Page 104 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“We have evidence to present for our client,” one of Logan’s lawyers interjects.

My heart sinks. So they really have something.

“I’d like to see it, please,” the judge says.

From out of a file folder, the lawyer pulls a small stack of crinkled paper. As Horowath looks it over, the room spins. I glance over at James and Dave, who nervously rock in their oversized leather chairs. When the judge looks up, he’s staring straight at me.

“Mr. Thanger,” he says, passing one of the pages to Al’s lawyer. “Could you please tell me the title of the song on this paper.”

I crack my knuckles as it’s passed over, and my blood runs cold when I see the words at the top of the page.

“It’s, uh—it’s ‘Neon Crush,’” I say breathlessly.

“That is one of the songs in contention, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“And the letterhead at the top of the paper. Can you read that as well, please.”

I try to swallow but it feels like nails. “‘Samson Academy for Troubled Boys.’”

“One would assume, then, that this creative work was written during a stay at the aforementioned place.”

No words come out. My heart’s being cleaved in two.

“Mr. Thanger, can you identify the signatures at the bottom of the page?”

I want to lie. I want to sit here and explain to everyone that Key’s name isn’t on this page. I suppose it isn’t until this very moment that the horrifying truth becomes impossible to ignore.

And it will changeeverything.

“There appears to be two people’s names here,” I say, my voice sounding far away. “Logan Samuels and . . .” I hang my head. “Keith Prentiss.”

* * *

“Joel. Joel!”

I storm across the lobby and stab at the button for the elevator. I need to punch something and it can’t be one of these fancy office walls. Wouldn’t want to get stuck with another massive bill.

As the elevator rises and the lights above the doors light up, Dave and James are there, blocking my way.

“Dude,” Dave says. “We need to talk.”

“What’s there to say?”

He pushes against me, and steam is nearly pouring out of my ears. “How about what the fuck are we going to do now?”

“Dave,” James interrupts. “Maybe we take a minute to?—”

“It’s bullshit,” I whisper.

“What?”

“It’s fucking bullshit!” I yell, and it echoes down the tiled hallway.

“Joel—” James reaches out and touches my shoulder, but I shrug him off.

“No, James. It’s not true. Don’t you dare fucking believe it.”

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