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  “And that I’m gay,” he adds with a chuckle.

  “That’s not a flaw.”

  “It is for you.” He winks and proceeds to tickle my side.

  “Well, I think it’s great that you and Adam are trying for a baby.” Anne smiles.

  “Is it? Am I crazy?” I look at Anne and Matthew for clarity.

  “Yes,” Matthew says.

  “No way! Why would you say that?” Anne questions.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted kids before. My childhood was less than ideal.” Matthew nods along to my words. “But it just hit me when I was sitting at this café last week. I saw this woman pushing her baby in a stroller, and I had this pang of jealousy like a need for a child of my own. And now, I think it might be too late,” I confess.

  “It’s never too late. There are fertility programs and adoption.” She gives an encouraging smile.

  “Let’s hope it’s too late,” Matthew snarks.

  I narrow my eyes at him, telling him to stop, while Anne gives him a stern look.

  “I’m thirty-three years old. Like, do I even have the energy to be a mom anymore?”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re like the damn Energizer bunny, Sarah. You keep going and going. You’re in here before 7am and leave after 6pm nearly every day—sometimes later. That lucky kid isn’t going to have enough energy to keep up with you.”

  “That is the only thing I can agree with Anne on. You do have a crazy amount of energy,” Matthew says. I smile at them both.

  I’ve done so much in my career and have achieved things that most people never will. I’ve defended crooked politicians, murderers, and money launderers. I run corporate law firm teams, and I’ve helped build this company from the ground up. But for some reason, despite all I’ve accomplished, the one thing that scares me is being a mother, something that should come naturally. “Thanks, Anne,” I say with sincerity. “No thanks to you, Matthew,” I jab.

  He dramatically grabs his chest, pretending to be heartbroken.

  Anne asks, “What does Adam think of all this?”

  “I’ve never seen him happier.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Matthew rolls his eyes.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I push myself off the desk.

  “Well, his career has flatlined. So, a kid will make him feel like his life has meaning again. It’s the only reason the human race isn’t extinct, because people with no purpose breed,” he says nonchalantly.

  Anne’s mouth drops open.

  I’m entirely used to Matthew’s off-the-wall opinions. I swear he says things just to get a rise out of people, but I’ve learned to never give him that rise. “What brings you to D.C.?” I ask, ignoring his previous statement.

  “Six-month contract here. You’ll be seeing a lot of me.” He winks.

  “Aren’t we lucky?” Anne says sarcastically. She’ll get used to him.

  “Sweetheart, you are.” Matthew walks to the bookshelf and starts pulling out random volumes.

  Anne tells me she’s going to make sure everything is ready for court later this morning. This high-profile case has consumed me for the past year, and I’m hoping that once it’s over, I’ll be able to focus on Adam. She leaves my office closing the door behind her.

  “Finally,” Matthew says.

  “Stop.” I pick up some papers from my desk and shuffle them around.

  “I’m just kidding, and I’m totally busting her balls.” He takes a seat across from me at my desk.

  “I know. I know exactly how you are.” I smirk.

  “I always test people. If they can’t handle me at my worst, they don’t deserve me at my best,” he says raising his chin.

  “But there is no best with you, Matthew.”

  “That’s the secret they find out once it’s too late.” He laughs. “Now that I’m in town for a while will you have time for me?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “You don’t even have to ask.”

  6

  Adam Morgan

  Sarah is gone when I open my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I wake up feeling good—like everything is going to be okay. Sarah finally wants what I want: a family. We’re on the same page. All this time, I’ve been several chapters ahead of her, and now she’s caught up. I hope she’ll take a step back from the firm and focus on starting a family. I have a feeling what we did last night took, and in nine months we’ll be welcoming a baby Morgan to the world. This is what I was meant to be, a father.

