Faithless: A High School Bully Romance (The Privileged of Pembroke High Book 3)

by Ivy Fox

  The lump in my throat is making it hard to breathe as I watch the boxing match between the two lawyers. They are both out for blood, and by the stern expression on Judge Katz’s face, she isn’t impressed by it either.

  “There is an independent basis for probable cause, Your Honor,” Ms. Kelleher instantly counters, clearly agitated. “Our forensics team will testify on record to the manipulation of the crime scene as well as DNA that incriminates Mr. Roman Grayson. We have found forensic evidence of blood splatter belonging to Judge Grayson, inside the defendant’s leather jacket, Your Honor. A piece of clothing that video evidence proves he was wearing on the night of the assault. However, that same jacket was not with Mr. Roman Grayson when the police arrived at the manor, shortly after the 911 call was made by his younger brother, Mr. Oliver Grayson.

  “Our forensic team will also testify that the corner’s edge of the side table where blood was found, and initially assumed to be responsible for the deceased’s wound, could never be the cause of the injury. All factors lead us to believe that, on that August night, the crime scene was staged before the arrival of the NYPD. Therefore, not only did the defendant commit obstruction of justice, but he also revealed the validation of guilt.

  “Based on Dr. Nassir’s professional assessment of the head wound, the police were already building a case for assault charges and were waiting for Judge Grayson to regain consciousness and provide a statement, if possible. His death simply escalated the charges. We are confident in moving forward with our prosecution, and positive that the autopsy will confirm the assault resulted in his death.”

  I feel Snow’s hand on top of mine turning to ice, and even though she’s schooling her features to look as calm as she can, I know inside she’s reliving that horrid night all over again with the mere mention of it.

  “If that is the case, then Your Honor will surely agree that it is the defense’s right to ask that this anonymous source be identified,” Mark Coen defends, throwing his arms in the air for added effect.

  “No need for dramatics, Mr. Coen,” Judge Katz retorts, and I could swear the woman rolled her eyes at him under her glasses. “Ms. Kelleher, seeing as you’ve got an answer ready and willing on the tip of your tongue, may I ask as to why you do not wish to reveal your source at this time?” she deadpans stoically.

  District Attorney Rosenblum rises to his feet, taking point now, as Ms. Kelleher has clearly lost control of this hearing. He squares his shoulders, putting a fretful aura around him before giving his reply.

  “We are protecting their safety, Your Honor,” he states plainly, successfully insinuating that Rome is some kind of Mafioso with hitmen at his disposal.

  “Fucker,” Ash growls through gritted teeth, and this time no one chastises my twin’s outburst.

  “How so? Mr. Coen is correct in stating that Mr. Grayson is an upstanding member of this community with no criminal background. Not only do I fail to see how your witness’ safety could be in jeopardy, Mr. Rosenblum, but I must say that I’m indeed inclined to set bail for Mr. Grayson here,” Judge Katz rebukes, giving us all a flicker of hope.

  “Your Honor, this is a question of safety. While the defendant has no known criminal associates, we cannot reveal, in good standing, the name of our source, when the defendant in question certainly has the financial means to take action against our witness, preventing them from taking the stand and testifying against him. And those financial means are the same basis for our request to deny bail, as is the purpose of today’s proceedings. Mr. Roman Grayson may organize charities in this city, but he is facing charges that will result in life imprisonment. If he was willing to commit murder, we don’t have confidence he will stick around to face the consequences.”

  “I see,” Judge Katz retorts, taking a long, excruciating pause to make her decision. “I deny Mr. Grayson’s request for bail and order that he be remanded at Rikers Island where he will stay until the conclusion of his trial,” she announces reaching for her gavel, but our lawyer quickly beats her to the punch.

  “Your Honor, then the defense would like to waive the preliminary hearing and exercise our right to a speedy trial. Due to the high profile of the case, the more time goes on, the harder it will be to have an impartial jury, considering that my client is already being branded as guilty by the media.”

