A TIME FOR

JUSTICE

PETER O’MAHONEY

A Time for Justice: A Legal Thriller

Peter O’Mahoney

Copyright © 2018

Published by Roam Free Publishing

1st edition.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Also by Peter O’Mahoney

In the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

Will of Justice

Redeeming Justice

Fire and Justice

In the Tom Whiskey Private Investigator Series:

Whiskey Justice

A TIME FOR JUSTICE

PETER O’MAHONEY

This story is dedicated to all the wonderful and interesting people that provide the fuel for this work of fiction.

CHAPTER 1

Although it’s only a single thin envelope, it sits in the hand of criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey like the heaviest stone he has ever held.

The pressure from the envelope is pulling on his shoulders, causing the muscles in his arm to strain, and forcing tension to race up his neck. The muscles pull, tighten, almost as if they want to drag him into the ground.

Although it’s only one thin piece of paper, it holds his future.

It holds everything that he has fought so hard to keep.

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

This envelope holds a statement that he saw coming but never wanted to admit. For all the highs, for all the excitement, for all the good times – it could all end here.

Over the last five years, life has been good to Bill Harvey. He’s worked hard, he’s changed lives, he’s found his place in the world. He’s built a reputation, developed relationships, made a difference to the house of justice.

But none of that matters now.

This time, he won’t be defending the innocent or dealing with the guilty. This time, he isn’t tracking down a killer.

This time, he has to fight for himself.

Prior to becoming a lawyer over a decade ago, he was a registered hypnotherapist helping others overcome their addictions to cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol. His reputation grew far and wide, with people waiting months for an appointment, but he knew it wasn’t his calling. He knew that it wasn’t how he wanted to spend his life.

Kevin Wu was the last client Bill ever had as a hypnotherapist. He hadn’t practiced for five years when Kevin came to his door, pleading for help. An illegal brothel owner and alleged people smuggler, the Hong Kong-born L.A. resident had previously beaten a pimping and pandering charge with the help of Bill Harvey as his defense attorney.

But then death came knocking at Kevin’s door.

His business partner’s young daughter, only five-years-old, all innocent and sweet, found a bag full of cocaine at his house and unknowingly played with it. The kid was dead within an hour.

Only four weeks later, Kevin’s young daughter was dragged from her bedroom in the middle of the night, but despite the desperate searches, a body was never found.

They blamed the business partner, Monty Lee, but the evidence wouldn’t stick. ‘An eye for an eye,’ they said.

Kevin Wu came to his lawyer seeking help to get out of the criminal game. He had watched two families fall apart, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Kevin was convinced that hypnotherapy was the way to change his need for high-risk behavior, and for the good of society, Bill agreed to assist him.

Against his better judgment, he sat with Kevin for many hours. His need to help others outweighed his intuition that it was a bad idea.

But Kevin Wu was the most cunning and calculated man he had ever met.

After five hypnotherapy sessions, Kevin claimed his life was changed. He claimed that he was out of the drug game, out of the criminal world. He claimed that something switched in his mind, and he would never be involved in criminal activity again. He claimed that his attitude to life had changed, and he had developed empathy for the people that he previously took advantage of.

It was only days later when Tiffany Lee, the eldest of Monty’s three daughters, still just seven-years-old, went missing – also taken under the darkness of night.

Tiffany’s face became the centerpiece of a massive media scrum; the innocent girl in the middle of dueling Chinese-American fathers. The LAPD did everything in their power to find the girl, but just like Kevin’s daughter, the body of Tiffany Lee was never located.

The rumors that she was still alive kept the story in the media for well over a year.

Bill Harvey didn’t hear from Kevin Wu again. Reports were that Kevin went off the rails and dived back into the drug game – set up another two illegal brothels and dealt enough drugs to sink a cargo ship.

Then, last month, the rumors started.

Bill heard the stories.

The police finally came hard at Kevin Wu’s brothel operations, arresting him for trafficking women from Hong Kong to sell to rich American businessmen. He beat the charges on a technicality, but his illegitimate businesses were destroyed. With the LAPD watching his every step, waiting for a mistake, he had no chance to re-establish his operations. With large debts to pay and no income to speak of, he became desperate.

Kevin began to claim that the hypnotherapy sessions changed his life for the worst. He claimed he was under the influence of the hypnotherapy sessions for the past five years. Everything he did during that time was a result of the influence that Bill had exerted over him during the sessions. Kevin claimed that he had no conscious control over his actions, and Bill had manipulated him into corrupt behavior. He lost millions of dollars through bad investments in small companies and millions more through a crypto-currency crash. Despite his skills in illegal brothel management, he had made bad investment decision after bad investment decision.

And now, he’s blaming Bill Harvey for every one of those decisions.

Only yesterday, Bill received a text message from Kevin’s wife, Eva Wu, apologizing for what was about to transpire. Her hatred for her husband was equal to most. Like her husband, she was born in Hong Kong but moved to California as a young adult, seeking adventure and a new life. For such a smart woman, she made such a bad choice in a partner.

Bill peels back the envelope, removes the piece of paper, and unfolds it to read the formal letter. His eyes scan the page.

There is it.

The statement.

The one that might break him.

Kevin Wu is seeking damages to the extent of…

Bill draws a breath.

Leans against the doorframe.

This is not what he wanted.

Not what he needed.

He reads the line again.

There is no mistaking it.

No denying it.

…$100,000,000.

CHAPTER 2

The girl struggles with the door, feeling her way around, but she can’t find the opening.

She hates the dark.

It’s when he comes.

Maybe it will be another beating. Maybe it will be another lashing. Maybe it will be something worse this time. That’s what she fears. Really fears. She can take the occasional beating or yelling. That’s ok. They don’t hurt too much, but he hasn’t hit her in more than a year. His behavior changed overnight, and he went from being full of rage to almost loving. He wants to hug her now, not beat her.

Even if she wanted to, she can’t stop him.

She tried to stop him once before, two years ago, when she tried to escape, but he only beat her worse. When she made a run for the open door, he moved quicker than she ever saw. You can’t go, he said, the world will hurt you more than I can. It’s dangerous out there. Too dangerous for an angel like you.

She’s twelve now, maybe thirteen.

She doesn’t know.

Full moons come and go, as do the seasons.

Sometimes, she daydreams about the last birthday she celebrated, it was her seventh, with her family all gathered around the cake. She had friends. Cousins. Presents. They played pin the tail on the donkey, smashed a piñata, sung and smiled. She plays that game still – the pretend one where she sings happy birthday, opens the presents, and hugs thin air. The person she pretends to hug the tightest is her grandmother; she still feels the love of that close embrace. Every time she thinks about her loving grandmother, with a warm smile and a warm heart, her eyes begin to water.

Not that she hates her life – thanks to the books, she still gets to smile. In the old, damp pages, she finds friends, adventures, and comedy. Things that she can only dream of having one day. Every month, he brings her a new pile of books. That’s her favorite day. When he opens the door, and lugs down a bag full of old books, it feels like her birthday all over again. The children in the books, they’re happy. They smile. They laugh.

Recently, he has been letting her out more and more.

She even got to see daylight yesterday. That was a special day. One of the most special days she has ever experienced. It had been months since she felt the warmth of the sun on her skin, and it filled her with joyous excitement. He even laughed and smiled as she danced in the open yard.

It’s amazing how much you enjoy the little things, he said. But to her, they’re not life’s little things. They’re the moments that she wants to remember, the highlights of her existence.

Above her is one house, probably the one he lives in. She’s only ever seen it from the outside and never been allowed to go inside.

Despite having food, shelter, and now love, everything she needs, she knows that this isn’t the life for her. She has to break free and see what’s beyond the basement in his house. She’s sure that there’s an exciting world out there, she’s read about it in the books, and she wants to experience it all.

As the years have passed, he’s become more and more sloppy – leaving the door unlocked or open, giving her a sniff, a taste of freedom.

Beyond the door is a yard surrounded by a six-foot wooden fence. And beyond that fence is a line of trees. Over the fence, there are two old walking tracks, covered and mostly unused. One to the east and one to the west.

She’ll run for the one to the west. That’s been her decision for a month now. Next chance she gets, she’s running west. How far, she doesn’t know. What to, she doesn’t know either.

But whatever is out there has to be better than living trapped in a dark, damp basement.

It has to be.

Her heart skips a beat when she hears the noise at the door. It’s him again. Sometimes, she can hear a sweet and gentle woman’s voice outside. She never comes in. He never lets her.

The door to the basement slams.

He’s angry. That’s not good.

With a thud, he drops a sack on the floor. This week’s supplies. Food. From the thud of the sack on the floor, it doesn’t sound like much. He must have had a hard week.

“You made a mess,” he growls out.

She cowers in the corner, hands over her head, waiting for the first fist to come.

“I’m not going to hit you.” He moves towards her and rests his hand on her back. “Those days are gone. I said sorry for all that. I’m not going to hit you ever again.” He draws a long breath. “But things are going to change around here.”

The breath catches in her throat.

“I’ll be leaving soon, and someone else is going to have to look after you.”

Her entire body freezes. Only three other men have come to the basement, years ago. They didn’t treat her well, and they did things to her that she tried so hard to forget. Horrible things.

“I don’t want that,” she whispers, still cowering.

His hand rubs her back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any control over it. Things are going to change. They have to. You’re getting too old to stay here, and I can’t keep looking after you. Someone else is going to have to look after you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“The horrible men?”

He doesn’t answer, and she feels the tears start to well in her eyes, but she blinks them back. Last time she cried in front of him, he smashed a cup against the concrete wall.

“Not the horrible men. Please,” she whispers.

He shakes his head, not wanting to admit the truth. He has done the best he can for her, but lives are about to change, and he can’t help her anymore.

“No more talk about that.” He ignores her request. “I’m leaving now, but please, don’t make a mess this week, or there’ll have to be consequences.”

As he walks away, still covering her face, still drenched in fear, she smiles.

Not because of the danger, not because of the threats, and not because of her life of torment.

She smiles because she won’t be here next week.

One way or another, she will have escaped.

She has to.

She can’t let a new man take her.

CHAPTER 3

“Rough morning?”

“How could you tell?”

“I’ve never heard your briefcase slam that hard on your desk before.”

Bill Harvey draws a long breath, staring at his briefcase, wondering how the handle is still attached. The $3000 he paid for the case was clearly worth it.

“I guess the letter came this morning, like you expected?” Kate Spencer sways into his office with a caring smile. Dressed in a pencil skirt and white shirt, she looks a picture of professionalism. Tall, slim, blonde, and growing in confidence, Kate’s organized touch has saved his sanity many times over. She has been by his side for the last four years, riding the ups and downs, listening to him go through his emotions, supporting him when needed.

Staring at his briefcase, the one that holds the letter, he doesn’t answer the question put to him. Sensing his anger, Kate walks to the desk, sitting in the chair opposite him.

“Thanks for what you did last night,” she says.

He smiles, remembering the moment at the bar only twelve hours earlier. When he first arrived at the bar to meet his assistant, she had the pleasure of being hounded by a drunken man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, proudly telling her that he was on a work trip from Washington. When Bill arrived to meet his friend, the man told him to keep walking, that Kate was his for the night.

Without a word to Kate, Bill stood tall and whispered a few comments into the man’s ear. The man nodded, gulped down the rest of his drink, and then left the bar without another look at Kate.

With four older brothers, Kate thought hitting the bars every night was a very normal part of life. Her mother passed away when she was only four, and she was left as the only female in a house full of rowdy men. She grew up thinking it was very normal to laugh at crude jokes, drink heavily, and listen to heavy metal music all night long.

That was until she moved to Los Angeles and found that women were expected to be sipping mojitos and gently swinging their hips to pop music, not sculling pints of beer and head-banging to heavy guitar riffs. Having the occasional pint brings back memories of her late teens, the days spent smashing cans with her brothers in the yard. They were some of the best times of her life.

“What did you say to Mr. Ugly-shirt?”

“I just mentioned that you’re my employee.”

“That’s it?”

“Of course.” Bill winks. One of the benefits of being six foot four is that he can tower over most of the population, and use intimidation as a weapon of choice. “I didn’t say anything more than that.”

Kate shakes her head. “I can defend myself, you know. I’ve been taking defense classes for over a year now, and I’m getting quite good. I could have destroyed an old man like him. Not that it takes much to defeat a man – one swift kick in the balls and it’s all over.”

“Ouch.” He grimaces. “Remind me not to make you angry.”

“All I’m saying is that you didn’t need to do that.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “But thank you.”

“I have no doubt you can defend yourself, Kate.”

“But I’m not here to talk about who’s defending me.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’m here to talk about who’s going to defend you.”

“Like you, I can defend myself.” He avoids eye contact. “I don’t need anyone else up there telling me what to do.”

“A lawyer that defends himself has a fool for a client,” she quips as she leans back, crossing one leg over the other.

“And Shakespeare once said that only a wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

“So does that make you a fool or a wise man?”

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll see at the end of this case.”

“Well, how do you keep a fool in suspense?”

“How?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“That’s not funny.” He smiles.

“C’mon, it was alright.” She laughs. “All jokes aside, does Kevin Wu really have a case against you? Do you really have anything to answer for?”

“It’s not a common case to take to the civil court, but there are precedents for this.” Bill lifts his takeaway coffee up to his nose, taking a large whiff of the extra-strong coffee. “There aren’t many modern cases, but it was previously considered a form of criminal defense in Europe during the 1800s. More recently, one of Charles Manson’s wives, Susan Atkins, claimed she was hypnotized by him, and he exerted undue influence on her, but that was thrown out by the criminal court.”

“What about the length of time? Surely five years is too long to claim any impact from the hypnotherapy sessions? The statue of limitations would have expired.”

“He claims that he has only just come out from under the ‘spell’ and has just realized what’s happening.” Bill shakes his head. “There was one case in Germany, in the mid-1800s, where the woman claimed the hypnotic spell lasted seven years. That went to court, and the therapist was found to be guilty of controlling her actions.”

“Wow.”

“Most recently, there was a court settlement for a school principal who conducted hypnosis on his students, and some of those students later died tragically. He entered a plea deal for a misdemeanor, unlawful practice of therapeutic medicine, but wasn’t charged for any of the deaths.”

“That’s heartbreaking. I wouldn’t wish the loss of a child on my worst enemy.”

“May those children rest in peace.” Bill closes his eyes and nods.

Kate does the same. “Rest in peace. But that means there’s a recent precedence for this?”

“The parents of the deceased children took the school board to the civil court for damages. The school board decided not to test the case in court, and agreed to a settlement.” Bill looks down at his drink. “And then there’s the Svengali defense, to add to it all. It’s a tactic that purports that the defendant is a pawn in the game for an influential mastermind. Kevin could be pushing for that by saying that I was unlawfully influencing his actions to conduct his criminal activity and benefit from it.”

“He’s calling you a mastermind? He doesn’t have a chance.” Kate laughs.

Bill doesn’t.

“If all his illegal operations have been shut down, he must have a lot of time on his hands. Maybe that’s why he’s coming at you? He’s just looking for some excitement.” She studies the concerned look on his face. “He can’t have enough evidence to prove that you’re responsible? How would he even prove it?”

“I guess we’ll see over the coming weeks, but I had heard that he takes annual brain scans – due to the history of brain tumors in his family. His proof is supposedly built around the fact that there was a change in the brain scans after the hypnotherapy sessions, and that change has continued to this day. Everything else is going to be his word against mine.”

“Is that enough?”

“Unfortunately for us, the standard of proof is very different in a civil case. He only needs to build a case that has “the preponderance of the evidence”, which essentially means that it was more likely than not that something occurred in a certain way.”

“Could you do it? If you wanted to, could you exert that sort of control with hypnotherapy?”

“Possibly.” His fingers tighten their grip on the cup. Although he loves coffee, right now, he would prefer his cup contained whiskey. “It would need to be very a very well-thought-out plan, and include a number of triggers in the therapy, but yes, it’s possible that someone could exert that sort of control.”

