Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“After you,” he says with a grim look pulling his lips into a thin line as he opens the door. I give him a nod and walk in; he doesn’t follow.
I only hesitate to sit down for a moment. There are two men in the room already. A tall cop with broad shoulders and a thin mustache that I want to shave off and Jay McCann, the lawyer from James’s PR firm.
“You’re fired,” I tell Jay the second I sit down. I don’t even look at the slick lawyer. He’s represented me and plenty of other clients before, but I know he’d break attorney-client privilege and tell James everything. I don’t trust him.
“Are you sure?” the cop questions, not hiding his surprise in the least and glancing between the two of us as McCann stumbles over a response. Jay is obviously shocked and I don’t blame him.
“Evan,” Jay starts, his voice strong although he instinctively reaches to loosen the knot of the dark navy tie that matches his suit, “I highly suggest we talk about this before you—”
“Yes, I’m sure. Sorry, Jay.” I turn to face him and wait for a response, but he stands up and straightens his jacket. His clean-shaven jaw clenches as he grabs his briefcase and I can see he wants to say something, but he holds it in.
Probably a good call on his part.
I watch him walk around the table and exit without another word, leaving me alone with the cop.
“I’m Detective Bradshaw, Mr. Thompson.”
“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but …” I reply with a smirk and tilt my hands out with my palms up. Detective Bradshaw doesn’t laugh or respond to my little joke and that’s fine. They never do in here where it’s recorded. I know how this works.
“Have you been informed of your rights?”
“I have,” I answer him.
“And do you know what you’re being charged with?”
“Charged?” I say and although I keep my voice even, my back stiffens slightly as my muscles tense. “I wasn’t informed I was being charged with anything.” That statement comes out far too casually for the adrenaline racing through me.
“Well, I imagine there’s no refuting the charge on your part. You supplied Tony Lewis with the cocaine he overdosed on.”
“You want me to admit to handing over the cocaine to him, so you have someone behind bars to take the fall for a hotshot’s death?” I ask him sarcastically, seamlessly hiding how my nerves want to crack and how my blood pounds in my ears. I let out an uneasy huff of a laugh and shake my head. Leaning back in my seat, I look him in the eyes with a smile as I say, “That’s not happening, Detective.”
“Well, someone is going to go down for murder, yes.” He sucks his teeth as he stands up and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’d only be sentenced for your part and we’re willing to cut you a deal. Whoever laced it with fentanyl intended for it to kill. There’s no doubt in the DA’s mind that it’s murder, Mr. Thompson. I’d take the deal if I were you.”
He waits for a reaction, but I use every ounce of energy in me to not give him anything. I won’t say a word. Inside, I’m denying it. No fucking way. There’s no way James would give a client something that would kill him. They’re wrong. If it wasn’t James … then who?
“We know it’s someone within the firm. It’s not the first time one of New York Stride Public Relation’s clients have turned up dead.” He leans back and adds, “As I’m sure you’re aware.”
As he talks, he half pushes, half tosses the manila folder that was sitting on his end of the table my way. It lands with a heavy thud in front of me and I open it, feigning disinterest.
“Nothing points to that person being you, but this was intentional. Someone wanted whoever was going to be taking this coke to die. It was laced with enough fentanyl to kill instantly.”
I don’t say anything as he pauses, opening the manila folder when I don’t and pulling out a page with charts and shit I don’t know anything about. He points his finger to a graph, then taps it far too hard, turning his knuckles white. “Whoever did it wanted even the smallest dose to kill.”
Silence. All I do is stare at the man and then force my gaze back down, to the photos of Tony, dead on the floor of that hotel room.
“If you have any information on how we’d go about finding the killer, that’d be useful, and we’d certainly be grateful for that.”
I have to calmly exhale a few times, keeping as still as possible and making sure my expression doesn’t change in the least before I can respond. “I really liked Tony and it’s a shame what happened to him. It’s extremely upsetting to think someone murdered him.”