  “Mr. Coen, as much as I agree with you on this account, I also doubt Mr. Grayson here will have a jury of his peers, regardless of when this trial begins. He is one of the wealthiest people in the whole country, with a privileged background that most only see in movies. Can you really expect twelve jury members of his circumstances to be sworn in?” She rebukes, pushing her glasses to the tip of her nose, eyeing my brother one more time. “No, Mr. Coen, they will not. This court has no influence on the media coverage or its damaging reprisals, so you’ll have to bring your best arguments to this court if you want to give your client a fighting chance.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Mark Coen replies forlorn as if someone just kicked his puppy.

  “Having said that, I will do my utmost best to give the defendant a fair trial, as far as the resources I have at my disposal. I sincerely hope you’re up to the task, gentleman, as the trial will begin in a week. Come prepared, or don’t come at all,” she warns, eyeing the DA when he’s about to object to the short time-frame. Thinking better of it, he keeps tight-lipped and gives his accepting nod. “Glad to see we’re all on the same page. Very well then, this court is hereby adjourned,” she announces before slamming her gavel.

  While the judge rises from her seat, my stare goes to Rome. He locks eyes with all of us, and then gently presses two of his fingers on his upper arm before the bailiffs take him away.

  I take a long intake of breath, knowing exactly what he’s trying to tell us without saying a word. Beneath that horrid jumpsuit is a Latin script inked on my brother’s arm that we all need to take comfort in right now. Words that all five of us are branding to our souls this very minute, as our own personal mantra—Viam inveniam aut faciam; I will find a way or make one.

  Chapter 4

  Holland

  We walk out of the courtroom the same way we walked in—heads held high with nothing to hide or regret. The term ‘fake it until you make it’ is ingrained in my mind, as we all make our way to the lobby in search of a quiet corner to talk to Rome’s lawyers. The instant the two Coen brothers spot us, Ash and Elle’s cool facade is wiped off their faces. They unleash hell and castigate the poor lawyers in a way that surely will leave the two grown men crying themselves to sleep tonight.

  I look around the crowded hall, making sure no one hears the two siblings bite our defense team’s heads off when I catch another glimpse of my mother. This time, she has her mouth in front of a microphone, looking flawlessly camera-ready, and doing what she does best—making sure all eyes are on her, and no one else.

  Sooner or later, I’ll have to confront her about what she did. What she allowed to be done to me by her own miserable excuse of a husband. But right now, all my strength needs to be focused on Rome, and finding a way to somehow help prove his innocence without revealing the truth to the police of what happened that awful night.

  The crocodile tears my mother is pretending to wipe off the corner of her eyes only serves to unnerve me more. All of it is just a sick act for attention and notoriety. She hand-delivered me to a predator, without one ounce of regret or guilt, yet here she is, declaring to the world how his death is the worst thing that could have ever happened to her.

  As much as I hate the woman that bore me, in the presence of such deception, my fear speaks louder. I don’t think there is anything Vivienne isn’t capable of doing if she feels it will benefit her in the long run. And even though I haven’t told Ash or Ollie yet, my gut is telling me that she’s the one behind Rome’s incarceration.

  I know I don’t have anything palpable to prove my suspicion, but I know my mother. She never was one to turn the other cheek whe
n ridiculed or affronted, and with Rome kicking her out of his house, he managed to do both. I knew her retaliation would come in one form or another. But never, in my most horrific of nightmares, did I think she could pull off something like sending an innocent man to jail. This just goes to show that Vivienne is far more dangerous than I gave her credit for. A mistake I won’t make again.

  Tired of watching the Oscar-winning performance my mother is putting on, I return to scanning the crowd, where there is another familiar face that catches my eye. However, before I can place where I’ve seen her, Ollie grabs my hand and pulls me along, seemingly in pursuit of the same brown ponytail, which is now bouncing in the distance.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him, trying to keep up with his frantic pace, my hand gripping his tightly to keep myself from falling on my face with his rushed pace. He gives my hand a comforting little squeeze back, but never once slows his step.