Kate leans forward again, sighing as she rubs her fingers on the outside of her skirt. She’s used to her boss being focused on work, she’s used to most of their conversations being about their current case, but today feels different. There’s a stiffness in his movements and a tension in his shoulders that she hasn’t seen before.

“Have you responded?” She nibbles at the short nail on her index finger, the nerves becoming too much for her.

“Not yet.”

“Are you going to respond at all?”

“I have to. He has too much evidence to risk him going to court alone.”

“So you’re going to file a general denial?”

“I can’t. I can’t deny what he’s saying – only that I hold no responsibility for it. There’s little denial in my case. Yes, he came for hypnotherapy sessions. Yes, those sessions may have changed his brain patterns, the same way meditation changes the brain – that I can’t deny. I can’t say that the complaint is not verified. And a general denial will limit my defense in court. Without discovery of all his evidence, I don’t know what I’m defending against.”

“You could lodge a demurrer – say that you have no case to answer with a legal requirement.”

“And that would admit that everything he’s saying is true. I can’t do that either.”

“So how will you respond?”

“With a motion to strike. I have to argue that what he’s claiming can’t be legal – it’s got to be an irrelevant matter. I can’t be held legally responsible for his actions, even after a session of hypnotherapy. He was totally in control of his actions. Hypnotherapy is not about controlling someone; it’s about guiding them into their subconscious.” Bill’s jaw clenches. “And even if in those lucid moments of his, I am legally responsible, then he has had the option to correct them in his sane moments. He can’t claim that I’ve had an undue influence over his actions. That can’t be a legal defense.”

“And if it’s legal?” Kate asks.

“Then we’re going to court, and I get to test my foolishness.”

“But surely you don’t have $100,000,000?”

“I wish.” He shakes his head. “But that’s not his target – he wants to take me for all I’m worth. He knows that I’ve done alright over the last few years, and he wants all that money.”

“So you think he would settle?”

“I assume he would settle for a lesser amount, but I won’t. This is about money for Kevin Wu. That’s what he’s coming at me for. It’s a pre-emptive strike – him lining his pockets before something, or someone, hits him big. He’s building a defense against something else.”

“Do you know what for? What are they pressing him on?”

“I don’t know yet, but it must be big.” Bill swirls his coffee cup before taking the last swig. “And if it’s big enough, it won’t take long to find out what it is.”

“Why don’t you just go and talk to him? Sort it out man-to-man?”

“Because Kevin Wu is one of the most dangerous men in the Chinese-American population here in L.A. He’s ruthless, cunning, and brutally callous. If I come within a mile of him right now, I’ll come off second best. This guy isn’t going to play nice.”

Kate bites her nail again. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to do what I always do, Kate.” He looks at his friend. “I’m going to fight.”

CHAPTER 4

Finding food is easier tonight.

The moonlight trickles through the small gap he made last year; he dug a hole on the outside and placed a piece of glass at the top end of the room, near the door, just so she could get to see more sunlight. She gave him the biggest hug that day.

She can’t sleep tonight, not that she wants to. She likes the night.

The day is too bright, too noisy with all the birds outside. And there’s nothing to do during the day, only work through the puzzles and books that he leaves for her. Every month, he leaves a new puzzle book – this month it’s Sudoku. It challenges her mind, taking her away from the trapped life that she leads in the underground.

Ever since she received her first number game book, joy floods through her when she sees a new puzzle book. This month, he smiled broadly when she jumped up and down with delight, holding the book to her chest.

For her, there’s no disputing the numbers. There are no mistakes. It’s either right or wrong. She loves that consistency.

But importantly, the number books remind her of her dear grandmother; the time her gran spent tutoring her after school every day, sitting patiently next to her, watching as she learned day-to-day. When she lived at home, she barely saw her parents, but her grandmother was always a constant, caring presence in her life.

Under the guise of the moonlight, she feels her way through the night and finds the bag of food, reaching in to pull out the loaf of white bread. Pulling out the first slice, she presses it into her fingers. A small sigh of pleasure escapes her mouth when she finds that it’s still so fresh and soft.

By the time he comes next, the bread will be stale. Hard. Moldy. Almost like eating cardboard.

She eases her teeth into the soft bread for the first bite – small, slow and deliberate.

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she feels the softness of the morsel of bread, bringing a sweet rush of joy through her body. It tastes so delightful, so moist. The piece of bread cushions between her teeth, lightly being chewed between hums of satisfaction.

Her shoulders relax, and all the tension disappears from her body. Like a wonder drug, the bread makes her feel high, contented, and totally calm within the first bite.

Over the years, she has learned to savor the feeling that fresh bread brings.

When she was younger, when she first came to the basement, with nothing else to do, she would eat the loaf of bread in the first two days. She would eat it fast, like she had done for the entirety of her young life.

But as the years slowly ticked past, she learned her own life lessons. She learned that the slower she eats the bread, the more she relishes it. The longer she takes for each mouthful, the longer she can enjoy the magical moment.

Sometimes, he even brings apples. Those are her favorite days.

Once, he even bought two bags of apples. She almost cried she was so happy. When he brings fresh fruit, it takes all her willpower not to eat it all on the first day. She’ll stare at the bag, almost like it’s calling out to her. Occasionally, she lets herself go and binges on the fruit. She becomes almost dizzy with the hit of gratification.

Once the first slice of bread has been slowly consumed, she climbs up on her camping bed and peers up through the small window. Angling the right way, she can see the moon in all its glory – shining bright and full through the clear sky.

Using a piece of wood that she carved years ago, she scratches another circle into the wooden wall at the end of the stairs. Another full moon. A big, beautiful part of life, shining down brightly on the earth, covering the world in a gentle, kind glow.

With a smile on her face, she sits back on the end of her bed, careful not to tip the camping bed over. Looking around at her small place in life, at the dirty concrete floor, at the cold hard walls, and at the old wooden stairs that lead to the door, she wonders what the world is like out there. What’s the food like? How much bread is out there? An endless supply? How amazing the bread must be? Could people even have fresh bread every day of the year?

Hugging her knees to her chest, she smiles.

Life is good.

She has food, shelter, books, and puzzles.

The thought of staying in the basement crosses her mind. Maybe this is all life has to give. Maybe this is the best life she can hope for. That’s what he says. That’s what he tells her.

And maybe he’s right.

She does like it here.

Life does make her happy.

But there’s a feeling inside her – a growing sense of fear.

Sometimes, she can remember what it feels like to be outside. Remember what it’s like to be around other people. Sometimes, in her dreams, she gets fleeting moments that remind her of family, of friends, of another world.

In those moments, she knows that she has to leave, and that has always been her plan. Time used to be on her side.

But the thought of a new man coming into her world makes her grip her knees tighter. She can’t bear the thought of a new man taking her away. She can’t bear the thought of what he’ll do to her. Her hands begin to shake as she thinks about the horrid possibilities.

She will run.

It will break his heart, but she will run.

For her own safety, she has to run.

The time has come to break free.

CHAPTER 5

The innocent world buzzes around the two people standing next to the Lake Forest skate park, a coffee in each of their right hands.

Looking out of place in the buzzing hip area, Bill Harvey stands tall; a fitted suit amongst the loose T-shirts, long shorts, and long socks. Not only does his dress sense look out of place, but he also feels like dishing out life advice to every young person that whizzes past him.

The morning sun beats down on the concrete structure of curves, twists, and jumps, as sweat begins to bead on Bill’s brow.

LAPD Detective Stacey Oates looks quite at home in the area, and she feels it too. There are two places that the thirty-year-old feels at peace – flying around on her skateboard, and chasing down criminals. Just not at the same time.

With an arm full of tattoos, usually covered during working hours, long black hair, and toned tanned limbs, Oates could be mistaken for a twenty-something bum with no job.

But whoever thought that would do so at their own peril.

Oates takes a long sip of her coffee, adjusts her cap, passes the coffee to Bill, drops her skateboard down, and then roars into the skate park with speed. She hits the concrete with her left foot, stopping, propping, and then launching herself off the steepest slope in the park. With a sudden burst of speed, when she reaches the other side of the jump, she springs into the air. Bill grimaces as he watches her land. One wrong step, one wrong position, and no amount of beauty products would cover that damage.

Not that Detective Stacey Oates would mind. Beauty products aren’t her thing.

Once she has roared around the track, hitting hollies, flips, and grinds, she cruises back to Bill with a poise that he could never hope to equal on a piece of wood with four wheels.

“I know that this isn’t just a friendly visit. I know what you came here to ask me.” Stacey grunts, sliding up next to him. “So hurry up and get those words out of your mouth.”

“If you know what I’m going to ask, why don’t you just answer it?” Bill hands the coffee back to the slightly puffed woman.

“Because you haven’t asked it.” She smiles. Her black hair is pulled back tightly, almost like she wants nothing to do with it. It has betrayed her many times; men see her feminine locks and immediately think she’s an easy target, think that she’s soft.

That would be their mistake.

Bill Harvey knows that. He’s been in the boxing ring with her.

“What have you got on Kevin Wu?”

He remembers the left hook that she landed on his chin in the ring. Clean, fast, and dangerous.

Three years ago, at a bar with a group of LAPD detectives, a visiting Japanese police officer challenged him to a Sake drinking contest. Whoever lost had to step into the ring with Oates for one round of boxing, with their hands tied behind their back, ducking and weaving from her gruesome gloves for three minutes.

As he spent his youth near a boxing gym, Bill managed to last two minutes, but she threw a perfect combo – left jab, left jab, short right uppercut, and finished with a short left hook. It landed square on his chin and instantly floored him. The detectives went wild, but they all patted him on the back after he stepped out – no officer had ever lasted more than thirty seconds against the tall former underage boxing champion.

That performance also earned the respect of LAPD Cold Case Homicide Special Section Detective Stacey Oates, and the lines of communication have been open ever since.

“Come on, Bill. It’s my day off. I come out here to escape the job, not to be hounded about it.”

“This is important, Stacey. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

She draws a long breath and stares at the man she respects. “Alright. We’re close to Kevin Wu. Really close. Five years ago, he was the prime suspect in the disappearance, and likely murder, of Tiffany Lee, Monty Lee’s daughter. The department was sure it was him – everyone was sure it was him. The lead detective was sure, the captain was sure, the victim’s father was sure, but the problem came with the DA’s office. They said we didn’t have enough evidence to charge him, and unless we were able to get a confession out of him, then he would be walking away.”

“And no confession came?”

“None. We brought him in, but he lawyered up very quickly and didn’t say a word to us. Not a word.” Stacey draws a long sip of her coffee and then flicks her skateboard up into her arms.

“And now?”

“We got a tip off a month ago. A woman called our department and stated that they saw Kevin Wu and a girl exiting a car near the entrance to Deb Parks Rd in Montecito Heights, at the gates leading into the Ernest E. Debs Regional Park.”

“What did they claim to see?”

“A car pull up to the entrance of the park, and Wu step out of the passenger seat. Then he took a girl from the trunk of the sedan. He grabbed her by the shirt on her shoulder and walked out of sight.”

“Identification of the driver?”

“It’s shady.” She grimaces as she watches a teenage boy crash into the concrete not far from them. “The anonymous tip-off stated that they thought it may have been Kevin’s old muscle, Terrance Marshall, but they couldn’t confirm it.”

“I know Terrance Marshall. I’ve defended him before.”

The teen brushes himself off, winks at Stacey, and then continues skating. Stacey rolls her eyes as she looks back at Bill.

“Wu drags the girl off into the park, and two hours later, he returns to the car without the girl, and the car drives away.”

“A body?”

“We’ve already spent two days looking for it and found nothing. The problem is that the reserve is massive, and they only saw them at the entrance of the park at the time.”

“So he could have buried her anywhere in the reserve?”

“Or he may not have buried her at all. She might not even be dead. He could say that he was just talking to her and she escaped into the reserve and ran away. All we have at this stage is a possibly unreliable tip-off from an anonymous source, and unfortunately, without the body, he has a defense against a murder charge. We could go for kidnapping, but we want murder one. We have to find a body before we press ahead. We’ve got a forensic team scheduled to look through the reserve in a few months, searching for clues around the area that she was taken from the car.”

“Why the wait? Why not continue to search the reserve now?”

“If she’s dead, she’s not going anywhere. We’ve had one look and turned up nothing. We’ve got a big caseload, and we’ve fitted this tip-off in when we can. And if she’s been buried there for five years, another couple of weeks won’t hurt.”

“If she’s dead.”

“That’s true.” Stacey shrugs. “Kevin Wu and his second wife Eva Wu were rumored to be importing women from Hong Kong and keeping them locked up while they pimped them out for prostitution. He was even rumored to keep some in his basement, just for himself. They were said to traffic young women from Hong Kong, pimp them out, and then send them back. Maybe Kevin sent Tiffany Lee to Hong Kong along with the others.”

“No pimping charges were ever laid against him.”

“That’s because of stupid defense lawyers arguing the technicalities of the law. They let guilty men walk back onto the street.”

A wave of guilt washes over Bill as Stacey’s glare almost cuts him in two. At the time when he defended Kevin Wu, he hadn’t realized the extent of the criminal behavior he was involved with. He was charged with one single act of pimping and pandering, and he convinced Bill that it was a mistake. Kevin Wu walked away from the court, avoiding prison due to a technicality of law.

“I can’t argue against that.” He looks away from her. “How about CCTV footage from the reserve?”

“Strangely enough that day of footage is missing.”

“Missing?”

“It was before cloud computing – none of that technology was in common use at that time. We get that a lot in cold cases – technology from today would have solved so many more crimes if they were in use back then. The reserve manager, nice old guy, said that they backed everything up on USB drives each month, and when he went to check, he found that the footage of that month was missing. He was stunned that the month was missing because he’s usually so thorough. You should have seen his storage room – everything was labeled, perfectly organized, and absolutely spotless. He thinks the USB drive must have been stolen because the month before is still there, as is the month after, but he has no idea when it was stolen. It was backed up at the end of each month, so the thief must have taken it after the month finished.”

“And the tip-off? Any idea where it came from, or why the person waited five years to make it?”

“It happens.” She frowns. “People deal with the guilt for as long as they can, and then one day it all becomes too much. The person was probably scared of what Kevin Wu would do if they found out it was them, and now that his operations have been shut down, they aren’t as scared of him. He’s still very dangerous, but he’s not as powerful as he once was.” She looks over her shoulder to see another young man jump into a dip and spin. “But the incident has probably played on their mind every day for half a decade. We get that a lot.”

“So, is it a missing person’s case or a murder case?”

“At this point, officially, it’s still a kidnapping. We don’t know that she’s dead yet, but we presume that she is. Tiffany Lee could still be alive somewhere, but they’ve given it to our section to follow up.” Stacey adjusts her loose T-shirt on her shoulder. “And I sort of get Kevin Wu’s anger. If Monty Lee killed his only daughter, and no justice came to the murderer, then I understand that he wanted revenge, I just don’t understand why he would’ve targeted the kid.”

“You’re siding with the criminals now?”

“Not a chance. That’s your job.” She turns her cap backward. “If he murdered that girl, we’ll get him. That’s what we do in the cold case team; we get the scum that thought they got away with it.”

“So Kevin knows you’re close. He knows that you’ve almost got him,” Bill states, watching a seven-year-old girl zip past him with more coordination and coolness than he could ever dream of.

“He does. What happens to you if he’s successful in the civil court?”

“I’ll be broke, struck off the bar, and lose my job. And worse, every person I’ve ever worked with in hypnotherapy will come at me with their problems. If they do something wrong after the sessions – a car accident, a bad relationship, a poor gambling decision – they’ll lay the blame on me. And every other hypnotherapist in the world will become a target for the courts.”

“Sounds bad.” Stacey adjusts her loose shirt again, ready for another run. “What’s your next move?”

“It’s a lot harder to win a civil case if you’re in prison. Not impossible, but it sure is a lot harder convincing a judge that you’re an angel when you’re wearing an orange jumpsuit.”