  I slide out of bed and put on a pair of boxers, balled up beside the nightstand. With a bit of pep in my step, I brush my teeth, rearrange my bedhead, and throw a couple handfuls of water in my face. Today is going to be a good day. It’s 11:30am, and I slept in a bit longer than I intended, but it doesn’t matter, because today is the first day of the rest of my life.

  As I go down the stairs, it hits me like a smack in the face… Kelly. Shit, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have written that note. I should have ended it last night. I run back up the stairs to retrieve my cell phone. Just as I grab it, the doorbell rings. I quickly put on a pair of pants and a T-shirt and slip my phone into my pocket. The doorbell rings again.

  “Jesus Christ. I’m coming!”

  There are several loud knocks.

  “Hold on!” I make my way down the hallway, down the stairs, and to the front door. I swing it open and find two men standing there in matching attire: tan Dickies uniforms, complete with utility belts and wide-brim hats. The looks on their faces are similar, stern and frustrated… or is that disgust or discontent? I can’t really tell. I rub my eyes. The one on the left, a tall white male, with a hard jaw and piercing green eyes speaks first.

  “I’m Sheriff Ryan Stevens. Are you Adam Morgan?” he asks.

  I nod.

  The one on the right speaks next, an even taller black man with broad shoulders, and a visage that looks chiseled from stone. “I’m Deputy Marcus Hudson. We need to ask you some questions about your whereabouts yesterday evening.”

  “What’s this about?” I grip the front door with one hand and exchange glances with both the sheriff and his deputy. There are two squad cars parked on the street.

  “We just need you to answer a few questions for us,” Sheriff Stevens reiterates with a little more sternness and impatience.

  I take a step back, still gripping the door. “Well, what’s going on?” Confusion spreads across my face as I furrow my brow. I try to remain cool, calm and collected but that’s easier said than done when I have no idea why two members of law enforcement are suddenly at my door.

  “Maybe this would be easier if we did this back at the station,” Sheriff Stevens suggests to me.

  “How would that be easier? What the fuck is going on? Is Sarah okay? Did something happen to her?” My first thought goes to Sarah, always. She’s a high-profile lawyer with a number of enemies due to the nature of her job. She’s had death threats in the past. She’s been harassed, and once she was physically assaulted. I know she’s been working on a big case, although I’m not sure of the details. Because I never really asked her about it. I should have.

  “Mr. Morgan. Try and remain calm,” Sheriff Stevens says.

  “Fuck this. I’m calling my wife.” I pull my phone from my pocket and try to throw the door closed. Sheriff Stevens stops it with his foot, and he and Deputy Hudson push inside.

  “Get the hell out of my house!”

  The two men in uniform charge forward and grab me. They throw both my arms behind my back. My cell phone drops to the floor just before I complete my call. I struggle. I know whenever you see people struggling against the cops, you always think as a spectator, What an idiot. Don’t fight the police. You’ll never win that battle. But when you find yourself in that situation, when you have no idea what’s going on, whether the ones you love are okay, or why this is happening… You fight like hell.

  I throw Sheriff Stevens to the ground and get my arm free. The sheriff mumbles so
mething like “You dick” under his breath and stands back up, charging at me. Deputy Hudson still has one of my hands behind my back.

  “All right, I’ve had enough of this bullshit.” Deputy Hudson brings his knee into my face. I drop instantly to the ground. Blood sprays from my nose into a puddle beneath me on the floor. Deputy Hudson drives his knee into my back, while the sheriff handcuffs me.

  “You just had to do that, didn’t you?” Sheriff Stevens says with a chuckle and a look of disappointment.

  “I miss getting a little dirty,” Deputy Hudson says with a grin, I assume, as I can’t see his face.

  Deputy Hudson stands up, brushing himself off. They pull me to my knees. “Are you ready to come down to the station now, you piece of shit?”

  I spit blood at his feet. “Fuck you… you’re gonna regret that.” I glare at him.