  “I’m going to get us some answers,” he explains, pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose to show he means business.

  I offer him a stiff nod, completely on board with whatever he’s set his mind on. I’m not sure if the woman we’re following will give us the answers we want, but at this stage, anything is better than all the uncertainties flying about in our lives. We have to try something.

  When she turns a corner into a less crowded hall, Ollie sees his chance and shouts, “Detective Gomez?” She turns her head over her shoulder and immediately stops when she recognizes the voice.

  “Oliver… I mean, Mr. Grayson. Hello,” she chokes out the last part, a tinge of a crimson hue coloring her cheeks for the faux pas of calling my boyfriend by his first name.

  It irks me a little how she’s unable to hide the little twinkle in her gaze, as she discreetly eyes him up and down. But right now, her schoolgirl crush on Ollie might work in our favor. Maybe the stars in her eyes will blind her enough to give us the enlightenment we seek.

  “Michelle, I’m so happy I ran into you,” Ollie replies, seemingly sincere, and I have to bite my inner cheek to remind myself that his flirtatious behavior is just a ploy to make her lower her guard.

  Although, it’s still uncomfortable to watch Detective Gomez’s—or should I say, Michelle’s—blush rising on her flawless, bronze-toned cheeks, making the usually stern-looking detective appear far younger than her probable thirties. Prettier, too.

  I try to relax my stiff frame in the presence of the familiarity shared between them. If I look like the jealous girlfriend, then I doubt we’ll get anything out of the tight-lipped detective.

  “Can we talk? I need to ask you a few questions if that’s okay,” Ollie asks sweetly, with the same allure I fell for when he came strolling into the Shack that first summer when I was just fifteen.

  I can still recall the day perfectly. He was wearing a T-shirt with a smoldering looking Lana Del Rey on it, music being the cupid that struck us both on the spot. He has the same velvet tongue and endearing, earnest look in his hazel eyes that caught me captive—the same features that kept me talking to him for most of my shift that day—now directed at the woman in front of us.

  I’ve never been possessive of anything in my life, since experience has taught me that the harder you try to hold on to something, the more you risk it slipping through your fingers. However, I’m pretty sure I just heard Ollie’s knuckles pop with the force I’m strangling his hand with my unyielding hold.

  “I don’t think that is appropriate, Oliver,” she hushes under her breath, shifting her feet left to right, constantly looking around to establish if anyone is paying attention to our little intimate conversation. No doubt flirting with the enemy is frowned upon back at the police station.

  “Please, Michelle. You made a case against my brother, and I need to know if I’m supposed to help Rome, or do the opposite and believe he had a hand in killing my father,” Ollie pleas, releasing my hand to grasp hers, simultaneously pulling at her heartstrings as well as bringing her full focus back to him.

  I feel the coppery taste of blood reaching my tongue from the deceitful action. I try to relax my jaw, but Ollie’s performance is even fooling me. I breathe in and out, trying to get a hold of my temper so I don’t screw our best chance at getting inside information that could help Rome’s case. But even if my instincts yell at me to lay claim to my Ollie, I wouldn’t do it. Not when I watch the deep, saddened frown on Detective Gomez’s lips take shape, revealing how she honestly feels for Ollie and his current dilemma. So much so that she tilts her head, ordering us to follow her close to a nearby pillar, one that will keep us hidden away from prying eyes. We stand silently, waiting for her to begin, hope beginning to bloom in our chests that she’ll give us something we can work with.

  “Oliver, I can’t imagine what you and your family are going through right now. I empathize. I really do. But it’s best you see and hear for yourself the proof the prosecution has against your brother Roman. It will be hard to hear, as it’s far from flattering, but it is ironclad proof of his guilt,” she explains gently, genuinely dismayed by the blow she’s giving us.