“That’s a good tactic. I guess that you’re just going to let us do our job then?”

“I need him arrested before then. I don’t have time on my side.”

“There’s not a chance that we can push this case up the list, Bill. This is a low priority case, and even if I push it, I won’t get approval for the search for weeks. But there are two things that you could do to help us.”

“Go on.”

“The reason they couldn’t prosecute him in the illegal brothel case was because of a lack of evidence, but we all know that he had a little black book full of names. All you would have to do is find the black book, and then convince Kevin Wu to testify the validity of it, in return for a reduced prison sentence.”

“That’s not a very plausible option.” Bill places his hand in his pocket. “I hope option two is better.”

“If you find that missing footage of the Ernest E. Debs Regional Park, you will help my case, and I can guarantee that I’ll push the case for an arrest if I have the hard proof.”

Bill nods. “I’ll start with Terrance Marshall.”

“Tread carefully. Kevin Wu might have had his operations shut down, but he’s still a very dangerous man.” She slaps her skateboard down. “If he thinks you’re a threat, he’ll have you killed, but not until after he’s killed everyone you love. Right now, he’s backed into a corner, and he’s at his most dangerous. He has nothing to lose.”

“Looks like we’re in the same position.”

“The closer you get to his world, the more you’re inviting danger into yours.”

“It’s the only shot I’ve got.” Bill watches her take off for another skate around the course, before musing to himself. “And what’s life without a little bit of danger?”

CHAPTER 6

Randall D. Woods is an impressive speaker. His deep baritone voice, smooth sentence structure, and memorizing green eyes capture attention everywhere he goes. His tall frame means that he talks down to most people, and he uses his size to coerce people into doing what he wants.

That’s probably why he’s the president of the American Association of Hypnotists.

“He must have signed a form stating that you’re in no way responsible for his actions. I can’t imagine that you would have started a session without that disclosure form?”

“He did sign the standard form. I still have a copy of it.” Bill sighs, placing his fork next to his bowl of pasta. “He’s not arguing that fact, but he’s claiming that the impact of the sessions went beyond sensible expectations. He’s claiming that the damages caused by the hypnotherapy sessions went beyond what a normal person would consider reasonable.”

“What’s he actually stating happened?”

“He’s stating that he made numerous bad business and personal decisions after the five hypnotherapy sessions, and he doesn’t recall making those decisions. He states that he wasn’t in conscious control of his actions during that time, completely under a hypnotic trance, meaning that his decisions were made under the influence of hypnotherapy. He’s stating that he was under the extended influence of the sessions, and those decisions have gone on to cost him millions in lost business and lost opportunities, and the sessions have damaged his personal relationships beyond repair.”

The busy Italian restaurant buzzes around them, but neither man is paying attention to anything other than the current conversation.

“And he’s saying that you benefited from those decisions?”

“No. Kevin’s stating that it’s negligence on my part and that I’m responsible for not fulfilling my duty of care to him. He’s stating that these fabricated ‘side effects’ were never disclosed to him before, during, or after the sessions. He’s claiming that I’m responsible for all his actions and his lost potential.”

“And you were still registered with us at the time of the sessions?”

“And I still am. I pay my membership fees each year, but I haven’t practiced in five years. Kevin Wu was my last case.”

Randall shakes his head; all this information is ruining his favorite risotto. And by the size of the stomach, it’s clear that he enjoys a lot of risotto. Or cake. Or anything that he can get his hands on. “Why did you have to bring me here to talk about this? I love this place. I don’t want to take bad information here.”

He looks at his risotto, so inviting, so tasty, and he sighs. The moment in his favorite restaurant has been ruined by Bill’s current case. Randall loves this restaurant; this is the place he returns to celebrate any win. Having practiced hypnotherapy for more than forty years, he knows the importance of association – by using the same restaurant for every celebration, when he’s feeling down, he can step inside these doors, and instantly feel picked up. He has been very careful to avoid bad news in the restaurant, a streak that has lasted decades.

That streak is now over.

“You can’t let this case get to court.” He tastes a fork full of risotto, but it doesn’t have the same impact it usually has. “If you lose this case, our industry will go under. The media will get a hold of it, and every person on the street will claim that any negative actions they take are the result of bad hypnotherapy. The floodgates will be opened, and we’ll be inundated with legal battles. There’s no way you can even consider letting this case get to court, but more importantly, you absolutely must not let the media make a story out of it.”

“I realize that.” Bill waves the Italian waitress away when she offers to refill his glass of red wine. It’s beautiful wine, full of flavor and quality, but right now, he needs a clear head.

“You have to settle this case outside of court; we can’t have the news outlets grabbing hold of this story. Could you imagine that? The headlines would run for weeks, possibly even months. It would be a moral outrage, a story full of fear about what hypnotherapists are capable of, and that would sell endless advertising space for the media. Imagine the fear that would create? People on the streets would be fearful of our influence. This story has the potential to be massive.” Randall takes another forkful of risotto. “The Association can help with money. How much are we talking?”

“$100,000,000.”

“What?!” Randall almost chokes. When the shock subsides, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a large gulp of his red wine. “You can’t be serious?”

“I am.”

“This is worse than I thought.” Randall waves the waitress over to refill his glass of wine and nods to do the same with Bill’s.

Again, Bill waves her away.

“He’s stating that he made horrible, out-of-character investment decisions and uncharacteristically destroyed personal relationships. Those decisions have not only cost him a lot of money, but also the relationships with his family.” Bill takes a deep breath and leans forward. “But that’s not the worst of it. He’s about to be charged with murder, and I think he’s going to take this defense to the criminal court as well. He’s going to say that he had no control over his actions, and the sessions made him mentally incapacitated during the events.”

“No,” Randall whispers.

“And that’s when the floodgates will really open. If hypnotherapy can be a defense against criminal activity, the practice will be outlawed. The entire industry will go under.”

“Do you think he stands a chance in the criminal court? Surely, this can’t be a legal defense against criminal actions?”

“I’m not sure. How can you be sure? It comes down to how well it’s argued in court. The DA will charge him with murder, and his legal team will fight tooth and nail to build a case against his legal responsibility. It’s his only defense, and you can be assured that they will pull out every trick in the book to get him off the charges. The theory has never been tested like this.”

“That scares me.” Randall shakes his head in disbelief. “But I also knew this day might come. I knew that someone might make this claim in court, but I didn’t think that they would be brave enough to take you on about it. To be honest, I’m glad it’s you and not some backward, unqualified hick practitioner. You did everything right, you always have, and you won’t have anything to answer for.”

“The court will make that decision.”

Randall takes another gulp of wine, desperate to ease his stress. “What do you need from us?”

“I need you to testify, as an expert witness in the civil case, that there’s no way possible that the hypnotherapy sessions could have influenced his behavior in that way. As a qualified psychiatrist and the president of the Association, you’ll have the biggest pull in court. We’ll come at it from a scientific perspective, but you’ll need to be very convincing.”

“I need to know that you’re going to win this case before I put my name to it.” Randall leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “If it looks like you’re going to lose, I want to distance the Association far away from your loss. It’s nothing personal, but we’ll have to distance ourselves from a loss like this. It’s not about you or me; it’s about keeping our industry alive.”

“I can’t give you that guarantee.”

Randall looks away from Bill’s stare, the thoughts crashing through his head.

His passion has always been unlocking the secrets of people’s subconscious – that’s what first drove him into studying psychiatry. But over the years, testing technique after technique, he found his calling in hypnotherapy. Charging extraordinarily high prices, he made his name training elite athletes, CEOs, and entrepreneurs. They came from all over the country to unlock their subconscious minds, expelling all the secrets of their past to Randall on his dark leather couch.

Hypnotherapy became everything to him and kept him going through three marriage breakdowns, two heart attacks, and one broken hip.

“If it makes it to court, we’ll have your back.” He states. “If anyone is going to beat this type of charge, it’s going to be you. We’ll have to be all in; otherwise, we’ll be all out. Literally.”

“Any help is greatly appreciated.”

“I know other scientists and medical doctors that will come and testify as experts. They hate what we do, and they’ll be happy to say that there’s no way the sessions could have exerted that amount of control for that period of time. They’ll state that there’s no scientific evidence to state that you could have influenced him.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not for you, Bill; it’s for our industry.” Randall places his glass down, rubbing the side with his thumb. He stares at his glass for a long period of time before turning his attention to the younger man opposite him.

“But, Bill.” He lowers his tone of voice. “I know Kevin Wu is criminal and a very dangerous man, but this can’t go to court. It will be a disaster for our industry if this goes to court. It’ll destroy us. People’s jobs rely on you not getting this case to court.”

“I hear you, and I’ll make sure it won’t get that far.” Bill nods. “No matter how dangerous it gets.”

CHAPTER 7

Five years earlier…

“I want you to imagine that you’re walking down a long, dark flight of stairs. These stairs lead you deeper into your own mind. It’s a deep, long stairwell, and with each step, you’ll be going deeper. Deeper. Softer with each step. Deeper… With each step, you are feeling lighter… Lighter. You are walking down the stairs into the deep parts of your mind…”

Kevin Wu relaxes back into his chair, shoulders resting on the lounge. His eyes close softly, deep breaths calming his anxious mind.

“Your eyelids are feeling heavier. You can feel your breath coming and going from your lungs. Your body is peaceful, loving, and you are sinking deep into the couch… Deeper…”

He’s relaxing, Bill Harvey writes on his notepad. For the first time in five sessions, he’s relaxing into the session. During the first four sessions, there was a wall in front of Kevin Wu’s subconscious. He didn’t want to let me in. He was pretending, blocking me from something, but today, he’s finally relaxing, and I feel this session of hypnotherapy will be successful.

“I want you to continue taking deep breaths… relaxing… easing down each step…” Using a low, calming voice, Bill Harvey soothes Kevin Wu into a peaceful state. “Keep walking down those steps until you’re feeling completely relaxed. With each step, you are going deeper… I want you to completely let go of everything you’re feeling. Let it all go. In three… two… one.”

Click.

Bill Harvey clicks his fingers, watching as Kevin Wu buys into the hypnosis session for the first time. During the first four sessions, Kevin pretended to submit to the hypnosis, resisting any attempts to actually give in. He was blocking Bill, telling him what he thought he should say, but the small signs were obvious. There was still stiffness around Kevin’s eyes, his hands weren’t relaxed, and there was tension in his voice, but this time, finally, he has given in.

As someone who is obsessively analytical, Kevin struggled to let go. His childhood was spent with his nose in one math textbook after another, but that was not unusual for children growing up in the competitive Hong Kong school system. His parents drove him to study, his success reflecting on their ability to parent. In the cutthroat world of a high-priced Asian school, Kevin succeeded. When he moved to America at just eighteen years old, his parents had such great dreams for him. He found success, wealth, and power, but it wasn’t in math – it was in taking advantage of people.

Sitting next to Kevin on the couch is his notepad – a prized possession for the avid note-taker. At the end of every session, he has filled out his review of the session, closing the book without allowing Bill to see it.

“Now, I want you to see yourself helping an older lady, perhaps a parent.”

Kevin nods slightly. “I am helping my mother; Yin Sun.”

“I want you to help Yin Sun across the street. I want you to hold her hand, another arm around her back, and I want you to walk her across the street. Slowly…” Bill studies the quick eye movement under Kevin’s closed eyelids. “And once you have helped her across the street, she’s going to turn to you and say thank you. She’s going to say thank you filled with love, joy, and happiness – her lifetime of love, joy, and happiness. She’s going to pass that love, joy, and happiness to you. You will feel that love fill your body. You feel lighter with that joy. You feel like you’re floating away with happiness.”

Kevin’s mouth moves, almost turning into a smile. A moment of silence sits over the room, allowing the feelings to flow through the client.

“Now, you are going to walk away from the happy woman. She will wave to you as you walk down the street until you see a door, any door that you remember clearly. You don’t need to force the thought; your mind will bring the thought to you. I want you to feel what it’s like standing in front of that door. I want you to see your hand reaching for the door handle, feeling how cold it is.”

Kevin’s hand jerks. “I can’t open it.”

“Don’t force it, but describe your location to me.”

“I’m on Centinela Avenue, and I’ve walked into a building. The door is orange and heavy, really thick. It’s next to a roller door, and the door has the number 1649 on the front. But I can’t open it. It holds too many of my secrets. I can’t allow my secrets out. I have to keep that door closed.”

“Why can’t you open door 1649?”

“Because it will incriminate me. I can’t let anyone into that door.”

“That’s ok,” Bill replies. “I want you to walk away from that door, leave it closed, and find another door that you can open.”

Kevin’s hand releases, and then tightens again. “I’ve found one. It’s red. I’m inside a tall building, an apartment block, and I can open this door.”

“Good. Now, I want you to open the door and step inside the room that holds the source of your anger. This room is filled with your rage. Tell me, what do you see inside the door?”

“A girl.”

“And how does the girl look?”

“She looks scared. She has her arms across her chest, and she’s refusing to look at me. She’s frightened.”

“Why is she frightened?”

“Because I’m going to kill her.” Kevin’s voice is uncomfortably calm. “I’m going to murder her, but she looks so sweet. So innocent. She’s the source of my anger. Her father should feel the same pain that I’m feeling. That’s my responsibility.”

“No,” Bill states calmly. “You’re not going to hurt her.”

With his eyes still closed, Kevin nods.

“Tell her. Tell the girl that you’re not going to kill her.”

“Don’t be afraid, Tiffany. I’m not going to kill you.”

“How does she look now?”

“She still looks scared.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to kidnap her.” Kevin Wu’s mouth moves again, almost turning into a smile. “Her father must feel the pain that I felt when my Amy was taken. He must feel that pain. It’s my duty as a father to inflict that pain on him. My honor is at stake.”

“You’re not going to hurt her. Tell her that you’re not going to hurt her.”

Kevin nods. “Tiffany will be hurt. That’s only fair. But I’m not going to take the blame. Someone else will. Someone will be to blame for her pain.”

The anger he’s experiencing after the loss of his daughter is enormous, Bill writes. He’s angry, and he wants to hurt someone else for that pain. Monty Lee’s daughter is at risk. This must be reported to the police.

“I want you to walk out of the room, leaving the girl alone, and you will find yourself in a large field of grass,” Bill continues. “I want you to imagine the pain you feel as a balloon, a red balloon, and you’re holding it tightly. Really tight. Hold the string of the balloon, and feel it tug against your arm, trying to float away, but you won’t let it. You’re holding onto the anger tightly. Don’t let go of that balloon even though it wants to float away. And then…” Bill takes a long pause, watching Kevin’s right hand clench tight. “And then, I want you to let go of the balloon. I want you to let go of that anger.”

“I can’t.”

“Gently, release one finger at a time. Softly, release your hand.”

His hand twitches.

“Lightly, release the string of that balloon. Release that pain and anger. Let it float away.”

“I can’t.” His knuckles are white with tension.

“Don’t force it. Don’t fight it. Don’t fight against the balloon. Softly, release it. Let go of the anger. Let it float into the blue sky.”

Kevin’s hand releases, one finger after the other, and then, his palm opens.

“Watch that red balloon float away into the blue sky and feel all the anger float away with it. Watch that anger float away. Feel the softness in your body, feel the calmness in your stomach. Feel yourself sink into the couch.”

The client’s shoulders relax again, easing as he imagines the balloon floating away.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Relaxed.” Kevin’s voice is peaceful.

“And now, how do you feel about the girl?”

“She’s just a girl.” His face begins to scrunch as he fights back the emotions. “She’s just a little girl.” His face softens. “I won’t hurt her. But for the honor of my family, her father must feel the pain that I felt.”

CHAPTER 8

“How was the session with Kevin Wu? Any success?”

“I’m not sure.” Bill reaches into the fridge and removes a beer, his Friday night ritual. Once the can fizzes open, his shoulders instantly relax. “Today was the first time that I actually got through to him. He was finally comfortable and spoke truthfully, but I don’t know whether that made any difference at all.”

