding them across the table.
Mark grabs the documents and scans them quickly. “You have the notes from the scene?”
“I do.”
“Why are you giving these to us?”
“It’s the right thing to do,” I say as I begin to slide out of the booth. I was unsure of what this moment might feel like. Would I be frightened? Angry? Feel ill at what consequences I might face? But I feel not one ounce of any of those things. There is only one sentiment racing through my veins: triumph. Almost as if I’ve released myself from some sort of prison and I’m finally free to be the person I should be. The person I know I can be.
“Wait, where are you going?” the attorney asks.
“I’ve already been here too long. Those notes should be enough to get Greenwood to drop his suit and for Lynn to get custody of the kids,” I say, pulling my sweater on.
“But we can’t use this in court,” Mark says.
I can’t help but smile. It’s so refreshing. A lawyer who follows the rules. “As you know, the preliminary hearing is tomorrow. Show this to him right before, and tell him you’ll have no choice but to release these notes to the LA Times if he doesn’t give Lynn what she wants. I’m sure the newspaper would be very interested to know why that report was never filed.”
“And then what happens to you?” Lynn finally speaks. “Can they trace this back to you?”
“Maybe. I guess we’ll see.”
“But won’t you lose your job if they do?”
“I’m on my way out anyway,” I say and turn on my heel, walking out with a genuine smile on my face for the first time all day.
I stride out of the diner and over to Chase’s Audi A4. He rolls down the window. “How did it go?”
“Really well.”
“Details?” he prods, glancing toward the restaurant.
“Let’s just say justice will be served up fresh to the devil Muppet.”
“Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you went through with it.”
“Me either,” I say and laugh, but he doesn’t join me. I feel a stab of sadness thinking of how my choices affect him. He has to start over now too, whether he wants to or not.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him.
“For what?” he asks.
“For everything,” I reply, because it feels the right thing to say in that moment.
“Thank you for saying that,” he says, his voice cracking slightly, his eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses.
I stand by his car window for a moment without speaking, the silence breaking when a car horn blares out from across the street, breaking the spell.
“Any news on Franklin?” I ask, looking around as if he might appear in the parking lot.
Chase shakes his head. “Still haven’t found him. But, Lila,” Chase says, “they will.”
“Thanks.” I wave as he throws his car in reverse and pulls away, wishing I felt more comfort in his words.
The drive back to the office is long, the snarled traffic on the 110 North at a standstill. I roll down the windows and breathe in the smoggy air. I’ve pretty much tanked my career. Then why do I feel so good? Is this what it feels like to do the right thing, regardless of consequence? Every other victory in my life feels pale in comparison. Lynn Greenwood is a good woman. A good mom. And now she has a chance to live the life she deserves, free of her dirtbag husband.
Is that what Ethan deserves too? To be free of me? My mom’s words bounce around in my mind. She reminded me that my refusal to be vulnerable often shapes my decisions—that there is this primal part of me that will do anything to protect itself. When I couldn’t fix Ethan and his depression, I felt lost, and I turned to Sam because he made me feel powerful. I slept with Professor Callahan to ensure that my future stayed bright, not caring if it meant Janelle’s dimmed. I ignored the fire alarms going off in my brain when it came to Jeremiah—that he could be guilty. Always protecting myself over others.
That stops now.
I feel an urgent need to hear Ethan’s voice. To tell him that every road to save myself leads back to him—to our marriage. My heart pounds, and I grab my phone and dial his number, the ringing echoing off the windows of my car. To my surprise, he answers.
“Hello,” he says, as if I could be anyone, and maybe I am at this point. His voice is gravelly. He sounds tired.
“Hi,” I say. “Can we talk?”
Silence. Then, “What is there to say?”
“A lot,” I answer. “You deserve answers.”
Ethan exhales. “I don’t think I’m ready for those answers yet, Lila. I don’t think I’m strong enough to hear why you’ve been cheating on me for God knows how long with Sam.” I can hear his sharp breath. “I don’t want to know. It will make it worse.”
“Tell me what you need from me, Ethan. I’ll do anything. I’m so sorry.” My voice breaks a bit. “How can I fix this?”
“I’m not sure this is something you can fix. And to be honest, I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that you’ve been screwing people over your whole life to get ahead. And silly me, I thought somehow I was exempt from it all, like I was the one person to whom you were loyal. But I was wrong. So fucking wrong . . .” His voice trails off.
The knot in my chest begins to throb. “I’m sorry, Ethan.”
“Your sorrys don’t change one damn thing.”
“I know that,” I say and chew on my lower lip. “But what if I could change? What if I’ve already changed? I can’t go back in time and undo what I’ve done. All I can do is promise you the future.”
“You always say people can’t change.”
Damn it. It’s true. I do always say that. But I realize now that’s because I didn’t think I was capable of change. Now I understand that I am. I tell Ethan as much, and he laughs bitterly.
“You’re only willing to change because you were caught.”
“No,” I challenge. “I had already told Sam it was over. You can ask him!”
“I’m
not going to ask him, Lila!” Ethan’s voice bellows through the speakers in my car. “But maybe I should ask Carrie?”
“If that’s what you think you need to do,” I say evenly, but my chest feels like it’s going to explode. I would do anything for Carrie not to find out. To not have to hurt another person. “Ethan,” I begin again, “I know you won’t believe me, but I’m trying to change. To be better. And not only because of those pictures. It started before that. And it’s not just about you. I mean, yes, you are the most important thing to me, but I’m making other amends as well.”
“Like what?” he asks.
“I can’t say quite yet,” I answer, knowing I can’t tell him about the Greenwood case. I need to make sure things work out for Lynn first. And there will be more. I am going to tell Jeremiah he’ll have to find another lawyer to defend his civil case. But I also need to hold that back for now.
He balks. “Why should I believe you?”
“You don’t need to. I’ll prove it to you. Give me one day. I will show you that I can be a better person. That I can be someone worthy of your love.”
“One day,” he repeats and then we sit in silence, the only sound the hum of my car on the highway.
“Please, Ethan. Think about it,” I plead. “I was wrong—I thought being vulnerable with you made me weak. But I realize now—the vulnerability you afford me is the very thing that might save us.” I am met with a silence that scares me. What if I’m too late?
“Prove to me you can change. I mean really change. Not something bullshit. And then maybe we can talk,” he finally says, and then the phone goes dead.