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

by Ivy Fox

  The room grows eerily silent as Agent McCarthy clears his throat before reading the documents with the transcript of the messages:

  Vivienne: The FBI is here again. I thought you were handling it.

  Malcolm: I am, Vee. Relax.

  Vivienne: Don’t tell me to relax, MALCOLM!!!

  Vivienne: Malcolm???

  Vivienne: Malcolm, are you there?

  Vivienne: Malcolm?

  Vivienne: I’m sorry, okay? It’s just, this is getting out of hand, and I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.

  Malcolm: Meet me at the apartment. I’ll fuck the worry out of that arrogant mouth.

  Vivienne: Sex isn’t going to cut it this time. I need you to assure me you’ll deal with this as you promised.

  Malcolm: Does he still jog in the morning?

  Vivienne: Who? Craig?

  Malcolm: Yes, Vee, your husband. Does his jogging route still pass over Brooklyn Bridge?

  Vivienne: It does. Since the brat got sick, he’s turned into a real health nut. It’s highly annoying.

  Malcolm: Then tomorrow, Lawrence will deal with it.

  Vivienne: How?

  Malcolm: Push for a push, Vee. Isn’t that what you want?

  Vivienne: Do you trust him?

  Malcolm: I don’t trust anyone. But fear is a great motivator. Or have you forgotten?

  Vivienne: I’ll be at the apartment in twenty minutes.

  Malcolm: Smartest words you said all night, Vee. Bring a friend.

  “And that’s where the discussion ends. By any chance, do you know what he was referring to when he said you were going to deal with it?” The agent interrogates, his dark eyes fixed on the butler’s pale face.

  Lawrence raises his head, and for the first time since I’ve met him, he makes direct eye contact with me, his brown eyes sorrowful, filled with regret. A sudden chill slashes through my spine.

  “I do.”

  “Care to elaborate?” the agent probes further.

  “Well, one side of the conversation I’m sure you must already know. Craig West was making some sort of deal with the feds—one that Judge Grayson couldn’t allow, nor his future wife, Vivienne West. So he ordered me to rid him of the problem.”

  My throat starts to tighten, and Elle comes over to me, taking me by the hand and forcing me to take a seat next to Lawrence. She entwines her fingers in mine, somehow knowing I’ll need her love to be able to stomach what I’m about to learn.

  “And did you? Rid the Judge’s problem for him?”

  “Yes,” he chokes out, his head once again lowering to the ground.

  “We’ll need you to be more precise, Mr. Bell,” Detective Gomez tries to coax. “Believe me, if you cooperate with us and tell us all what you know, then it will bode well in your favor.”

  Lawrence scoffs at that and shakes his head, running his fingers through his dark-grayish hair.

  “Detective, hell is hell, no matter how lenient. I’ve been trapped in my own damnation for too long as it is. It’s time I am free of it, even if what awaits me is just another cage. It can’t be worse than the prison I’ve created for myself.”

  “I understand,” the detective mumbles amicably and throws a look at her colleague to continue.

  “How did you assist the judge, Mr. Bell? How did you take care of his problem?”

  “He told me that Craig West always ran along the bridge around five every morning, except on weekends when he’d go to Staten Island to visit his daughter. It was still winter, so at that early hour, it would be dark enough as well as secluded.

  “On a particularly foggy day, I waited for him. When he came close enough, I started to jog in his direction, not to cause suspicion. When he reached me, he ran closer to the rail so I could pass him by, and that’s when I pushed him over it. Before he realized my intentions, he was already falling to the East River. He never stood a chance.”

  “Oh, my God!” I cry out, while Elle clasps her mouth to suppress her scream.

  “Holy shit!” Ash shouts, up on his feet in outrage.

  “What the fuck is going on here?!” Rome demands, furiously making his way behind the couch to stable my shaking shoulders with his grip.