“You don’t think it helped?”

He looks to the ground. “My goal was to help him manage his anger, and let go of his past. I really felt we took a huge step forward today with his level of anger.”

“But?” Amber Harvey asks, busy stirring the pot of Bolognese.

Bill looks at his wife, her bright yellow apron covered with splatters of tomato sauce.

These are his favorite moments; the moments he treasures. Both their lives are busy, so busy that they barely have time to enjoy a weeknight dinner with each other. But after numerous fights about trivial things, they made the commitment to come home for Friday night dinners. After six months of sharing their end of week dinners in their warm home, their relationship found the spark again.

They love their house, although they spend very little time in it. He loves the comfort and security of owning his piece of L.A; for her, it’s the art they have collected from around the world, proudly on display throughout. Every art piece is a reminder of their well-travelled life. From the African masks, to the Fijian headwear, to the European paintings, she is proud of their adventures together.

Originally, they tried to avoid discussing work at their Friday dinners, but found the conversations to hard to avoid.

“Kevin Wu is the most cunning person I’ve ever met. He’s completely detached from his emotions. Anger isn’t what’s driving him – everything he does is well-thought-out without the involvement of emotion or feelings. Helping manage his anger isn’t going to stop him from dealing drugs, running brothels, or hurting people in the future. He’s completely detached from his actions.”

“And that means that you can’t help him at all?” She places the wooden spatula down and picks up her glass of red wine.

“I want to help him. I feel I can get through to his emotions, but they’re not why he does what he does. Getting through to his emotions won’t help him.”

“So why does he do what he does, if not because of his emotions?” As a practicing psychologist, Amber Harvey knows the value of asking questions and listening closely to the answers.

“Success. Money. Honor. Notoriety. They’re the things that drive him.”

“I think you did the right thing.” She moves around the island bench in the middle of their kitchen, steps up on her tiptoes, and gives her husband a small peck on the cheek. “I think when his wife came to you and asked for help to stop his criminal behavior, you did the right thing. Eva Wu seemed like a desperate woman, one who wasn’t dealing with the pain of losing her step-daughter, and all you wanted to do was help their heartbroken family. That’s honorable.”

“I wish it was that simple.” Bill leans on the island, dropping his head. “I understand their pain. They’re now at the point where they’re starting to presume that Amy is dead. It’s been weeks since she was kidnapped, and I could see that Eva wanted to get out of that world. She wanted something different, and I wanted to help her. But it feels like I’ve just opened up a bigger problem.”

“How so?”

“Kevin talked about killing a little girl.” Bill shakes his head. “Another daughter of Monty Lee’s.”

“Really? Oh no.” Amber’s hand goes to her chest. “Hasn’t that man suffered enough already? He’s already lost his youngest daughter. He doesn’t need to suffer anymore.”

“He talked about not being involved in her death, but someone else is going to take the blame for whatever he does. I felt like he was even referring to me, although I don’t know how I could be to blame.” Bill moves to the Bolognese, picks up the spatula and stirs the sauce. “I reported it to the LAPD, but they can’t do anything about what I told them. It wasn’t a threat, and it wasn’t a call to action. In fact, Detective Pitt laughed in my face. He said the information was completely useless to him. Hypnotherapy doesn’t rate too highly in his eyes.”

“But you think that he’s going to do something?”

“I’m sure of it. He’s going to hurt one of Monty Lee’s surviving daughters.”

“I don’t like it when you have to deal with such dangerous people. I really don’t like it. I think you should stop the sessions and not have any further association with that man.”

“I already have. I told Eva that I had done all I could and not to bring him back there. She looked sad, but I did all I could. It’s too dangerous, he’s too dangerous, and I don’t want any further part of it. I’ve reported what I know to the police, and that’s all I can do.”

Amber takes the spatula from Bill’s hand, and stirs the pot in the other direction, shaking her head.

“And how was your day?” He throws his hands up in surrender as his wife takes over the cooking.

“It was fine – lots of client work and not much fun.” She shrugs. “But I’m still feeling really tired all the time.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant?” he jokes, half-wishing it was true.

“No.” She sits down on the kitchen stool, suddenly short of breath. “I checked that, like I do every month. I’m not pregnant yet.”

“I’m worried about you, honey. It’s so unusual for you to be this tired. I usually have to run to keep up with you, but this tiredness has been going on for months now. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

“What’s this?” She tries to laugh. “More emotion from Bill Harvey? That’s very unlike you.”

“I’m trying.” He grins. “One day, I’ll be an open book, a really emotional type of guy. I’ll cry all the time, even when I’m happy. I’ll cry during movies, while reading books… I’ll even cry while talking to your mother. Actually, that’s sure to make me want to cry.”

“Stop it.” She smiles, playfully slapping his hand. “But you’re getting better. You’re really starting to open up. I never thought I’d see it, but I really love this vulnerable side of you. It’s so beautiful and open.”

Feeling lightheaded, she moves her left arm to the table, trying to steady herself.

“Whoa.” He grabs her. “You have to see a doctor about this. Ask him to do a check-up. Just to make sure there’s nothing wrong.”

“And say what? ‘I’m tired.’” She shakes her head. “No, that’s not a good enough reason to go to the doctor. I’ll be fine. I’ll just get some sleep over the weekend, and I’ll be fine by Monday. I’m just tired, that’s all. I just need sleep.”

Amber looks up at the man she loves, a vulnerable look in her eyes, the sentiment touching the heart of her husband. She married a stoic man, a hard man, and has spent the last five years trying to open him up. During the last twelve months, she’s finally started to see the benefits of all that work.

But it’s her turn to act tough.

She doesn’t want her husband to know how much this sickness has her worried.

Or just how bad it really is.

CHAPTER 9

Present day.

Tonight is the night.

Her chance.

Her moment to break free; to see what’s beyond the concrete walls that surround her existence.

He came earlier tonight and hugged her. He’s doing that more and more now. Tonight, it was a tight hug, almost tight enough to squeeze the air out of her lungs. When he walked in, there were no words, no greeting, just a long, deep emotional embrace. She thought that she even heard him cry a little.

She knows that he loves her. She can feel that. She knows that he cares for her, but that doesn’t stop her need to be free, her need to escape from what’s going to happen. She can’t let another man come to her. She can’t dream of the pain that he is going to cause. She can’t let it happen. Not again. Not after what happened last time.

She had thought about tonight so much – how much she would be giving up. What she feared the most was that this was the best life had to give, that this was heaven on earth. Here, she has luxuries, she has gifts, she has love, and she has time. Maybe that’s all there is. Maybe, beyond the walls, they don’t have what she has. Maybe they don’t have fresh bread or crispy red apples.

In a life full of deprivation, her sense of luxury was redefined. Fresh, soft bread was pure gold to her. In a world of very little, such a thing lights up her world.

Scarcity was the birth of her sense of appreciation.

And appreciation was the birth of her view of luxury.

For all the time she had to think, for the time she had to daydream, she couldn’t imagine anything more special than the feeling of a soft, fresh piece of bread melting in her mouth.

She doesn’t want to risk losing access to the bread, she doesn’t want to risk losing her luxuries, but she has to. She has to know what is out there.

Freedom or luxury – those are her choices.

And tonight, she chooses freedom.

Bathed in darkness, she creeps to the door, her steps barely making a sound. She knows he didn’t lock the door. She listens to the thud every time, the bolt across the door, but this time, again, there was none. It’s almost like he’s baiting her to leave.

She scans upwards, through the gap in the door, to make sure there are no movements above her.

None.

She’s safe to keep moving.

She rests her hand on the heavy door that keeps her locked up. With movements slow enough to deaden any noise, she pushes upwards.

Her heart skips a beat as it moves.

Freedom awaits.

With the door half open, her breathing becomes faster and faster. Peering out, she exposes herself to the outside world.

“I can do this,” she whispers, and turns back to gaze at her current world, blowing a kiss into the nothingness. Her grandmother would be so proud of her right now. “I can do this.”

With the nimble ease of a young teen, she climbs out of the basement, out into the unknown. A different world awaits. A new world.

The yard around her is silent, and it’s hard to see without the shine of the moonlight. Her muscles clench as she stays crouched down, looking for any movement in the shadows.

She looks to the house behind her – no lights shining through the windows. The night has been dark for many hours, and it’s likely he’s fallen asleep.

She tiptoes out into the yard.

With a pounding heart, she moves forward, leaving all that she knows behind.

Crack.

A noise. In front of her. Not far away.

No.

Her heart rate shoots up.

Muscles clench.

She turns.

Runs.

Back to her basement.

Back down the steps.

Without concern for the sound, she slams the door behind her, leaping back into bed. Back to the safety of what she knows.

And just like any scared young girl, she hides under the covers, gripping her blanket tight, hoping for the best.

Under the safety of her blanket, she listens.

Waiting.

The noise hasn’t followed her.

Here, in the basement, she’s safe…

For now.

CHAPTER 10

The frail woman that walks into Bill Harvey’s office is a shadow of her former self.

A former model, Eva Wu hasn’t worn makeup in years. She isn’t even sure if she owns makeup anymore. Every movement that happens around her makes her jumpy so that she grips her purse tighter to her chest. This is the first time she’s been out of the house in months.

She tried to brush her hair. It was a frazzled mess, and she pulled hard to get the knots out of the tangled chaos.

“May I help you?” Kate Spencer asks, almost forcing Eva to jump out of her skin.

The woman sitting before Eva is beautiful, calm, and relaxed, and she hasn’t seen that sort of beauty in years, not unless it was on a midday soap opera.

“I’m here…” Eva’s arms cross over her chest as she tries to continue the sentence. “I’m here to see Bill Harvey.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

She shakes her head, eyes darting everywhere.

A caring soul, Kate stands up from behind her desk and walks into Bill’s office, quietly notifying him that he has a visitor. Feeling a little cautious, given recent events, Bill walks out to see the woman with her arms still folded across her chest, hair covering half her face, and eyes looking down.

“Eva?”

She looks up and attempts to smile, but her mouth cracks in the corners. It’s been years since she last tried that expression.

“Kate, can you please make two cups of coffee?”

“Got it.”

Bill places a caring arm around the back of Eva Wu, leading her into his separate office. He offers her a chair at his desk, the most comfortable one, and she sits without unfolding her arms.

“How can I help you, Eva?” He walks around his large oak desk and nods his thanks to Kate as she places two coffees down in front of him.

“I wanted to come here and say something.” Eva brushes her frazzled hair behind her ear. “To tell you something.”

He waits for her to continue, but she looks at the ground out of the corner of her eye, her chest heaving up and down in short breaths.

Anxiety is not a friend that she enjoys welcoming back.

“And what is it that you would like to say?”

Her response is quick and sudden. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

She gulps. “Sorry for getting you involved in all this mess. Kevin told me what is happening, what he’s doing to you. I should have known he was planning this. I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have brought him to the hypnotherapy sessions. I thought that you could help him. I thought that the sessions could calm him down.” She is working herself up into a frenzy. “Amy and I never liked each other. I was the step-mother that she hated. She always hated me, and I hated her. We just never bonded. I didn’t like her. She took my Kevin away from me. My life away from me. I—”

“It’s ok.” Bill holds up one hand like a stop sign, trying to stop her spinning into further disarray.

“After Amy disappeared, Kevin was out of control. I really thought he wanted to get better. I’m so stupid. I should have known that he was going to set you up. I should have—”

“Take a deep breath, Eva.”

She draws a long, slow breath, filling her chest up, and then eases the air back out. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Bill lowers his tone of voice and leans forward on the desk. “You just said that you knew he was going to set me up for this?”

“Did I?” She looks away again, desperate to avoid eye contact with another human.

“You did, and I’m going to need you to tell a courtroom that fact.”

“I can’t do that.” Her words are quick and panicked again. “I didn’t mean to say that. I just… I came to say I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be involved in this. It’s my fault that you’re involved.”

“And you can sort it out if you’re willing to testify that I’m being set up.”

“Can’t do that.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Can’t do that. He’ll kill me if I say that. Do you know how dangerous he is? He’s dangerous. He’ll kill me.”

“We can give you protection.”

Like an actress in a horror movie, she turns her sharp attention to Bill, eyes yellow as they glare at him. “I hate him and I want him out of my life, but I’m not going to do it publicly. He’ll have me killed if he even knew I was here.”

“He’s about to go to prison anyway. Now is the time to do the right thing – testify that he’s setting me up.”

Her head tilts to the right. “No.”

Eva goes to continue talking but stops. Without talking any further, she stands up, back straighter than when she walked in. “I’m sorry that you’re involved in this setup. That’s all I came to say.”

She marches out of the office, leaving Bill with a nervous feeling in her wake.

Bill leans back in his chair, stunned by the admission of Eva Wu. She’s only a shell of the person that he used to know, but she gave him all that he needed for the civil case – knowledge that Kevin Wu set him up from the start.

CHAPTER 11

With files spread out on the dining table in front of them, the two men stare at the papers, hoping that an answer will leap out at them. The entire oak table is covered with different pieces of evidence provided by the plaintiff’s legal team. The weight of evidence is impressive alone.

“Brain scans?”

“That’s what the whole case is built around. That’s the core piece of evidence that Wu’s basing his claims on, and if I can throw doubt over their legitimacy, then I have a chance of winning. He’s claiming that the change between these scans—” Bill moves the evidence across the desk. “And these scans are the result of the hypnotherapy sessions.”

Bill Harvey looks to the former medical specialist, Dr. Jeffery D. Lawrence, his face scrunched as he tries to work through the problem.

“Yes, yes. I’ve seen something like this before. Meditation and hypnotherapy have been shown to have the same effect on the brain in these areas.” Dressed in clothes that make him look like Colonel Sanders, Lawrence talks with a Southern drawl, running his thumb up and down the inside of his suspenders. “These scans are very convincing.”

Retired for the last four years, Lawrence jumps at any chance to become involved in the profession that kept him entertained for four decades. Pruning roses, calling out numbers in Bingo, and hitting a small ball over perfectly manicured grass just isn’t providing enough excitement in his twilight years.

When Bill Harvey called for advice, Lawrence leaped at the chance. He handed his wife his wallet, told her to go shopping for the rest of the day, and refilled the coffee machine.

Nothing makes him feel more alive than using the skills he took a lifetime to develop.

“Kevin Wu had annual MRI and CT scans to monitor for any tumors and changes in brain activity. He has a family history of tumors and had a small tumor removed when he was twelve. He was required to have scans every year to check for any further growths or changes in behavior.”

“There sure is a difference between the brain scan before your sessions and all the scans afterward. That sure is convincing; however, it’s highly unusual to request these tests when checking for tumors.” Lawrence looks over the scans, tapping his finger on one of the pictures. “I would be interested why the specialist would have conducted these tests in a routine tumor investigation.”

“They’ve stated that they were monitoring for changes in activity as a precursor to the changes in the brain. They were trialing a new technique at the time, and have done it to other clients as well. It all checks out.” Bill rolls up his shirt sleeve. “Tell me, what physically happens to the brain when it enters a hypnotic state?”

“It’s controversial, but numerous studies have shown that there are three distinct things that happen: first, a decrease of activity in the dorsal anterior cingulate; second, reduced connections between the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex and the default mode network, which includes the medial prefrontal and the posterior cingulate cortex; and third, an increase in connections between the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex and the insula.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“All you really need to know, young man, is that, unfortunately, these scans support his theory that he was under the influence of hypnotherapy.” He pats Bill on the shoulder. “These scans demonstrate that there’s clearly a difference in his brain responses pre-hypnotherapy sessions and post-hypnotherapy sessions.”

The two men stare at the files on the table, the afternoon sun streaming through the large window behind them, highlighting the lack of dust in the house. Although many years out of his medical profession, Lawrence can’t stop his nightly routine of spending an hour studying the latest medical developments. It keeps him going; keeps him feeling young, alive, and relevant.

