Page 63 of Cupcake of the Month
Their first letters were full of their wants. Their needs. Instructions on how to get loans for appeals and riddled with demands on Josh to make up for helping convict them. Nothing on how to care for a child barely more than a toddler or an acknowledgment of their own selfish actions.
“They said this is all your fault. Christ, Josh, what’s wrong with you?” Zach landed several hard blows, then stopped, panting. A bead of sweat ran down his brow and dripped onto his shirt.
“I thought we had a good thing going here.” Josh didn’t want to flat out place the blame on their parents, preferring to carry the burden that Zach’s parents had ditched him. His brother didn’t need to know. Josh tried to smile and reached for him, but was met with a stony face and a retracted body.
“Mom asked if we have any money to send to them. For their appeals and stuff.” His brother’s eyes took on a sheen, and he lifted his shirt to wipe his face. “They can have the money I got from helping the Sumners and Lucy move their furniture.”
That wasn’t going to happen. “There are no appeals, Zach. They embezzled money. Stole thousands and thousands of dollars. You know this.”
“They’re innocent, Josh. Mom said so in her letter. That their investors knew it was risky.” Zach slumped into a chair.“We could help them. Please, can we help them? I haven’t seen them in eight years.”
Acid burned in Josh’s gut, and he reached for his brother’s gloved hand. “Zach, listen to me. They committed a crime. They have to spend time in prison.”
Zach glared at him. “If my money isn’t enough, I can get a job. Mowing lawns or something.”
Visions of Zach’s future, of college, of getting out of this hellhole, crashed in Josh’s mind. Marian and Clint had used their home for bail collateral and Josh and Zach’s college savings to pay for the attorney, all the while hoarding their own money and making plans to run. “Absolutely not. They’ve taken too much from us already.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” Zach said. “They’re my parents, too.”
“The courts put me in charge. It was and is most definitely my place to decide.”
“I hate you!” His eyes had turned the shade of ice-blue that copied Josh’s when he was angry. The visual made Josh’s blood freeze in his veins. “When Mom sends me the information on where they are and how to get there, I’m going with or without you.”
***
The comfortable chairs in Shoenover Strategic Management’s waiting room were covered in stacks of papers when Jordan walked into her office the next morning. She put her hand on a turquoise wall to ground herself, relieved to be there and away from her hovering parents. She barely escaped that morning, promising to be home in time to clean up and attend shul for Yom Kippur.
After working out of a cramped room for a couple of years when getting her business off the ground, she’d finally had enough clients and referrals to rent office space and hire anassistant. Her mother had petitioned for beige walls to keep the area neutral, but this wasn’t her mother’s business. It was Jordan’s brains, reputation, and experience that kept her clients coming, and she refused to surround herself with dull. The money to start her business had come from her trust fund, but its success was all her. And she had wanted colorful walls to celebrate.
Now those vibrant walls held nothing but chaos.
Her assistant Mark came into the lobby and covered his mouth with his hands. “As I live and breathe! Is that Jordan Shoenover? I thought she had been abducted by southern aliens, bless her heart.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” She handed him a take-out cup from her favorite coffee place down the street and shrugged out of her fall jacket, irritated when she had to tug it over her brace. She hadn’t had to worry as much about the weather in Georgia. “Pumpkin-spiced chai latte.”
“Aren’t you about as sweet as pecan pie?” His fake southern accent contrasted with the heavy sweater he wore from his constantly-expanding collection. At least this one didn’t have neon flashes or glittering snowflakes.
She held up a hand. “Please stop. Now.”
“Well, that just salts my melon.” Mark took a swallow of his drink. “Not as good as homemade moonshine, but it will do. What happened with your wrist?”
“It was either bust my wrist or bust my face.” She toasted her own cup against his. Mark had been a constant presence in the office from the moment she hired him two years ago.
“Did you get started without me?” She waved her hand at the chaos.
Instead of answering, he handed her a small stack of index cards.
She raised an eyebrow and flipped through them. Names ofpeople and businesses were listed on each one.
“If you checked your voicemail more often, your soon-to-be clients wouldn’t insist on dictating their messages to me.”
“I check it enough for someone who’s not working.” She clenched her jaw, then forced herself to relax. It was sweet of Mark to try to raise her hopes of salvaging her reputation, but she couldn’t afford to buy into it. Not until the lawsuit was settled. “I’ve listened to the messages, and I told them what I’m telling you: I’m not taking new clients right now. You know that.” She tried to hand them back, but he dodged her.
“Some of them have been calling me daily. Bordering on harassment. It’s giving me worry lines.” He pulled at the skin near his eyes. “Right here. See them? They weren’t here when you left.”
“Got a magnifying glass?” She tapped the cards against her palm and took in the boxes containing her notes that had been subpoenaed. Josh had told her to look to the future. Maybe she should do that. “Okay. I’ll be in my office.”
A sense of homecoming gathered her in its warm embrace when she stepped through the door. She had expected her domain to seem foreign. Her tasteful and elegant furniture, the lovely and colorful art pieces on the walls. It was all hers. The lawsuit had stolen her sense of place, but she was taking it back. She sighed as she sat down in the leather chair, its familiar groan a comfort.