  “Babe, maybe you shouldn’t be here,” Ollie supplicates softly, also rushing to my side, worried what other horrors may steal the very rug from under my feet.

  Everyone loses their minds with Lawrence’s confession, yelling out their indignation above everyone else. I cover my ears, to muffle out their arguments, shaking my head as I absorb what I just heard—Vivienne and Malcolm plotted to have my father murdered, and they used Lawrence to do their dirty work for them.

  My father didn’t kill himself as we believed. He didn’t leave me of his own free will. He was pushed to his death, and my own mother was the culprit behind his fatal fall.

  Ollie grabs my face, caressing my cheeks while wiping the angry tears that keep falling.

  “Snow, you don’t have to be here listening to all of this. Let me take you away, baby,” he hushes, worry and sadness bleeding through him, compassionate to the fact that I had to find out this sordid truth in such a way.

  “No, Ollie.” I shake my head, my resolve intact in seeing this through. “I want to hear what more he has to say. I need to know everything. I’m tired of all the lies and deceit. I need it to end, Ollie. And the only way I see that happening is if all the lies are finally exposed.”

  Ollie gives me a faint nod, and keeps one arm around my waist, silently telling me he’ll always be at my side, no matter what decisions I make. Clearing what’s left of my shock-filled tears, I look over at the one person who seems to have more answers than questions.

  “Agent McCarthy, why was my father making a deal with the FBI? He embezzled millions, why would the FBI even come to him with a deal in the first place? And why did my mother and Malcolm want him dead?”

  “Miss West, I understand you have questions about your father, and I’ll be available to answer every single one. But first, we need to establish Mr. Bell’s involvement and any other illicit activities he might be aware of. We can discuss your father at another time.”

  “No!” I stamp my foot on the hardwood floor. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know now! Or Elle will call the Coen brothers, and Lawrence won’t say another word.”

  “But—”

  “Just shut the fuck up, Lawrence. Your time will come soon enough,” Rome growls at him, shutting him up.

  Agent McCarthy looks put-off, but Detective Gomez doesn’t, so she gets up from her seat and walks toward us.

  “May I?” she asks Elle, glancing at her grip on my hand.

  My best friend reluctantly lets me go while the detective pulls the coffee table closer to the couch and sits on the brim, strategically positioned in a way that prevents me from having a clear view of Lawrence’s solemn face. She then takes my hands in hers and looks me directly in the eye.

  “You were very brave to come to me with that recording, Holland. I don’t think I emphasized how courageous you were in doing so. Not many victims of sexual assault would have been able to listen to the recording, let alone be level-headed to keep the evidence and bring it to the police. Most would have deleted it or trashed the phone entirely, trying hard to erase every memory of such crime. What you’ve done took a lot of strength on your part, Holland.”

  “You had Rome locked up. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “You’re right. And for that, I’m sorry. It was hard for someone so young, and I didn’t help, either. But I want to now. If you’ll let me?”

  “You can start by telling me the truth.”

  “And I think no one deserves it more than you,” she announces softly, to which Agent McCarthy begins to protest, but the hard-nosed detective just waves his objections away with a flip of her hand.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why was my father in bed with th
e FBI if he was a criminal, too?”

  “It’s true that your father did embezzle his clients. But he didn’t do it out of his own initiative. We have proof that Judge Grayson blackmailed him on various occasions. The judge used your stepsister, Addison, to get your father to do his will. He threatened to go to Senator Hurst and expose his wife for having an affair, your sister being the result of that relationship.

  “He knew the senator would be less than kind to his daughter if he ever found out. However, when you were diagnosed with lupus, Craig’s fatherly instincts kicked in. We have Claire Hurst on record confirming that your father came to her, wanting to confess to the senator that Addison was his daughter. He wanted to be a part of her life. He was even prepared to divorce Vivienne and marry Claire and raise you girls together.”

  “But that never happened,” I hush out, hurting for the father I never really knew.