“I know that’s not the answer that you want to hear.” Lawrence shakes his head. “But it’s what the evidence shows. And I guess that’s why you called me and not another medical expert. You wanted an educated, but not employed, medical opinion before you started to build your case.”

“No.” Bill smiles. “I wanted the best man for the job.”

“You know how to make an old man still feel worthwhile.”

For years, Lawrence was Bill’s go-to man for the courts, a medical professional with a wealth of knowledge and expertise. Looking like a highly-respected individual, Lawrence was the perfect front man for the battles in the courtroom.

“But I have a different question for you.” Bill walks around the table. “Is there any way he could have unduly influenced those scans himself? Perhaps he could have changed his brain pattern to appear like this?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“What if he deliberately influenced the scans? What if he planned the whole thing, set me up right from the start, and intentionally influenced the results? Is there any way that he could have done that?”

Lawrence stares at the scans, then frowns. “Possibly.”

“How?”

“Well.” He stands up straight, both thumbs under his suspenders. “It’s possible that the brain changes are the result of taking a large dose of barbiturates, perhaps even Thiopental, just before the scans. Yes, now that I say it out loud, that would be very possible. These effects would be extremely similar to the effects of a reasonable dose of Thiopental shortly before the scans. The drug has a half-life of around three hours so it would have to be administered shortly before the scans.”

“Perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“But how could you prove that? Especially considering that Wu now states that he’s no longer under the influence of the hypnotherapy sessions. Look at this latest scan.” Lawrence slides a picture in front of Bill. “This one was taken three months ago. It’s back to what it was before – before the sessions.”

“All I have to do is prove that he took drugs the morning of each of those scans.” Bill begins to close the files.

“Sounds easier said than done, but you’re the best man for the job. Good luck.” Lawrence smiles and offers his hand to Bill. “I’m glad I could help you. I haven’t felt this alive in a while.”

“My pleasure. Thank you, sir.” Shaking Lawrence’s hand firmly, Bill nods. “And good luck with chasing that little white ball.”

CHAPTER 12

As Bill Harvey pulls his Mercedes into the parking lot below his office building, he notices his younger sister, Ella Townsend, step out of her car parked on the street. Worried, he parks his car, steps out, and watches Ella walk towards him, down the ramp into the dim parking lot, arms folded across her chest, hair covering her face.

“What is it?” Bill fills the gap between them. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jonathon.” Ella looks away, her long blonde hair hiding her expression.

“Jonathon? What’s happened to him? Is he ok?” He holds her by the arms.

“No.” She shakes her head. “He’s taken a hit.”

“Of what?”

“Heroin.”

Bill draws a long breath, then pulls his younger sister into his chest, hugging her tightly. It’s only here, in the safety of her eldest brother’s arms, that she lets the tears flow out uncontrolled.

Their middle sibling, Jonathon Harvey, disappeared from their lives for more than two decades. Addicted to drugs at sixteen, he spent most of his life in the depths of dependence. They had searched for him, looked for any sign that he was doing ok, but it seemed he had dropped off the face of the planet.

It was only once Jonathon was arrested for murder that he reached out to Bill to defend him. Jonathon took full responsibility for his addiction and claimed that he had been clean for twelve months. Cautiously, Bill took on the case, and they fought the charges to prove Jonathon’s innocence.

“What’s this?” Bill points to the blood on Ella’s sleeve, but she starts crying again. “What is it, Ella? Where did this blood come from?”

After an intense recovery, Jonathon had been clean for more than a year. Despite the two decades of addiction, he had finally broken free of his need to escape. When the brothers first met after so long apart, there was no doubt that the statement was true. There was white in Jonathon’s eyes, and his tanned skin looked healthy.

But recovery from addiction is a long hard road, and Jonathon is finding out just how difficult it is.

Ella pulls out of the hug and looks away from her brother’s stare. “I went to his apartment because he said he needed help. He called me at three in the morning, and I didn’t answer. I was tired. It was 3:00 am.” She sniffs.

“It’s ok. You can tell me what happened,” Bill reassures her.

“But he left a voicemail saying that he needed help. I listened to the message in the morning when I woke up, about 7:00, and as soon as I heard it, I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer. On the voicemail, he sounded desperate, like he really needed me. So I went around and…”

“And what?”

She starts to sob again.

“It’s alright, Ella. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you now.” He wraps his arms around his youngest sibling. “But you need to tell me what happened.”

“He had taken a hit of heroin. He was calling me because he needed help to stay away from it, and I ignored him. By the time I got there, he was on the comedown. He lashed out and…”

“And what?” Bill’s fist clenches.

“He hit me on the jaw. He didn’t mean it. He just lashed out. It wasn’t his fault.”

The statement lights a fire in Bill Harvey.

He had been through this situation before – when Jonathon was in his early twenties, already five years into his terrible addiction, he lashed out and hit their dear mother after she refused to give me more money to buy drugs.

When he was fifteen, Jonathon was a very promising high school quarterback, the star of their small town. Scouts traveled from all around the country to watch the handsome young man throw a football around a grass field.

But with early success comes intense pressure, and the weight of anxiety got to him.

When he was offered a hit of heroin at a party after another football win, Jonathon thought nothing of it. It was just a bit of fun, a little experiment of youth. But rarely does a person escape heroin without some damage – and for Jonathon, it was the escapism that he needed. When he was high, he felt free of the pressure to perform, free from the pressure to be the star. His need for an extra hit grew every week, then every day, until it was the only thing he could think about.

Before the Harvey family knew what was happening, Jonathon was already deep in enslavement to the artificial high.

They tried everything to save him – counselors, psychologists, psychiatrists, moving towns, locking him in his room. Nothing stopped it. Nothing stopped his need for another hit, another moment of escapism. Their lives fell into a terrible cycle of addiction – the more pressure that the family put on him to quit, the more he needed to escape that pressure, the more he needed another hit. They tried their best for the boy they loved, but little did they know that the guilt and shame were only adding to the pressure.

After years of this cycle, when Jonathon lashed out at their mother, it was the final straw. Bill saw what took place and beat his brother into the ground, telling him to never return to the family.

The words Bill said in anger were his greatest regret and his greatest heartache.

By the time Jonathon reconnected with them, their parents had passed away – their father ate a bullet for breakfast, devastated that he couldn’t save his son from addiction, and their mother passed a year later of a heart attack.

As a strong, hardworking family man who avoided emotions at all costs, George Harvey couldn’t handle the loss of his son. He spent a year trying to find his son again before it all became too much to handle. His failure to protect his son from drugs destroyed his notion that he was a man that could protect his family against anything.

“It’s not your fault.” Bill hugs his sister. “None of this is your fault.”

“He blamed me. He said I should have been there. He said he called me to try and stop him from taking the drugs, and that I didn’t help him. He said it was my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Ella. This is not your fault. He doesn’t mean what he said. It was the drugs talking.” Bill draws a long breath, trying to calm his anger. He doesn’t want a repeat of the incident that happened twenty years ago. He can’t lose his brother again. “I’m going to sort this out.”

CHAPTER 13

When the siblings arrive outside the Skid Row apartment, Bill has done every breathing exercise possible to try and calm his anger, but each time he looks at his sister’s swollen lip, his grip on the steering wheel grows tighter.

He certainly doesn’t want a repeat of the incident that drove his brother away, but he’s unsure of how he will handle the confrontation. Over the years, he has learned that addicts need love and a helping hand to recover, not a punishing fist, but that doesn’t stop the raw fury from growing inside him.

The only residence Jonathon could afford to rent is in the poorest part of L.A., an area for the broken, the desolate, and the abandoned. Homeless men and women walk the streets with a lost look in their eyes, desperate to find a way to survive another month. Skid Row is the forgotten part of the great city, the part that is brushed under the carpet, pushed away.

The siblings exit the car, double check that it’s locked, and cautiously walk the stairs to the third-floor apartment, only to find the door already open.

With big, innocent eyes, Ella looks up at Bill, and he nods.

He steps inside, his shoulders so tense he almost loses the sense of having a neck. The tiny one-bedroom apartment is mostly tidy, clean, and organized. The furniture is all secondhand, but the recovering addict had done everything he could to make the place seem livable.

The only sign that this is the apartment of a drug addict are the two syringes that sit on the living room table. With his sister behind him, Bill scans the room, looking for his brother.

He hears the muffled tears first.

Hiding behind the couch, in the darkest part of the apartment, the tall Jonathon Harvey cowers like a child scared during a thunderstorm.

“Jonathon.” Bill’s voice is firm.

Jonathon doesn’t answer, his hands covering the back of his head, sobbing in the fetal position.

“Jonathon.” Bill’s voice is softer this time, more caring.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathon mumbles through his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ella, the one with a gentle touch, reassures him. “It’s alright.”

She comes to his aid, her hand gently rubbing his back.

“I’m so sorry.” Jonathon rocks back and forth, feeling the pain of failure. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t want this.”

Bill has to look away. Here is a man, a part of his family, that used to be strong and powerful, and he’s now reduced to a blubbering mess. Addiction can do that to even the strongest of people.

Ella looks up at Bill, but he can’t force himself to watch. His eyes blink quickly as he looks towards the kitchen.

“I didn’t mean it, Ella. I’m so sorry. I’m such a bad brother. I’m such a failure. I’m a horrible person.”

“No,” Ella replies, still rubbing Jonathon’s back. “No, you’re not. The drugs got you, and that’s ok. I understand that it wasn’t you that hit me. It’s ok. You’re not a failure.”

“It was me,” Jonathon states, finally raising his head. “I failed. I failed the drugs. They were too strong for me to resist. I failed.”

“Get up.” Bill’s voice is strong, turning back to face his brother.

“Bill. This isn’t—” Ella tries to interject.

“Get up!”

“Bill, this isn’t the way to help him. He—”

“Get up, Jonathon.” Bill’s jaw clenches.

“Bill—”

“No, it’s ok, Ella. I have to face the consequences of what I’ve done.” Jonathon places a hand on Ella’s shoulder as he begins to rise. “It’s my fault. All of this. I have to face the consequences of my actions.”

With his eyes focused downwards, feeling like a complete failure, Jonathon stands, shoulders slumped forward, and walks in front of his brother, ready to take a beating. It’s what he feels he deserves – he has failed them. After all the years away, they still put their faith in him, and he failed them.

Head leaning forward, chin almost to his chest, Jonathon stands in front of his cold brother, ready for a strike.

He hit their sister – he deserves the same in return.

Bill stands tall, chin up, chest out, fist clenched, ready to dish out the punishment.

But standing there, seeing his brother at his most vulnerable, desperately sorry for what he has done, the anger dissolves.

His fist unclenches, and he reaches his arms around his brother, drawing him into his chest. It’s not a position that Bill is comfortable with – the Harvey men were always taught that emotions were to be avoided at all costs. Emotions were for the weak, not to be expressed at any occasion. Put your head down and work hard – that’s what their father had taught them.

But it didn’t work for him.

Awkwardly, Bill holds his brother in a hug for a few moments, then pats him on the back.

“Right.” Bill draws out of the hug. “Right. Well. Yes. We’re here for you.” It’s the most uncomfortable statement he has ever made. He turns away from his siblings so they can’t see his face, and he tries to hide the fact that he needs to wipe a tear away from his eye with the back of his hand.

Smiling, Ella moves to the kitchen. “I’ll make the coffees.”

Not another word is spoken while Ella busies herself in the kitchen, the two Harvey men looking down at the ground, each equally uncomfortable.

Carrying two cups of steaming hot coffee, Ella walks back into the living room, handing a cup to each of the men, and nodding for them to sit down on the small couch. Jonathon sits on the couch cradling the coffee, but Bill remains standing, leaning against the wall.

Taking a seat next to her middle brother, Ella rubs his arm with a caring touch. “We’re here for you, Jonathon. We’re family, and we love you. We wouldn’t be here otherwise. We know that this is going to be challenging, but just know that we’ll do what we can to help.”

“I don’t deserve your help,” he whispers as he looks into his coffee.

“Stop talking like that.” Again, Bill is firm. “We’re here. Accept it.”

“Thank you.” Jonathon’s voice is soft.

“It’s not all bad news, though.” Ella shrugs. “Jonathon got a job last week.”

“Really?” Not many people want to employ ex-cons that have spent their lives addicted to drugs.

“It’s not much pay, but it’s a start.” Jonathon’s shoulders pull back with pride. “I’m helping out in a removals company, but I couldn’t be prouder to be doing it. It’s casual work at the moment, so when they need an extra hand, they call on me to help. I met the guy downstairs at my apartment building, and he asked if I was keen to help out. He said I looked like I could lift heavy things, and he needed an extra pair of hands.”

“Have you started yet?”

“First job was last week. But the problem is…” Jonathon draws a long breath. “They drug test employees.”

“If you can avoid the job for a three days, the drugs will have cleared out of your system.” Bill’s response is clinical.

“Three days. Ok. I can do that. If they call, I’ll tell them I’m sick.”

A hush falls over the room.

“Where did you even get the drugs from?” Always in problem-solving mode, Bill works through a solution.

“Some guy.”

“Who?”

“I’ve never seen him before. I was sitting here, just watching some television, and I got this knock at the door. This really well-dressed guy was at the door, and he said he had a present for me – told me it was because I had recently moved into the building, and he just gave me a box, then left. After I closed the door, I opened it and found two needles full of heroin inside. Clean stuff, too. Not the dirty street stuff. Really clean. After I opened the box, I ran back to the door, but the guy was gone.”

“You didn’t think it was strange?”

“I thought it was very strange.” Jonathon continues to stare at his coffee. “But what I was to do? I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t want to walk out onto the streets with two syringes full of heroin. I didn’t want to get arrested again. For all I knew, this was a setup, and the cops were just outside waiting for me to come out.”

“So what did you do?”

“I hid them just outside the window, near the fire escape. That way if it was a setup, I could have told the cops that they weren’t mine and someone else left them on the fire escape. They weren’t in my apartment. I didn’t want anything to do with them.”

“Why didn’t you throw them out?”

Ashamed of his past, Jonathon shrugs. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself to do that. This stuff was so clean, and it would have been worth a lot of money. I thought I was strong enough to resist it. I thought—”

“So you took the hit.”

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Jonathon’s forehead drops into his right hand, the tears welling in his eyes again. “I didn’t want to do it. I really didn’t want it. I tried my hardest to get through the night, and I thought that if I just got through the night, then I could throw them away in the morning. I tried to make it… I really tried. But I couldn’t… The drugs were screaming at me. I couldn’t resist it.”

Addiction is the strongest calling any mind could have. It drenches everything with its need for a hit, a need to get high again.

It was something their father never understood. He never understood the need for his son to get high again. He had spent his life working hard and avoiding his emotions; his only drug was drinking three beers on a Sunday, mostly watching his loved football team.

Emotions will make you weak, he repeated to his boys over and over again as they grew up. He was driven by discipline, and he expected everyone around them to be the same.

“Have you seen the guy before?”

“Never.”

“You don’t think he lives in the building?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve seen most of the people around here, and he looked too well-dressed to live in Skid Row. He had a nice watch, nice skin, and a nice suit on. He certainly wasn’t what you’d expect to live around here.”

“Did you get a name?”

“Said his name was Kevin.”

“Kevin?” Bill’s mouth drops open.

“That’s what he said. He was a short Chinese guy with a long face, glasses, well-dressed, black hair, late-forties, I guess. That’s all I know. That’s the truth.”

“Bill?” Ella looks up at her brother leaning against the wall. “Do you know someone like that?”

Bill nods, furious that his struggling brother has been pulled into his mess. He places his coffee mug on the table, fists clenched, and begins to move towards the door.

“Bill?” Ella asks again.

“I have to go.”

“To do what?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

CHAPTER 14

Bill’s hand slams against the door, echoing the sound through the house.