  “I doubt that,” he says. “Now, you have the right to remain silent…”

  Two hours later I find myself alone in a small interrogation room with a stale cup of coffee on the table in front of me. A large one-way mirror is on the wall to my left. I drop my head into my hands. My foot taps the floor with fervor as my patience has worn thin.

  “I want my phone call,” I scream within the empty room. “I want my fucking phone call!”

  The door opens, and Sheriff Stevens and Deputy Hudson enter carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee.

  Sheriff Stevens sets a bottle of water in front of me. “Thirsty?”

  I pick up the water, chug it, and crunch up the empty bottle. I toss it into a trash can by the door. They take their time settling into their chairs across from me. They give each other a glance as they casually sip their coffee. They’re trying to look calm, but their clenched jaws and strained eyes give away the fact that they’re pissed off.

  “I want my phone call.” I still have no idea why I’m here. These assholes roughed me up a bit and threw me into the back of a squad car. I haven’t been charged with anything, and I’ve been sitting in this room for over an hour. I don’t know if Sarah is okay. I don’t know how I’m involved in any of this.

  “Mr. Morgan—can I call you Adam?” Sheriff Stevens asks, as if we’re on a first-name basis, as if he’s trying to be personable with me. These fucking backwoods pieces of shit. I’m tired of this, and I just want to know what the hell is going on, so I nod with no enthusiasm.

  “Good. Well, you can call me Ryan and this guy,” he pats the deputy on the back, “you can call him Marcus. Now, we’re here to ask you a few questions, and hopefully, you’ll decide to cooperate with our investigation—unlike earlier. Do you understand?”

  I take a deep breath and rub my forehead with my hands, trying to soothe the headache I have coming on. “Yeah.”

  “Excellent. Now, can you tell us where you were last night?” Sheriff Stevens asks.

  My eyes dart around the room. “I was at my lake house over on Lake Manassas until around midnight. Then, I drove home.”

  They nod. Deputy Hudson pulls a notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket and begins jotting down notes. “Were you alone at the lake house?”

  “No.”

  “Who were you with?”

  “What’s this got to do with anything? I want my lawyer right now. I’m not answering anything else until I know what’s going on and why the hell I’m here.” I stand up, kicking back my chair and shaking the table. The cups of coffee spill and two other deputies immediately charge into the interrogation room, restraining me.

  Deputy Hudson stands quickly flinging his chair back. He charges at me, grabbing me by the neck. His eyes bulge, and his lips purse as he comes within two inches of my face. “Listen up, you little shit! Kelly Summers was stabbed to death in your bed. Perhaps you want to start telling us what really happened, because, with the amount of evidence stacked against you, your days are fucking numbered.” He pushes me against the wall as Sheriff Stevens pulls him off telling him to cool it.

  “I’m not going to fucking cool it. Kelly was a good girl. She was family, and this white-collar piece of shit comes into our town and kills her. Fuck this guy,” Deputy Hudson spits. Drops of sweat accumulate at his hairline.

  “Wha— what are you talking about? Kelly? She was fine when I left,” I sputter, choking on my own words. “How? How did this happen?” I collapse. The room spins and spins. The deputies let me fall to the ground as they take a step back.

  Who would hurt Kelly? The text messages from her husband. I recall them, each more menacing than the last and full of threats. It had to have been him. “Her husband. It had to have been her husband. Check her phone. Check her texts,” I plead—trying to put all the pieces together, trying to make sense of it.

  “Don’t you fucking talk about her husband!” Deputy Hudson points his finger right in my face.

  Sheriff Stevens pushes him away from me. He turns back toward me. “We’re looking at all angles, but like the deputy eloquently said, this isn’t looking good for you.”

  “I would never hurt Kelly. I-I-I couldn’t. I loved her.” I drop my head into my hands.

  “That’s great,” Sheriff Stevens says with a hint of sarcasm. “Why don’t you follow one of these deputies and go call your wife?”

