Page 20 of To Claim A King
I drew in what I hoped was a silent, deep breath to settle my nerves. It barely registered.
“Yes, I’m a busy woman, as I’m sure you can understand.” My tone was casual, despite the fiery heat coursing through my veins. “You’d like to see me regarding… what?”
“It’s best to keep those details to a private conversation, Ms. Lane. We’d like to see you today, if possible.”
Today. Of course they did. A typical law enforcement response was to catch their perp off guard. Fine—if today was what they wanted, I would control the parameters, at the very least.
“I can meet you within the hour, but I’ll be bringing legal representation. I’m sure that’s not an issue?”
My voice remained cool, borderline icy, maintaining the knife’s edge of arrogant and professional. No matter what evidence they thought they had, they would not catch a single pitch of guilt in my tone.
“Wonderful,” Agent Smith replied, her tone equally unflappable. “Here’s the address.”
I repeated the directions aloud for Joey’s benefit, then hung up the phone without another word, rapidly dialing the law firm instead.
Weston Williams, Marty’s husband and my latest lawyer on retainer, would be thrown into the fire immediately. Hopefully, his skill set was truly as strong as his reputation as the best criminal defense lawyer in the state. He answered immediately.
“Weston? Hillary Lane. Change of plans. I’m going to need you to meet me at the 78th Precinct. I’m being summoned.”
“Understood.” The rich baritone echoed through the tinny line. “What should I know before I arrive?”
“I have my suspicions, but I’d rather see what they say first. Let’s schedule a meeting afterward.”
I hung up the phone and immediately sent a text to the group chat I’d started with Kellan, Aaron, and Lucky.
Kellan walking away from the FBI was terrible timing, but by his gruff and short explanation, Trish wouldn’t back him or choose to protect him anymore. My blood boiled when I’d caught the flicker of pain in his eyes. This thirty-eight-year-old man cast aside like an abandoned child. Agent Smith wasn’t to blame for Patricia’s failings, but she would get the bare minimum of cooperation from me today for the FBI’s shitty history of taking advantage of their people.
HL:Summoned to the 78th Precinct. FBI. Weston joining me. Will update when I’m out.
It took all of three seconds for a response. The burner phones Joey had provided were advanced in terms of security, very limited in extra capabilities, but they could send texts well enough.
Lucky:Fuck! Hang in there, Blondie. Channel your inner Kellan and just grunt every few sentences.
Aaron:Please be safe,Mi Reina. We’ll await your return.
Kellan:You know your rights. Let Weston do the talking for you, as much as possible.
HL:I’ll keep you posted. I’m feeling feisty today.
I stared out the window again, the heavy clouds on the rare gray day taking on an ominous sheen.
“78th Precinct, Joey,” I directed. Without question, she effortlessly changed course through four lanes of traffic to head eastward to the precinct.
Contingencies, ten steps of separation, never showing my face… My hubris was now besting me in a battle I hadn’t even known we were fighting. Thankfully, I had one weapon on my side. Possibly the only thing standing between me and a jail cell. Money. It worked for men all the time. They avoided consequences for their selfish actions with a well-timed partnership and the selective padding of pockets.
Why couldn’t I do the same? My actions were to protect people. I executed justice when the misogynistic system failed to do so at every turn. Surely, I could leverage my wealth to walk away from lasting consequences like the hundreds—thousands—of men before me?
A light, disbelieving chuckle escaped me at that thought. That same misogynistic system would nail me to the cross as quickly as they could if they found me guilty. It wasn’t even a question, but a simple reality of being a woman of power. I didn’t need to hear the rumors to measure how many of my peers would happily throw me off my pedestal at the first chance, never believing I deserved to be there in the first place.
To hear I was complicit, the director of brutal castration, exacting real justice on those who deserved it? Sequoia would have its first witch burning, and I’d be the one at the stake.
“We’re here, Ms. Lane,” Joey reported. The car slowed to idle in front of the towering white marble building in the center of the city. I was pleased to see Weston’s tall, dark figure waiting for me on the curb, his black pinstriped suit and rich, ebony skin a beacon against the somber backdrop.
“Thank you, Joey.” We locked gazes through the rearview mirror, her slate-gray eyes peering into mine. Wordlessly, she expressed her concern and questioned my next steps.
“Please wait for me here,” I directed, stepping out of the vehicle without her help. I caught her quick nod before turning my attention to Weston Williams, formidable attorney at law and my new legal shield.
Every tiny hair on my body stood on end, electrified by nerves. I discreetly wiped my clammy hand against the back of my skirt and stuck it out for a perfunctory shake. I gripped his thick, warm palm in mine in a firm hold.