Yin Sun answers the knock, aged well beyond her years. She has warm and kind eyes, but her hair is frazzled, and her eyes have shed too many tears. She wasn’t always this way. Her life wasn’t always lived in a daze. Once, she was a woman full of endless love, a caring soul with time for anyone, but life was never the same after losing her only granddaughter.

Her granddaughter’s sudden disappearance tore her heart out. The kidnapping and possible murder of Amy Wu tore the soul from this loving grandmother.

Even with the benefit of five years passing, that pain has not lessened. The tears that she sheds each night are still as painful as the ones she first cried half a decade ago.

She didn’t want this life, she never dreamt that she would live in a competitive L.A. suburb, but her son became addicted to the money and success that came with being notorious. After Kevin’s first wife, Amy’s mother, died in a car accident, Yin was flown to Los Angeles to help Kevin raise his young daughter.

Only one year later, Kevin married Eva, and Yin thought that she would have someone to help with the home duties. But Eva wanted nothing to do with Amy, the only remaining memory of Kevin’s first wife, and left all the parenting duties to Yin.

Yin watched on as, over time, Eva became more and more involved Kevin’s affairs; his drug-dealing, his brothels, his money laundering. She watched on in sadness as Eva became more and more distant, only ever arguing with the young Amy.

It was never the life that Yin wanted.

All she ever wanted to be was a good family matriarch. That was her calling. Her life.

And she was doing that. She was living her dream. Despite the crime that occurred around them, she spent her days protecting her granddaughter from the dangers of the world, teaching her how to become a confident woman, showing her how to deal with all that life could throw at them. They cooked together, laughed together, and grew together.

Her favorite memories of the time they had together were the times they spent in the kitchen. Even at a young age, Amy had shared her grandmother’s love of cooking. They would spend hours together in the kitchen – baking, tasting, and cooking. Yin Sun’s dream was to pass her secret family recipes onto her daughter and granddaughter and still be cooking together at family functions thirty years into the future.

But in one quick blink of the eye, one moment of terror, her world came crashing down.

All her hopes and dreams of the future disappeared.

“Where’s Kevin?” Bill hovers over the woman.

She doesn’t answer, turning to the kitchen, leaving the door ajar. Taking his liberty, Bill steps inside the large, soulless mansion in the San Gabriel Valley, onto the white marble floor of the spacious, bleak foyer.

With a coffee cup in his hand, Kevin Wu steps out into the foyer. Despite being past lunchtime, he’s still dressed in unpleasant red and yellow striped pajamas. It seems that no amount of money can buy good taste.

“I was wondering when you would come here. I expected you a week ago.”

The rage builds inside Bill until it’s overflowing, every muscle in his body tightening. In a moment of raw intensity, the normally calm Bill Harvey cracks. With one swift motion, he slams the man against the wall, his forearm pressing into the short man’s neck, the coffee cup falling to the floor.

“You think you can play me, Wu? I’m the best player in the whole game.” The bone of Bill’s forearm pushes hard into Kevin’s windpipe.

“And yet, here you are, threatened by me.” An air of infallible confidence leaks off Kevin. He’s grinning as Bill presses his arm deeper into his neck. “Go on. Do it, Bill. Strangle me.”

Bill growls, pressing tighter.

“Do it, Bill. Go on.”

With restraint, Bill releases the pressure on Kevin’s neck, but his left hand still grips the edge of his pajama top.

“I should pound you into the ground, Wu. Bringing my brother into this mess was low, even for you.”

Kevin grins.

He gets a kick from being the most cunning person in a room. During his school days in Hong Kong, despite all the time he spent studying, he was never the smartest, never the strongest, never the most popular.

But what he had was a good sense of what drove people’s behavior, and a distinct lack of morals.

Quickly, he established himself as the man that no one should cross. He would steal other students’ lunches, not to eat, but to punish them for speaking poorly about him. As he grew older, he would slash the tires of anyone who looked at him sideways. If someone crossed him, they had to know he would get his revenge. Not where, or when, but they always knew he was coming at them – often when they least expected it.

At the age of eighteen, he moved to Los Angeles to study at UCLA, and that confidence grew as he began to gather a crew of people who were willing to follow him, people who were willing to be his muscle, and he made his name setting up illegal brothels throughout Downtown and East L.A. He would fly young women in from Hong Kong, renting them out for anyone willing to pay. Through his seedy underworld connections, he began to meet drug dealers, and his little suburban empire began to grow. Before long, he had five brothels, and a nice drug import business on the side.

But with crime comes trouble.

And that’s where his lack of morals really shone through.

“Your brother’s addiction was easy to find out about.” Kevin’s voice is smug. “And I didn’t do anything to your brother. He did it to himself. He made the decision to take the drugs.”

Bill’s forearm presses back into Kevin’s neck. “You gave him the drugs.”

“Oh my, Bill. I really thought it would be harder to get under your skin. I really thought I would have to try so much harder to make you angry. But now I know your trigger. And let me guess, hurting that nice little secretary of yours would make you even more furious.”

The forearm presses tighter still into his neck, and the smile disappears. Kevin struggles to take each breath, gasping as Bill’s thick forearm presses deeper. He feels his face beginning to go red, and his calm smugness disappears.

He begins to squirm. Exactly what Bill Harvey wants.

Struggling, Kevin brings his hands to Bill’s forearms, trying to force him back. But the lawyer is too strong, too powerful for Kevin’s skinny little arms. His chin tries to force back the forearm, but it’s no use.

He gasps.

Not much air left.

Tears begin to fill his eyes.

Panic begins to set in.

He tries to knee his attacker, but Bill doesn’t even flinch. Adrenaline and fury have engulfed him.

Just when Kevin feels he’s about to pass out, Bill releases his forearm, and Kevin falls to the floor, gasping for life. Crouched over, he wheezes deep breaths, holding his neck, trying to suck oxygen back into his lungs.

“I’m not the man you want to make angry,” Bill growls out into his ear, leaning over his foe.

Kevin coughs loudly, desperately sucking in breaths.

He doesn’t respond, finally moving back to sit against the wall, now with some breath back in his lungs. Leaning against the wall, still sitting on the ground, he begins to chuckle.

“You think this is funny?”

“It’s much too easy.” Kevin grins, happy to have infuriated his former lawyer. “When we get to court, I’m going to push all your buttons and watch you explode in a desperate mess. Now that is going to be fun. I’ll even make sure it’s on video so I can watch you explode over and over again. I might even put it on YouTube.”

Elegant, sophisticated, and conceited, Kevin Wu isn’t a typical type of criminal.

At fifty years old, he looks fit, but that comes with running three miles every evening. That’s his anchor – the way he continues to function even after everything that has happened to him and his family.

“You don’t have a case, Kevin. They’ll throw this case out before it even makes it to court.”

“Not true.” He rests his head against the wall, hands on his knees. “I know I’ve got a case. I have thirty witnesses willing to testify to the change in my behavior after those hypnotherapy sessions. I have brain scans that show a change in my patterns. You know I have a case; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. And I can tell that you’re threatened by this case. I can see it in your eyes. You’re running scared.”

“What do you want from me?”

“It’s all very simple. All I want is all your money.”

“I don’t have that much. Certainly not enough to make this case worthwhile.”

“Don’t lie to me, Bill. I’ve seen your property portfolio. Ten homes, three apartments, and two offices in Downtown. And I’m not even talking about your shareholdings. You have more than enough to make it worthwhile, and you’re not the only money I’m chasing. Your wealth will be a nice tidy sum, and it’ll keep people off my back.”

“There are easier ways to get money.”

“I’ve tried those ways, but when you have the LAPD watching your every step, you have to do things legitimately. That’s not my forte.” He runs his hand through his hair. “And this is revenge for refusing to defend me a second time.”

“I refused to defend you a second time because you’re filth and I wanted nothing to do with you.”

“Perhaps.” Kevin shrugs. “But this is called karma. And it’s coming for you.”

“I know you’re preparing for what’s coming for you.” Bill growls, leaning down onto one knee, closing the distance between them again, his nose almost pressing into Kevin’s. “This is a pre-emptive strike.”

“C’mon now.” He laughs. “I have nothing to prepare for. I’m an innocent man. I always have been.”

“You’re not innocent. You’re dirty, low, and rotten. You’re scum, Wu.”

“Even if the case is thrown out, your reputation will be destroyed.” Kevin smiles, moving to Bill’s side, and standing up with an elegant sway. He flattens out his pajamas again. “Even if we don’t get anywhere with this case, people will doubt your abilities based on what’s reported in the media. You know that this case will be the end of your career as you know it.”

“You’ll be in prison before then.” Bill’s fist clenches, ready to strike. “For the murder of Tiffany Lee.”

“Who said that she was even dead?” Kevin laughs.

“The person that’s willing to testify against you.”

“Who would possibly be brave enough to do that?”

“Terrance Marshall.”

Kevin doesn’t respond.

That’s a win for Bill. From Kevin’s reaction, he can see that Terrance might be the key to his attack.

“And I remember how you were a meticulous note-taker. You would have recorded everything, including all of your brothel operations. The cops may not have found it, but they have rules.” Bill steps closer. “I don’t.”

Kevin’s eyebrows pop up. “Clever. Very clever, Bill. But it’s a pity that those notes were burned a long time ago.”

“I doubt that. You have a fear of fire – that was the first thing we discussed in the hypnotherapy sessions. You didn’t want to change that. You were comfortable with your fear.”

“Again, that’s very clever. I can see that you’re going to be quite the formidable opponent.” He waves his finger in the air, surprised by the statements. He enjoys going toe-to-toe intellectually with bright people. “But unfortunately, it’s not applicable to this situation. I had someone else burn those notes for me.”

“Who?”

“I’m not telling you that.” Kevin shakes his head, the smile still stretched across his face. “Now, tell me, how’s your wife? Still dead?”

“Don’t you dare mention her.” His teeth grind. “You mention her again and I’ll make sure you won’t talk for a month.”

“Cancer is never a nice way to go.” He throws his hands up in surrender. “Now tell me, what are you going to do next? Snap your fingers so that I am under your hypnotic control again? Guide me to do things I don’t want to do?”

“You know that hypnotherapy doesn’t work like that. You know that I couldn’t possibly have that level of control over you.”

“We’ll see what the court thinks about that. We’ll let them make a decision based on the facts.” He moves backward from Bill’s towering presence. “What could you possibly hope to achieve by coming here?”

“Withdraw the case.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll find out how dangerous I can be.”

“Ha! Dangerous? I don’t think so. You can’t threaten me.” Kevin laughs. “I’m untouchable. You can’t—”

Whack.

One quick jab of Bill’s left fist sends Kevin flying to the floor, clutching his chin.

“You can’t hit me!”

“I didn’t.” Bill steps over his opponent. “But if you don’t withdraw this case, then I will hurt you. Badly.”

“Nobody can hurt me!” Kevin snaps back, holding his jaw, feeling the slight trickle of blood come down his chin. “Nothing can touch me after what I’ve been through! Not after losing my daughter. Not after I lost my Amy. Nobody can hurt me.”

“Then I guess we’re going to find out how much pain you can take.” Bill Harvey steps away from the criminal, moving towards the front door. “And I really hope it’s a lot.”

CHAPTER 15

She swings left.

Then right.

Then left again.

She read about boxing in one of the books that he brought her, how the boys in the story trained to beat a towering tyrant. In the book, they trained by throwing combinations at the shadows, practicing their moves with agile ease.

For the last hour, that’s all she’s been doing.

She skips around the basement, pretending to hit the shadows. She tried to hit the walls first, but her small hands couldn’t take the impact against the concrete walls.

Fists next to her chin, arms outstretched with each punch, she bounces around the room until her shoulders are tired. If she’s not going to break free, then she needs to be able to fight back. She’s willing to defend herself, willing to do what it takes.

As she’s prancing around the room, making whooshing noises with each punch, she hears something outside in the yard.

She freezes in her stance, careful not to make another sound.

Despite her increased heart-rate, she’s doing her best not to puff out any extra oxygen.

Moving with the lightness of a skinny teen, she tiptoes to the door, curious about what’s making the strange sound. Although she senses the danger, she can’t resist knowing what’s out there. She’s never been able to resist the pull of curiosity.

“Curiosity may have killed the cat.” She whispers, remembering what she read in one of the books. “But it also discovered penicillin.”

Peering out the gap in the basement door, she sees him, sitting on a rock, slumped forward.

Wondering if that’s where the noise is coming from, she moves sideways, looking for a better angle, careful not to bump anything.

That’s when she hears it again.

He’s sobbing, hiding his head in his hands.

She has never seen him cry before; never seen him be anything other than tough.

Before long, the sobbing stops. She moves back into the darkness, hiding under her blanket. With the blanket pulled up to her eyes, she ponders the future.

If he’s crying, then things must be changing for the worse.

And she should really practice more boxing.

CHAPTER 16

“A vegan café?”

Private Investigator Jack Grayson is not one to be seen in such places. His muscular arms look more at place in a burly gym full of grunting men than a hipster coffee joint. The shop is dim, cold, and there are posters on the wooden walls expressing how evil people are for daring to eat meat.

“It’s on trend.” Bill shrugs. “It’s always good to try something new. Expand your horizons, Jack. Don’t be stuck eating barbequed steaks for the rest of your life. These sorts of places are all the rage.”

“Lentil tacos with spinach and avocado, lightly covered in pumpkin and fennel salsa? That’s all the rage? I tell you what, I’ll be raging after I eat that.”

“Admittedly, that’s probably pushing it too far.” Bill looks around the café, studying the hipster that walks up to them – dreadlocks, lip ring, glowing healthy skin.

“How can I help you men? Are you lost?” The waitress stares at the two men sitting wide-legged and stoic in their stools, not the sort of male domination that she’s used to in her subdued café.

“We’ll take two coffees, the vegan spinach and potato pancakes, and one of the crispy breaded tofu steaks, and a side of kale and quinoa,” Bill states confidently.

The waitress tucks a loose dreadlock behind her ear, moving to process the order.

“You know I went to the doctor the other day.” Jack smiles as the waitress walks away. “Told him I was scared that I was putting on too much weight. So he said to me, ‘Stop eating anything fatty.’ And I said, ‘Really? No more cheeseburgers? No more bacon?’ And he replied, ‘No, you didn’t hear me right. I said – stop eating anything, fatty!’”

“Ha!” Bill laughs, maybe too loud for the quiet vegan café. “Why didn’t the chicken cross the road?”

“Why?”

“Because I ate it.”

“Haha!” Jack laughs equally as loud, slapping the table.

The waitress scoffs as she returns and places two jars in front of them, both filled with organically sourced coffee. Jack is all for recycling, but he would much prefer his glass went through a recycling plant first.

With ripping biceps, and scarred knuckles, Jack Grayson has been by Bill’s side for years, helping him solve case after case. Slightly mentally unstable, the role of investigator suits him perfectly – from quietly breaking into homes to finding a small piece of information hidden on the Internet, Jack flourishes in his job.

Standing as tall as Bill, he dominates most situations through pure intimidation. Tattoos cover his arms, his hair is cropped short, and his shoulders are wide enough to have to turn sideways when he walks through narrow doorways. Not the sort of person you expect to see eating at a vegan café.

He had his first drink of alcohol at twelve, started using hard drugs at fifteen, and was locked up at eighteen, but it wasn’t the life that he wanted for himself. He came to Bill’s hypnotherapy office as a twenty-one-year-old who wanted to change his future and leave a different mark on the world other than a trail of devastation.

Bill taught him that change was about acknowledging and accepting his current circumstances, and recognizing that his choices and mistakes were a part of life. Under Bill’s guidance, Jack learned the value of gratitude, mindfulness, and appreciation, and the change to Jack’s life was powerful. He started a job as a security guard, kicked all his addictions, and went back to part-time school to study fine art. He started painting, and for the first time, he found peace in his life.

Their paths crossed again ten years later when Jack was looking for another job opportunity. When Bill Harvey saw Jack’s name on the application form, he stopped the employment process and hired Jack as his investigator on the spot.

“So, what are your options heading forward?” Jack focuses on the case at hand.