  7

  Sarah Morgan

  I stand and take a quick, small breath. I look back at Matthew and Anne. They’re sitting front row, and they both give me an encouraging smile. I nod slightly at them, adjust the lapels on my jacket, and walk toward the jury box. Before I begin, I make eye contact with each juror.

  “Senator McCallan has worked in public service for over twenty-five years. In twenty-five years not once,” I hold up a single finger on my right hand to highlight my point, “has his character or professionalism come into question. We paraded character witnesses before you, proving that very sentiment. Not once has he taken a payout. Not once has he disparaged another person, used his power for his own benefit, or caved on his principles.”

  I put my hand on my defendant’s shoulder. “He is one of the rare shining beacons of public servitude in a swamp of lies, corruption, and under-the-table deals. It is this same exemplary service that has led him to the situation he is in today, for he is guilty of one thing… not backing down.” I pass him a quick reassuring look and walk back to the jury box.

  “Senator McCallan is now leading the sub-committee on renewable energy, an effort praised by both pundits and the American people, but not by—you guessed it—big oil.” I point to the two men on the public benches wearing beautiful bespoke suits, topped off by garish but equally expensive jeweled bolo ties. I pass through the swinging door between the prosecution and defendant tables and stand in the aisle next to them. “This was the one man they feared in this position. The one man they knew they couldn’t brush under the carpet with a quick payout. The one man they wouldn’t be able to go dig dirt up on and blackmail into silence.”

  I walk back toward the jury, pausing at the prosecution table, “So, what did they do? They created their own.” I delicately point to the lead witness. The woman who this all started from. This part I’ll need to be careful with.

  “We should not be mad at this woman for her false accusations. We should not be mad at this woman for trying to drag Senator McCallan down into the mud,” I pass her a sympathizing look, trying to convey that I truly mean this part, “because she is just a pawn in the game, not the puppet master. We have proven her ties to high-ranking employees at PetroNext, we found the ‘secret’ wire transfers to her ‘brand new’ bank account, and, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, if this isn’t just a good ol’ fashioned payout-for-a-smear play, then I don’t know what is. We sympathize with her, truly we do. But you should also see this for what it is. Fake. Pure fiction. False accusations trumped up in desperation to bring down the one man they didn’t know how to bribe and twist the way they wanted. My client is guilty of many things, fighting for the American people, staying true to his word, being a man of noble character. But raping this young woman
? For that, he is unequivocally not guilty, and I urge you to find him as such. Thank you.”

  8

  Adam Morgan

  Sheriff Stevens escorts me to a pay phone hung on the wall in the center of a long corridor. Deputy Hudson is only a few steps behind the sheriff, watching my every move.

  “Make it quick,” Sheriff Stevens commands as he stops in the doorway.

  I pick up the phone and hold it to my ear, closing my eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. How can I tell her what’s happened? How could I have done this to her?

  I open my eyes and dial Sarah’s cell phone number.

  The phone rings and rings and then her voice is there. But it’s her voicemail. I consider leaving a message but decide I can’t tell her I cheated on her and I’m now a suspect for my mistress’s murder over voicemail. I turn my back toward Sheriff Stevens and Deputy Hudson. They’re chatting while keeping an eye on me.

  “Hurry up, Mr. Morgan,” Deputy Hudson says.

  I wave my hand at him dismissively. I redial Sarah. She doesn’t pick up. Damn it. I pull the receiver hook down, and this time I dial a different number.

  “Hello,” Eleanor says with apprehension.

  “Mom… I’m in trouble. I need your help.”

  9

  Sarah Morgan

  I take a sip of my Bollinger champagne, which I seriously earned after that case. For nearly a year, I worked nights and weekends and traveled back and forth to Texas. Anne is nibbling at naan bread, and Matthew is happily drinking his vodka martini.

  “I must say, Sarah. I am impressed. I have not seen you in action since mock trials at Yale.” Matthew holds up his glass. “To Sarah’s sharp tongue.” Anne and I hold up our champagne flutes. We all clink and drink.