"Where did we go wrong," Layla asked Paul. "Where did we go wrong as parents?"
Paul got up from his seat and started darting towards the stairs that led to the upper floor of the house.
"Paul don't beat her, please." Layla cried out to the fuming husband.
"Oh, I'm not going after Ingrid." He said as he stopped in his tracks. He turned around and looked at his wife. "You told me to help my son…So I'm going to help him."
"How?" She asked seeming confused and still glimmering with some hope.
He looked at her and spelled out a seven-letter word. She gasped! That could work!
*********************
Ingrid was crying into her soft pillow in her bed, the guilt of her pregnancy was killing her. She was scared now that Ethan wasn't there, there to help her. She heard how the other room was silent. It felt so eerie. He wasn't here, and wouldn't be probably coming home anytime soon. She heard her phone ring and turned over to the desk beside her bed. She took the phone and looked at the caller. It was Ayden. She closed her eyes as she let the phone ring away. When it was over she looked at the notification bar and saw the fifty missed calls from him. She had been avoiding him all the while since she found out about her pregnancy. She had never done that to him. Not once. She noticed Ethan's too. The ones she had been ignoring prior to Saturday morning when she saw him again. She would kill to hear his voice one more time. But now wasn't the time. She placed the phone back on the desk and turned to face away from her bedroom door. Her left hand slid from her chest to her tummy. Something was growing in there. She could feel it!
**********************
"Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Freeman." Said Paul as he ushered an older man to sit down. They were in some fancy coffee shop. The place looked decent and all as some old folks present were dressed in some lavish clothes. The lights were glowing yellow and it brought life into the coffee shop. Slow jazz music played in the background. It soothed him of this stress-driven-day.
"No problem, old friend." Grinned the African-American man dressed in a grey overcoat and dark blue silk pants. He was in his late sixties and the baldness on his head showed it all. He however had a mustache to compensate for the absence of hair on his head with a pair of glasses to finish off the look.
"You are my friend, Paul. We been in this industry for a long time. Whatever you wan' from me just ask and snap, I'll have it done. We're brothers. C'mon, tell me what the matter is?"
"It's more of a problem than a matter." He began. "It's about my son…Ethan."
"Oooh yeaaah. Little lad messed up pretty bad. I heard what he did to that poor lady…"
"Yes, so I was asking for your help…" he talked so slowly.
"And what can I do for you?"
"Today, I'm not talking to you as a friend. I'm talking to you, the you who is a judge."
Mr. Freeman raised his brow. He didn't like where Paul was heading with the conversation.
"Paul, don't do that with me." He told him as he took a cup from the fancy table between them.
"Mr. Freeman, my son will be prosecuted before the court. That, I am pretty sure of. I know the case will be handed to you. I know you can find it in your power and find him not guilty or something."
Mr. Freeman was the head of the Judiciary in King County. It was obvious that he would get the case. And Paul was trying to get him on his side before the day of the reckoning arrived.
"Are you mad? What kinda help is that? When I asked to help ya', I meant to help ya'! Not set a criminal free. You even listening to wat' you sayin'?"
"I know it's a lot to ask from you." Paul convinced him. Mr. Freeman took out his ringing phone from his coat, talked with the caller for a minute or two, dialed some things when it was over, and returned the phone back to the pocket.
"A lot? Paul this is just out of ma' league! I can't set him free! What if the evidence will contradict my sentence?"
"I'm here right now because he is guilty. If the sentence would be passed right now he would be heading to some state prison tomorrow morning."
"We took some oaths, Paul. We cannot bend the rules to fit us and only us whenever we want. You're a good man. Your son, even better. But what he did was wrong. There is no escaping that."
"Mr. Freeman…"
"What's up with all the 'Mr. Freemans' today Paul? Just call me Freeman like you usually do."
"Okay. Freeman, we have been friends for a long time. You on the judge's seat and me from down there…we have put bad men away and-"
"And your son is one of them now!" He did the honor of finishing the sentence for him.
"I know, I know. But he is my only son. You know how it feels when your own blood and flesh are taken away from you, right?" Paul told him. Mr. Freeman had lost his youngest son to a crime of a burglary gone wrong. He was found dead on the scene. That was fifteen years ago. The culprit was never found to this day. He knew the pain. He could at least relate to Paul's predicament though at a deeper level. Being sent to prison was like death but one could at least visit the 'dead' in prison. As for him, he was never going to see his son again. From that day, he vowed that no lawbreaker would ever escape the arm of justice.
"I may never be able to get the justice for your son. We may never be able to. And I wish I could. But I have a son. Please help him. Help me. I cannot lose him. Serve him the right justice by making him pay for his mistakes by him living his entire life correcting them somewhere else." Paul looked like he cared from the agony in his voice. He did care! He was just too angry with Ethan to notice it earlier on. Mr. Freeman kept quiet. What Paul was telling him was of the unexpected. Paul reached for something below the coffee table. And he pulled out a briefcase. He opened it slightly and showed him what was inside. Mr. Freeman gazed at the neatly arranged dollar bill notes inside the suitcase.
B.R.I.B.E.R.Y
The seven letters were B.R.I.B.E.R.Y.
"A million dollars in cash." Paul grinned. Mr. Freeman chuckled. Was Paul being serious? Of course, he was. Money to the Purcells was never a gamble. They were sure that it would come anyway at a month's end. With Layla's beautiful salary as a brand ambassador of some wealthy cloth line, Rashuk Clothes, from Dubai in the U.S and Paul's overflowing bank account from his law firm, money problems were a thing that they just put in their past. It had been like that since Ingrid was born.
"Ok, so what do you want me to do?" Asked the old black man seeming interested in what was on the table.
"Don't sentence him to be guilty on the first trial. Set a later date for his second trial. Do anything else. Just don't send him to prison. Allow him to be granted permission to come home from the jails of the Precinct Department. We can arrange for him to exit the country before the second trial begins and he will stay in a country where the U.S police won't be able to touch him. We will make him disappear. I promise you he will change. He will be a good person. I know that. Please."
"Okay, but you have to promise me one thing." He said after listening to Paul's plea. "He must never set foot in the U.S soil again."
"He won't." He promised.
"Okay," he said as he got up from his seat. "And Paul, never ever bring such problems to me again."
"Yes sir…"
"Goodnight. Sleep well, Mr. Purcell."
He took the briefcase loaded with cash and walked outside the shop. The bell by the door rang as he opened and closed the door behind him. The Jazz music still played in the background. Paul saw him heading for his car through the 1.5m by 1.5m window that they had been seating next to. He looked at the man enter his car. He felt relieved, that his friend was helping him despite the dangers he was putting him in. He had something to hold on to. The needle in the haystack situation that Ethan had gotten them into. That man... he had a lot to thank him for.
After all, he had the life of his son in his hands…