“My only option is to fight the case. If I don’t, my career is over. Even if this case gets to court, my career is done. The damage is going to be done through the media coverage, and Kevin knows that. I’m going to have to play hard and make sure that the case doesn’t get to court.”

“You know that your work makes up most of my income. Without you, my career is over as well. We can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t.” Bill’s face grimaces slightly as the vegan spinach and potato pancakes are placed in front of him. He never knew that pancakes could be that green. “Kevin Wu was an avid note-taker. He took notes of everything, and I mean everything. He always carried a small notebook with him everywhere he went – little black book with spiral binding down the side. He used to pull it out before we would have a meeting, and he’d be writing notes the whole time.”

“Sounds intense.”

“It was something that his father taught him – life was to be recorded, reviewed, and learned from. He wrote about everything. I would hate to think about how many words he wrote. That man was obsessive.” Bill runs his hand through his hair. “When he came to me for the hypnotherapy sessions, he had early signs of OCD. It was his way of keeping control after losing his daughter. He was very compulsive about some things and quite strange about other things. There was always something a little left field about him.”

“So, you’re suggesting that he took notes about the hypnotherapy session.” Jack’s eyebrows rise as the crispy breaded tofu steaks are placed on the table. “And where does he keep the old copies?”

“He said that he burnt them.”

“But you don’t believe him?”

“No more than I believe that you love kale.”

Jack laughs as two more plates are placed in front of them.

“This is kale,” the waitress states informally, but disinterested. “And this one is quinoa.”

“Kale?” Jack asks as the waitress walks away. “What’s that good for?”

“Your heart. Or your skin. Or your chakras. Maybe your beauty stone. I’m sure it’s good for you in some way.”

“But what does it taste like?”

“Grass.”

“Yum.” Jack smiles as he eats a fork full of kale. “How does yours taste?”

“Like grass and dirt.”

Jack laughs out loud again, placing his fork down onto the bowl full of green pasture. “Look, I’m sure that one day our bodies will thank us for taking care of it.”

“Your liver will never thank you.”

“Maybe not.” Jack laughs again. “What other options do you have?”

“Kevin Wu is implicated in the murder of a young girl, Tiffany Lee. The cold case team in the LAPD recently received a tip-off stating that they saw Kevin and the girl near a local reserve. After two hours, Kevin returned without the girl.”

“The person watched Kevin for two hours?”

“That’s what they claim.” Bill sips at the coffee ethically sourced from the Highlands of Papua New Guinea. “Now, it’s not impossible, but it’s a lot harder to sue someone if you’re locked up for the murder of a young girl. Not many people will give you the benefit of the doubt if you’re wearing cuffs in their courtroom.”

“Will that work?”

“I think so. He’ll be so busy trying to stay out of prison that he won’t have time for this case.” Bill places his fork down, taking an extra-long time to chew one of the vegan spinach and potato pancakes. “The guy is a prick, but the evidence is plentiful, and his theory is solid. He’s a very cunning and well-planned man, and he wouldn’t be pressing on with this case if he didn’t think he could win.”

“You think he really stands a chance?”

Bill shrugs. “Who knows what happens in the court of law?”

“You should. That’s your job.”

“But this is something different. Something new.”

“What’s your gut feeling?”

“Like it’s just eaten a whole bowl full of grass.”

“Ha!” Jack laughs. “I meant with the case, what do you think?”

“Without a conviction for another crime, I think I’m in trouble. If he can demonstrate that his behavior clearly changed after the sessions, then it’s trouble. He has brain scans that indicate that his brain patterns changed after the hypnotherapy sessions, and even I found it convincing.”

“But you think that if he’s convicted of another crime before the case gets to court, he’ll withdraw the case?”

“Exactly. It makes it very hard for him to win from behind bars. But the cold case team aren’t scheduled to make a move in this case for the next few weeks, which is after this case is due to be heard. And the LAPD has given up on the prostitution charges.”

“So if we find the evidence that he’s guilty of another crime—”

“Then we save our jobs.”

CHAPTER 17

“Lunch arrived for you.”

As Bill enters the office, Kate smiles at the man she adores, pointing to the plastic bag sitting at the end of her desk. After spending the morning reading with her son at school, Kate was greeted at the office door by a delivery man, waiting patiently next to his scooter.

As a single mother, juggling her work needs and her family is a constant battle. She knows her son needs her time and attention, but she also has to work to put food on the table. Although she’s paid well for her time, the costs of raising a family continue to rise. And having a deadbeat ex-husband doesn’t help her financial situation.

“Lunch?” Bill questions. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but it smells like some sort of curry. Whatever you ordered smells good.”

He looks at her confused, apprehensively walking over to the plastic bag. “Who delivered it?”

“A young delivery guy. He was waiting at the front door when I arrived and said it was an order for Bill Harvey. I thought it was unusual for you to order lunch at the office, but then again, nothing you do would surprise me.”

He moves towards the bag. “Was the man Chinese?”

She nods. “Is there a problem?”

“I didn’t order lunch.”

Muscles tight with anxiety, he reaches into the bag and removes the white cardboard box, placing it on the table.

“It smells like regular Chinese food.” Kate stands close to the box, curiosity outweighing her need for safety. “I’d guess it’s fried rice and some sort of chicken.”

Guardedly, Bill opens the white lid.

“Oh my.” Kate gasps as she holds her hand to her chest, moving away from the box.

“Lock your doors, Kate. Don’t walk alone at night. Call me the second that you see anything unusual in any situation.” Bill takes a deep breath. “Things are going to get nasty.”

After closing the lid, he takes the box out of his office, down the stairs, and throws it into a trashcan on the street.

He has no need for a box full of bloodied sheep eyeballs.

CHAPTER 18

Stepping into the front yard of the Montecito Heights home, Bill Harvey resists the temptation to hold his nose. The L.A. heat isn’t good for the trash sitting in the front yard. He isn’t even sure what the smell is – dead fish is his first guess.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long to reach Terrance Marshall’s front door, and he wastes no time banging heavily on it, almost in a desperate attempt to escape the stench. Just off the road, lowered from street level, is the white brick house, sitting at the edge of a reserve. If it weren’t for the man inside, this would be a peaceful setting.

“Alright, alright.” A muffled voice moans. “I’m coming. Hold up, I’m coming.”

The door swings open, and the man is clearly surprised to see a criminal defense lawyer in front of him. Law isn’t his favorite topic of conversation, but that happens when you have spent a lot of time behind bars.

“Hello, Terrance.”

Terrance stares at Bill for a few long moments before turning away, leaving the door open for Bill to walk inside. Unfortunately, the smell inside isn’t much better.

The towering Terrance Marshall hobbles the short walk to the kitchen bench in his three-bedroom home, picks up an open beer can, wobbles it to check how much beer is left and then gulps down what little liquid remains.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to tell me why you came here?”

Bill Harvey closes the front door behind him, scanning his eyes over the mess of the house. Clothes on the floor, a hole in the plasterboard above the flickering television, a worn-out, dirty couch. This place wouldn’t find itself in the pages of a glossy home living magazine.

“I thought I’d just check in on you, Terrance. See how things are.” Bill looks to the piled-up pizza boxes on the floor next to the fridge. “And by the looks of things, you’re doing great.”

“I haven’t got time to play games, man. The Young and the Restless is on in ten minutes. You’d want to be finished talking by then.”

“I always took you for more of a Day of Our Lives type of guy.”

Terrance stares at him with the look of a man that is about to crush him. He’s well aware that his life has slowly fallen apart, and he doesn’t need a lawyer to judge him for it. Only a few years ago, he wouldn’t have even been able to name a daytime soap, but now, the crazy twists and turns of Genoa City are the highlights of his lonely days.

Despite age starting to deteriorate his enthusiasm for activity, Terrance still looks like he could wrestle a bear in the woods. His immensely large hands, wide shoulders, and dominating height have always made this African American man a very formidable figure on the streets. And although his stomach has expanded over the years, he still has the look of someone that would bust heads for being served the wrong drink.

“Kevin Wu,” Bill states. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Kevin Wu?” Terrance raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I haven’t heard that name in a while. We used to be close, I used to run a lot of jobs for him, but I haven’t done that for years. He’s dangerous, he’s smart, and he’s not a nice guy. Kevin Wu doesn’t come around here very often, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I don’t imagine many people come around here.”

“It’s been a while.” Terrance shrugs, slumping his body back down onto the well-worn position on the small, faded couch. As he falls into his slotted position, the couch creaks. If he eats too much more pizza, the couch is going to collapse under his weight. “Sorry, Bill. I can’t help you today.”

Terrance turns his attention back to the television flickering in front of him – another piece of dulling distraction to fill his days.

“A criminal like you must know the ins and outs of Kevin Wu’s life.”

“A criminal? No, no. I’m an innocent man.” Terrance smiles broadly, showing off his missing teeth. “Always have been an innocent man. I was always wrongly convicted, you know. The justice system just didn’t work for me as well as it could have.”

Bill draws a long breath, studying the yellow in Terrance’s eyes. “When was the last time you saw a doctor?”

“A doc? Saw one of those guys last year – said I was dying of something. I don’t know what; I wasn’t really listening to all the medical talk coming out of his mouth.”

“You don’t look well, Terrance. You need to go and take some health tests.”

“I can’t afford tests, man. In case you never noticed, my chosen profession didn’t come with health benefits. All I’ve got is this home. That’s all I own. And I’m not going to sell it to take some tests. If my time has come, then it will come here, not tied up in a hospital bed wearing one of those gowns with the open back.”

Bill stands near the door, staring down at the man that he once respected, liked, and challenged. For all of Terrance’s faults, for all of his criminal activity, there was always an element of honor to the way he conducted his activities.

That’s hard to do in his chosen line of work.

When he first started practicing law, Bill took on just about every case that walked through his door. With his cheap fees, he attracted many unsuccessful offenders. Terrance was one of the men that kept reappearing at Bill’s door, seemingly arrested every month for one minor charge or another.

But even when pressed, he never lied, never avoided the truth.

He enrolled in the military at eighteen years old, went to Vietnam towards the end of the war, saw things no man should see, and came back within a year more damaged than he was when he left.

Becoming street muscle was an easy way to earn money for the troubled soul.

Despite the lawless path that was laid before him, Terrance Marshall was raised with good morals by his grandmother, and he has held onto that.

On the street, Terrance stopped physical attacks on people and risked his own life to save others. He should’ve been awarded for his bravery, but they don’t hand out medals to men with long criminal pasts.

Not that Terrance is without his faults.

He has a long list of criminal activities that almost defies belief. And they’re just the ones he’s been caught for.

“I need your help, Terrance.”

“I can’t help you today, man. I’m out of that world. I’m done with complicating things. I just have to do what I have to do now. There’s no use trying to avoid it. Death is coming for me, and it’s almost here.” He looks away, out his window to the large reserve that backs onto his yard. “I see it sometimes. It feels so cold but comforting at the same time. Sometimes, I feel death is just there, and all I have to do is reach out and take it. I can’t be involved in those games anymore. I’m out, man. I’m out.”

Terrance has stood on the stand as a witness more times than Bill has cared to count. As a street warrior for sale, he was always in the wrong place at the wrong time to see the wrong things.

Raised by his grandmother after his mother’s drug overdose when he was four-years-old, Terrance didn’t achieve much at school. It wasn’t until he hit a growth spurt at the age of fifteen that he found success – people wanted to use his powerful strength to their benefit. If he attended a better school, or if he had a better chance in life, then the people that went and saw him might have been football scouts.

Unfortunately, the scouts in Terrance’s neighborhood were drug dealers.

“You look ill, Terrance. Really ill. You really should go and get help.”

“Not a chance. Those quacks will only hook me up to machines and drag out my life for longer than it should go on. There’s no way I am putting my life in the hands of those pricks. I’ve had a good run at life. A really good run. I know that. There aren’t many gang members like me that could say they lasted into their late sixties. I’ve done some really evil things and hurt some really great people, and now my time is up. I accept that. I’m not going to fight anymore.”

“So you’re just going to die here? Watching daytime television in this isolated house?”

“This is a good spot. I like it here. There are the birds; peace and quiet.” Terrance pauses for a few moments and looks back longingly out the window. “The only other option is to die in prison. At least if that happened, I’d get a funeral. The guards would come. So would some of my fellow prisoners. Most of my old friends are in there, and they’ll never see freedom again. But I’m not going back to prison. No way. I’ve done my time in there, and I’ve seen enough of it to know that I’m not going to go back.” He wipes his eye with the back of his wrist. “If I die out here, nobody would even notice. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even find my body for weeks. You’re the first person to come to my house in a very long time.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Someone has to.”

Pulling out a stool from under the kitchen bench, Bill brushes the dust off it and sits down, staring at the man on the couch.

“You need to ask for forgiveness, Terrance. You need to do that before you die.”

The statement startles him. “Who from?”

“From God, whichever one you believe in. Now is the time to make things right, Terrance. Ask for forgiveness for everything that you’ve done. You know that your time is almost up, and I can see in your eyes that you regret a lot of the things that you’ve done. Now is the time to ask for forgiveness.”

“You mean go into a church?”

Bill nods, and Terrance bursts out laughing, followed by an aching cough.

“Church? Me? That’s a good one. Really good. If I had to confess my sins to a priest, I’d be there for hours. Hours and hours. Probably even days. The poor priest would have a heart attack after I told him what I’ve done. No way. It’s too late for that now. It’s time for me to pay the price. I’m getting what I deserve.”

“It’s not too late, Terrance. It’s never too late to do the right thing. You still have a chance to leave a mark on this world. Make sure you leave at least one good memory here.”

“I’m doing that.” Terrance coughs again, so deep that he has to lean forward. “I’m making sure that I leave one last good memory. One last piece of good here.”

“And what’s that?”

He waves his hand at Bill, then coughs deeper still, hunched over his knees. When he has finished coughing, he wipes his eyes with the back of his sweater sleeve.

He avoids the question, stands up, and stumbles to the bathroom, trying to suppress his deep, harsh cough.

As he watches him walk away, Bill isn’t even sure if he will return.

CHAPTER 19

“You still here?” Terrance mumbles as he walks back down the hallway, wiping blood from the side of his mouth with a small towel.

“Five years ago, did you steal footage from the Ernest E. Debs Regional Park?”

“Footage?” He brushes the tip of his nose, blinking his eyes, trying to hold back the tears. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It’s clear that he’s lying.

“Where is it?”

“I just told you that I don’t know about it.”

“And I don’t believe you. Where is it?”

“What do you want it for?” He slumps back onto the couch, directly angled at the television.

“Kevin Wu is coming at me. The only certain way to make this case disappear is to put him in prison for murder. I know you were with him the night that Tiffany Lee was kidnapped—”

“Tiffany?” His face is panicked.

“The LAPD received a tip-off that you were there that night. They’re looking for the body now. The footage will prove that Kevin Wu took the girl, not you.”

“What makes you think that I have the footage?”

“You’re his old muscle. If he needed something done, he turned to you. I know that’s how it works. And I know that you would have broken into the office and stolen the footage.”

Terrance shakes his head. “Sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know why you wouldn’t have destroyed it, Terrance.” Bill is bluffing. “You could use the footage as blackmail. If Kevin came at you, you could blackmail him with the footage. I know that. You would have been stupid to get rid of it, especially with someone like Kevin. It’s actually very clever on your behalf. If Kevin ever tried to turn you in for all the things you’ve done, you’ve got ammunition to save yourself.”

“I can’t help you.” Terrance rubs his cheek with his left hand, another clear sign he’s lying. “You might want to talk Monty Lee, his former business partner. He would be able to help you.”

“Monty Lee? Tiffany Lee’s father? Why would he have the footage of the night his daughter disappeared?”

“Not the footage. He would have the notes that Kevin used to write. And I’m sure he would still have all the black books that they used for the prostitution rings.” He shrugs. “It would be hard to get it from him because if he gives it to you, he’s incriminating himself. But it’s what the cops were looking for – evidence of his prostitution racket.”