  “No, it didn’t. Claire admitted to him that the senator always knew of Addison’s biological father and that he still raised her as his own. Claire pleaded with your father not to pursue his wish of being in Addison’s life. To let the whole world know of Claire’s infidelity would cause more pain than anything else, and the one who would suffer the most would be your sister. She had made her choices and begged Craig to respect them. According to Claire’s deposition, that was the last time they ever saw each other. Are you with me so far?”

  “She’s with you,” Rome answers in my stead, giving me a light squeeze on the shoulders.

  “Now, this part will be more difficult to hear. If you feel that you need me to stop, I will. Do you understand, Holland?” she insists, calling me out by name to get a reply out of my own lips.

  “I can handle it. Just go on.”

  She takes in a deep breath, overlooking all the faces around her, waiting for her words on bated breath.

  “After the conversation he had with Claire, we’ve surmised that Craig went back to the judge and told him that he wouldn’t embezzle another dime for him, now that he knew the judge’s threats were hollow. That’s when we believe Judge Grayson took another route to ensure the stolen money kept rolling in.

  “Soon after, he began his affair with Addison. She was sixteen at the time—a minor. She was probably confused and manipulated into the sexual relationship. We were able to pinpoint her exact age from the photographs and videos shared between your mother and the judge. Vivienne made a website where videos of their sexual encounters took place, always vigilant to conceal the judge’s identity, but not your sister’s.

  “We have concluded they used the videos to blackmail your father, who conceded in continuing with the embezzlement scheme, with the promise to leave Addison alone.”

  My mind is a blank, chaotic mess.

  “Do you need a minute?” she asks patiently.

  What I need is more than a minute. What I need is to go back in time and fix the cruelty both my mother and Judge Grayson have inflicted on both our families. What I need is a do-over, Michelle. Can you give me a fucking do-over?!

  “I have a question,” Elle announces coldly at my side. Her face is like marble stone—expressionless and lethal. “How did you get all this information? You said so yourself that haven’t found evidence of my father’s criminal affairs in this house. How were you able to get all this intel in the first place? Considering this family hasn’t had the best track record with the NYPD, I just want to make sure you’re not adding any additional stress to Holland if it’s unwarranted.”

  “That’s a valid point, Eleanor, and I understand exactly where you are coming from. But believe me, we are doing our due diligence, dotting every i and crossing every t in regards to this investigation.

  “When Holland gave me the recording, it shook me to my very core. I do not want to see another innocent woman hurt because of my ego and pigheadedness, pardon the pun. I can’t arrest your father for his crimes, Eleanor, but his accomplices, I can.

  “Judge Grayson made it perfectly clear that the night he tried to assault Holland, her mother knew what his intentions were. She even conceded willingly to it. So I opened a full-on investigation on Vivienne Grayson, never suspecting the depravities I would find. At first, I thought it was only hearsay, based on little evidence from a man who is no longer alive to corroborate it. I needed more than that to build my case. So, I began a stakeout and followed her every day, without fail, until I could get another lead.

  “Three days ago, she led me to an apartment in the West Village, which was bought and paid for by Judge Grayson himself. I found that quite odd since we had uncovered in your brother’s case that he had no actual money left by his previous wife. So, how could he afford a ten million dollar apartment? With a search warrant on hand, we raided the house, and the things we found inside were more than incriminating—burner phones, personal laptops, the works. Although the messages read to you were taken from Vivienne’s personal phone, the ones we found on the burners are even more damaging. We know it will be difficult to prove their ownership, but the tone and language used are similar to the first messages, and combined with fingerprint analysis, we will be able to get experts on the matter to testify in court that the interactions were always done between those two parties.”

  Elle raises her head over to Rome, and following her lead, I look at him over my shoulder, confirming he’s wearing the same expressionless mask as his sister. We would all prefer to have solid proof, rather than relying on expert opinions or anything else that may be susceptible to reasonable doubt. Having had experience with the justice system, and we know that not everyone keeps to the true letter-of-the-law, and can easily be bought to lie on the stand.