  “Are you sure? Our lawyers told us that everything they have against Rome is merely circumstantial,” Ollie counters, feigning being misinformed by his brother’s counsel.

  If I could, I would have kissed him right there and then for his brilliant way of coaxing the detective to reveal her hand, without being so conspicuous. I swear these Graysons must have had private tutoring on how to use their best assets to always get what they want. But if I really think about it, I guess they had years of practice just from watching their father manipulate and play with people’s lives.

  “I wish I could tell you the proof we obtained in our investigation is circumstantial, but unfortunately, it all points to Roman’s involvement in his death. I am so sorry for being the one to tell you this and shatter your hopes regarding your brother’s innocence, but Rome did kill your father, Oliver. And he used you and Asher as his alibi that night without you even realizing it.”

  Oh my God, is she serious?! This can’t be happening.

  “How can you be so sure?” I question bitterly, aggravated that she would believe so strongly of Rome’s guilt when I’m the one who took the monster out.

  “Hmm. Michelle, you remember my stepsister, don’t you?” Ollie says awkwardly, and it takes everything in me not to laugh sinisterly at his less-than-inspiring introduction.

  “Yes, Miss West. Of course, I remember. Your mother has been quite helpful throughout our investigation,” she replies, overly delighted.

  “Has she, now?”

  “Yes, very much so. I’m sure it comes as a great relief for her that we were finally able to arrest Roman. She was so concerned about the danger and influence he might have on everyone living inside Grayson manor, especially her daughter,” Detective Gomez assures me, looking sheepish, surely remembering my meltdown from last week when she cuffed Rome right in front of me and a house full of mourners.

  “I’m sure she was.” I seethe, throwing a side-eyed glare at Ollie.

  If only she knew how I could have been living with Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, plus Ted Bundy, my mother wouldn’t have batted an eye or lifted a finger to help me out of my living arrangements. But apparently, my mother has been vocal to the detective in painting Rome as a more significant threat than all these psychos combined.

  “Michelle, something is just not making sense to me,” Ollie interrupts. “The DA referred to the means and opportunity Rome had to be able to commit such a heinous crime against my father, but not once did he stipulate motive. Why would Rome even attempt to harm him in the first place, when there was no reason for it?”

  The puppy dog eyes she makes at both of us are starting to abolish all the reserves of self-control and patience I have with the woman.

  “Oliver, you know as well as I do that your brother has never hidden the animosity toward your father, especially after…” She stops mid-sent
ence to throw me yet another pitiful gaze, and continues, “Well, especially after the judge had an affair with Roman’s high school sweetheart. A man as arrogant as your brother doesn’t strike me as one to forgive and forget.”

  “He’s not. Neither is any one of us,” I rebuke angrily, and this time, it’s Ollie who sends me a reprimanding glower.

  Crap. I need to get it together.

  The detective has been more than forthcoming, and if I burn this bridge—this inside perspective that Ollie has been able to accomplish for us—just because of my foul temperament, I’ll never forgive myself. I know we might never get another chance at gaining crucial information from the NYPD to help Rome clear his name. Inside information on what the prosecution has on Rome, is paramount for our plight. It’s obvious the District Attorney will pull every legal trick in the book to further his agenda. The fact that the prosecution has a secret source, and their reluctance to hand over evidence to the Coen brothers, can attest to how they are willing to play dirty to keep the upper hand.

  “Holland is right. Anyone would be upset if they found out they were betrayed in such a way. But if that was the case, then Rome would have gotten his revenge on our father when it happened, not years later when my brother no longer cared about it,” Ollie defends, and instead of the sliver of doubt I hoped to see in the detective’s face, all I see is certainty in her findings.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?” I ask, wanting to go straight to whatever she’s still keeping hidden from us.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, there is. What I’m about to say is not public knowledge as of yet, but by this time next week, it will be. Therefore, I see no harm in telling you now, but it’s still off the record. This way, you can be ready and prepare your siblings, too, for what’s to come.”