  “Although we have sufficient proof to obtain an arrest warrant, we want to make sure we don’t miss anything that might bite us in the ass afterward,” Detective Gomez continues.

  “That’s when I come into the picture,” Agent McCarthy chimes in.

  “Oh? How so?” I question him, interested in learning how the two paired up.

  “I don’t know if you are aware, but your grandmother recently opened an inquiry with us. She gave us the details of all your offshore accounts, ones set up by your father, and we were sure that it would be the embezzled funds, but they weren’t.

  “First, I’d like to set the record straight on one matter—the FBI did not approach your father. He came to us. He told us he had been blackmailed into stealing his clients’ money, and would willingly cooperate, not only by providing all the details of the operation, but also to help in the arrest and conviction of the people involved, in exchange for a shorter sentence. That’s when he explained that his youngest daughter had a serious condition, and he didn’t want to be apart from her.

  “The deal was for him to cooperate and help bring to justice someone that was, in his own words, one of the most prominent men in society. We gave him five years to do so, but unfortunately, he was killed before he gave us a name, and upon his death, the case died with him. We had no leads, no suspects, and no money trails. Nothing.

  “But yesterday, Detective Gomez called and asked me all sorts of questions that have been plaguing me since Craig’s death. For the past twenty hours, we’ve been stuck in a room combing through the evidence and connecting the dots. We then stumbled upon evidence implicating Mr. Bell’s involvement, leading us to where we are now,” Agent McCarthy explains, clearly expressing the frustration for this unsolved case.

  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I’ll confess to my involvement and anything else you need,” Lawrence replies, broken, his eyes still fixed to the floor.

  “I have a question,” Ash suddenly calls out, grabbing everyone’s attention. “On the message, my father said ‘push for push.’ What did he mean by that?”

  Detective Gomez and Agent McCarthy share a silent conversation with their eyes, and I fear the worst is yet to come.

  “What did my father mean by that?!” Asher yells out, his face turning all shades o
f furious rage.

  Detective Gomez rises from her seat on the coffee table and takes a minute to look at the Grayson siblings, her eyes softening further when they land on Ollie.

  “As I’ve said before, we found a lot of incriminating evidence on the burner phones,” she begins to explain softly. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but we believe Vivienne was with your mother on the day she died. And that she… she…”

  “That she what, Detective?” I insist, seeing that everyone else is too petrified to say a word.

  Agent McCarthy pulls out his iPad once again, and the message transcripts he recites are sure to change our family forever:

  Burner phone #1: We’re on our way to the cops. What do you want me to do?

  Burner phone #2: Give me a minute.

  Burner phone #1: You don’t have a minute. She’s about to destroy you.

  Burner phone #2: Don’t you think I know that?!

  Burner phone #1: So what do you want me to do?

  Burner phone #1: Now or never.

  Burner phone #2: Push her into oncoming traffic.

  Burner phone #2: Is it done?

  Burner phone #1: It’s done.

  Chapter 20

  Roman

  Five months later

  I open the bathroom door while drying my hair with a towel when I’m confronted with a sight that makes my mouth water, craving to get all sweaty and dirty again. Looking ethereal and majestic, Snow is slowly grinding on Ollie’s cock, as Ash worships her from behind, licking the sweet sweat dripping down her back while she rides them both. I throw the towel to the floor, gripping hard to the one I have on my waist as I step further into the bedroom, not wanting to miss a moment of her falling apart.

  This image never grows old. For the past five months, we’ve been taking it out on each other’s bodies and souls, trying to heal the scars that have been inflicted on our hearts. The betrayals, lies, and murders committed by two of the parents who should have protected us—but tormented us since birth instead—still haunt the four of us. But it’s in our love that we try to slowly mend the fractures and wounds they’ve caused.