“And where do I find Monty Lee?”

“I don’t know where he is. I’ve been looking for him for years.”

“And why would you be looking for him?”

“He has a lot of dirt on Kevin. A lot.” He avoids answering Bill’s question directly. “He kept the books for Kevin’s businesses, and he would know everything about his past that’s needed to be known. He’s still got a score to settle with Kevin, so I’m sure you can convince him to give you information. Just be careful – Monty Lee still has one other daughter left, and he’s trying to protect her.”

“So where do I find him?”

“Like I said, it’d be hard to find him. He disappeared years ago. Took his wife, mother, and last remaining daughter, and fled the city. Lives in a house at the top end of the Angeles State Forest, I hear. Look for him up there. He’d still hold a grudge against Kevin for what happened, so if anyone is going to help you, it’s going to be him. Just be careful around him. Word is that he went a bit crazy before disappearing off the map.” Terrance rubs the top of his bald head. “I tried to find him, but I never could. I think I got close once, but I never laid eyes on him. I still have a score to settle with him, too. If you find him, let me know.”

“Where would he be keeping the notes, Terrance? I doubt he’s lugging boxes of notes around with him everywhere he goes.”

“I don’t know.” He pulls up the sleeve of his sweater, dispersing the nervous energy of his lie. “Maybe in a basement.”

“In a basement?” Bill raises his eyebrows at the strange reference.

“I suppose.” He shrugs. “I guess that’s where people keep valuable things that they don’t want found in a house.”

Staring at the reformed criminal, Bill struggles to understand the reference. Moving under the pressure of the man’s stare, Terrance struggles to get comfortable in his well-worn position.

“Does this house have a basement?”

“Nope.” Terrance shakes his head. “If it did, I would have a lot more stuff down there. Maybe even open it up to Airbnb. ‘Basement on the edge of Wilderness,’ I’d call it. That’d be great.” He laughs at his joke, but his laugh is short-lived, as it turns into another aching cough.

“Where did Kevin bury Tiffany Lee?”

Terrance looks up at Bill, mouth slightly open. “Who said she’s been buried? She might not be dead.”

“A witness is stating that you were driving a car – seen at the entrance of the Ernest E. Debs Regional Park, not far from here – that Kevin stepped out of. He then walked around to the trunk and pulled out Tiffany Lee,” Bill states.

“I don’t think that witness is telling the truth.” Terrance’s bottom lip quivers, and he bites it, turning his head away from Bill, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist, sniffing loudly. “I didn’t know what was going to happen that night. I still don’t know what happened to her. I just hope she ran away into the reserve. Tiffany was just a little girl, and she didn’t deserve to be caught up in her father’s mess.”

Bill nods. “I need that footage, Terrance. I need you to tell me where I can find it.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Terrance shakes his head. “Kevin and I fell out years ago, but I’m still not going to cross him. He’s too powerful for a man like me. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You know he set me up from day one. You know that he planned to blame his actions on the hypnotherapy sessions.”

“He’s finally done it?”

“Done what?

Terrance smiles. “Years ago, he told me all his plans. After Amy disappeared, his wife wanted him to go straight, so she pushed him to go to hypnotherapy sessions with you. His wife was still angry, you know, so he went for her sake. But then, he got an idea. He was going to go to you, conduct the hypnotherapy sessions, and then take drugs before he went into his brain scan. After that, he was going to hurt Monty Lee, and then blame you for controlling his actions. The brain scan would have proved that he was still under the influence of your hypnotherapy sessions, and he would escape the criminal charges. Except things didn’t go to plan, and he didn’t hurt Monty Lee…”

“He hurt the daughter instead.”

Terrance shakes his head. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. He never told me that.”

“So you’ll testify all that information?”

“Just because I know it all doesn’t mean that I’m going to testify. I’m not going to cross him. And if you force me to come to court, then I’ll deny everything.”

Bill studies Terrance’s movements, almost defeated, almost gone. Back arched forward, eyes focused downwards, sadness on his face; Terrance is not going to change his mind today. Bill’s planted the seed, the first step to getting Terrance on his side. With a few more visits, he feels he can convince him to come onside, but that day is not going to be today.

Bill stands to depart, leaving the former hit man to his daytime soap.

“Bill?”

“Yes, Terrance.”

Terrance looks down at his worn hands, studying them like he’s seeing them for the first time. “I’m dying, Bill.”

Bill nods slowly.

“My liver’s gone, and death will be here for me soon.” He looks to the distance, blinking back more tears. “And I don’t have any friends out here. All my real friends, the ones I could count on, are all locked up or dead. Those from the war, those good men that I watched die, are waiting for me in the next life, but there aren’t many other people I know. I know you and I have our run-ins over time, I know that I’ve done bad, but before I go to the other side, I need your help.”

“What is it?”

“When I pass and see my friends…” He takes a long pause, gulping before he continues. “When I die, can you go into my yard, out back here, and sprinkle my ashes. It’s where I want to end up. Can you promise me that you’ll do that?”

It seems like a strange request, and Bill knows there is more to it.

Walking across to the heavy man sitting on the couch, he places a consoling hand on his shoulder.

“Do the right thing, Terrance. Go to church and ask for forgiveness,” he says quietly. “And I will sprinkle your ashes, my friend.”

CHAPTER 20

Walking into the courthouse as a defendant doesn’t sit well with Bill Harvey.

Judge Derek Dean is waiting impatiently as he walks into the conference room at the end of a long corridor of the courthouse. An old, skinny man with a rugged face, Judge Dean looks like he has seen more long days than most. He easily looks twenty years older than he is, which is difficult considering he’s approaching sixty. Sunken eyes, narrow cheeks, thinning hair; obviously, nobody told him there was more to life than work.

But for all his harrowed looks, Judge Dean is good at his job, with a reputation as being firm but fair.

“Good of you to finally join us, Mr. Harvey,” Kevin Wu quips from the other side of the meeting room, staring down at his expensive Rolex. “We’re not keeping you from something, I hope.”

“You’re keeping me from my real job,” Bill fires back as he places his briefcase down.

“I take it that you received my lunch gift? I hope it tasted as delicious as it looked.”

“What’s he even doing here?”

“He requested it, and I allowed it.” Judge Dean doesn’t lift his eyes from his paperwork. “And I will request that you remain quiet for the duration of this discussion, Mr. Wu.”

“And I request that Kevin withdraws this ridiculous lawsuit, then we can all go about lives, and I would be able to defend people that actually need it.”

The dim conference room has seen many heated arguments between lawyers over the years. A well-used dark oak table sits in the middle of the stuffy room, and the chairs look like they have been taken straight from an office supplies business conference room. The small window at the rear of the room lights the back of Judge Dean, making him appear almost holy.

“We’re not withdrawing the case today, Mr. Harvey.” Seated next to Kevin Wu is Taylor Reaper, one of California’s finest, and best dressed, defense attorneys.

A persistent overachiever, Reaper started his own firm in his late twenties, and over the last decade, he has grown that firm into a juggernaut of a business. With model looks, strangely bright teeth, and wavy hair that looks like it’s made out of silk, Taylor is the perfect Hollywood lawyer. His fees are very high – enough to afford two mansions in Palos Verdes Estates, one for him and one for his ex-wife, along with three sports cars, an eighty-foot yacht, and numerous mistresses.

“I see that you’ve come to lose another case, Taylor.”

“You didn’t beat me on merit last time. You got lucky, that’s all.”

The only three losses Taylor has ever experienced as a lawyer has been against Bill Harvey. And that fact couldn’t frustrate Taylor more.

“I charge by the minute, so let’s make this quick.”

“We’re not looking to hire you as a lawyer, you pompous bastard,” Taylor growls out, leaning forward, trying to resist the temptation to jump across the table and grab his opponent. “This case is worth more than you can afford, and I’m going to see that you pay every single cent of it.”

“Just because you can’t beat me in court doesn’t mean that you can sue me for it. You’re only here for me, Taylor, not for this case.”

“You’re right. I am here for you. And I’m here for justice.”

“Justice? You don’t know what justice is!”

“Now, now, boys. Let’s not get too upset.” Judge Dean throws out his hands in defense. “Leave your personal differences outside, please. This is a professional environment, and I expect you to act like it is.”

Drawing a long breath, Bill unclenches his fist, staring at the smirking Taylor Reaper. It’s what Taylor wants – to get under the skin of the only man who has beaten him in court.

Opening his briefcase with a smug smirk planted on his face, Taylor removes a number of thick files, placing them on the table between himself and Bill. The files don’t hold much important information, but it’s a show of force – he’s prepared to take this to court and fight based on the weight of evidence.

“Now, let’s turn our focus on the facts. Your motion to strike has been rejected.” Judge Dean flicks through the file in front of him, looking over the top of his reading glasses. “And as this is an unusual case, and I don’t want to test it in court, how about we all act like adults and settle this before that happens.”

“How could you dismiss this motion?!” Bill’s arms flex.

“How could I not?” Judge Dean retorts. “The plaintiff has presented an astounding amount of evidence to back his argument.”

“The amount of evidence does not conclude its validity!”

“No, but the strength of it does!” Judge Dean slaps the file shut. “They have expert witnesses, doctors, and scientists, who are willing to testify in the change of brain pattern behavior after the sessions of hypnotherapy with you. They have brain scans that present a change in brain behavior before and after the sessions. That, at least, is worth hearing in a court. Now, Mr. Harvey, settle down, and settle this case.”

“We’d be happy to settle.” Taylor smirks again, drumming his hands on the edge of the table like an excited schoolboy.

“Have you tried to at least attempt to settle this dispute out of court?” Judge Dean opens another file on his checklist.

“We have discussed the case via telephone, and we have informed the defendant that we’re willing to settle for half the amount, namely $50,000,000. We think that’s a very rational amount considering the damage that has been done to my client’s life.”

Bill’s response is very overtly sarcastic. “How very reasonable.”

“Of course, in good faith, we’re willing to discuss, and perhaps even change, the settlement amount further than what has been proposed. We’re very reasonable people, and, of course, we would prefer to come to an outcome before this case reaches the court.”

“No, you don’t. You want to test this case in court.”

“On what condition would you consider negotiating the settlement amount?” Judge Dean ignores Bill’s statement and holds his pen at the ready, almost itching to take handwritten notes.

“As part of any settlement, Mr. Harvey would be required to sign an affidavit stating that he has accepted full responsibility for all changes in Mr. Wu’s behavior.”

“I see what you’re doing.” Bill glares at Taylor. “And there’s not a chance that I will sign one.”

“And what are we doing, Mr. Harvey?”

“That affidavit will set me up for future responsibility for Kevin’s choice of actions, should this case be tested in the criminal court.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Taylor struggles hard to hide his grin.

“Partial responsibility?” Judge Dean asks as he begins his note-taking.

Bill’s reply is direct and firm, as is his grip on the edge of the table. “No.”

“We came here in good faith to discuss a settlement, and you’re clearly not entering the discussion in good faith, Mr. Harvey.”

“My faith is in sensible people. Not you.”

“Look at the evidence.” Taylor opens his hands, gesturing to the files on the table. “Look at it! Due to a medical condition, and his family risk of tumors, Mr. Wu had a brain scan twelve months before he started the hypnotherapy sessions with you, and then another just after the sessions, and every year since. There are clear differences in his brain patterns. There’s no denying the scientific facts of this case. It’s cold, hard evidence that you can’t deny!”

“And in the scans after the sessions, the brain pattern matches the exact brain patterns of someone who has taken barbiturates before the testing. Was he drug tested before the scans?”

“That’s not a legal requirement, Mr. Harvey, and you know that to be the case.”

“He has clearly influenced the scans by taking drugs before the subsequent rounds of testing. That’s clear to all involved.”

Kevin scoffs at the accusation “I don’t take drugs. What an absolutely ridiculous claim.”

“Mr. Wu, please refrain from butting in,” Judge Dean instructs.

“You were trying to set me up from day one! It’s clear that you unduly influenced the scan with your behavior!”

“Again, Mr. Harvey, I will ask you to settle down,” Judge Dean interrupts. “This discussion has to be in good faith. Now, if I’m not mistaken, you’re claiming that Mr. Wu deliberately changed his brain pattern before the second scan. Why would he need to do that?”

“To set me up.”

“That’s quite a long game plan, Mr. Harvey. This occurred five years ago.” Judge Dean winces. “That’s rather unbelievable.”

“He knew this day was coming. He knew there would be a day when he was going to be charged with murder, and he planned this all those years ago. He just expected that day to be a lot sooner.”

“My client has not been charged with any criminal behavior!” Taylor interjects.

“He will be.”

“If you know something, please elaborate, Mr. Harvey,” Judge Dean states.

Bill doesn’t answer the statement from the judge. Instead, he adjusts his tie and then stares at Kevin Wu, who squirms uncomfortably under the gaze.

“From what I can see…” Judge Dean opens a file in front of him. “… there’s a lot of evidence to state that Mr. Wu’s brain activity had changed during that period. And—”

“And yet, there is no evidence to state that hypnotherapy was responsible.”

“There’s plenty of evidence,” Taylor quips.

“Correlation is not causality!”

“Very true.” Judge Dean lifts his head from the page he’s staring at. “However, this case is sure to be heard unless there’s a settlement before the set date. And I, for one, would much prefer that this case didn’t make it to court.”

“There will be no settlement. I will have evidence to state that this is an act of fraudulent behavior before that date.”

Taylor leans forward, elbows resting on the desk. “Oh please, Bill, enlighten us.”

“Kevin is a very well-known note-taker. Every night, without fail, he records his thoughts in a small black book – he has written in several over the years. Finding those books will show that he used the hypnotherapy sessions as a setup for a future change in his behavior. Those books will show that he used drugs before the brain scan to unduly influence the outcome. This defense has been planned for a very long time, and I will have evidence to show that.”

Judge Dean looks at Taylor. “Your reply, Mr. Reaper?”

Taylor smiles, resting backward, swiveling slightly on his chair. “It’s very well-known that Mr. Wu is a nightly note-taker; however, it’s also very well-known that after the period of one year, he burns those books. Think of it as a clean-out on the first of January every year.”

“So no such notes exist from five years ago?” Judge Dean looks over the top of his glasses.

“That’s correct.”

“Mr. Harvey?”

“Monty Lee might have something to say about that.”

Kevin’s mouth drops open, and Taylor turns to watch his client’s shock.

“He disappeared a long time ago. He’s untraceable.” Taylor shakes his head. “And what could he possibly have to say?”

“He won’t say much, but the notes that he’s kept might.”

It’s a bluff, but by the shock on Kevin’s face, he can tell it’s a good one.

Judge Dean flips open a page of his notebook, scribbling illegible words on the paper. “Mr. Harvey, at this point, I will ask you directly: are you willing to consider a settlement?”

“There is no evidence, none, that states the hypnotherapy changed his brain patterns. All they have is a coincidence, a setup, that the pattern of behavior changed during that time. There’s no causality between the change in his behavior and the sessions of hypnotherapy.”

“So you’re saying that hypnotherapy doesn’t work at all?”

“Hypnotherapy works by leveraging what is already in a person’s mind. It helps a person enter their own subconscious. I exercised no control over his behavior. None.”

“What if we were to bring forward an expert witness that will verify the effect that hypnotherapy has on brain functioning?” Taylor questions.

The growl in Bill’s voice is loud. “You couldn’t find a credible witness that will testify to that.”

“The creditability of the testimony will be for the court to decide.”

“Not likely. It’s not going to get that far.”

“However, you’re not willing to settle.” Taylor smiles. “I don’t think I need to tell you what a case like this will do for your reputation. Even if the case isn’t won by us, your reputation will be mud after the public hears what you have done. There will be no more high-flying Bill Harvey; you’ll be back to defending scum, like you deserve.”

“The only reputation that will be destroyed is yours.” It’s a thinly veiled threat and one that doesn’t hold much weight in the current context.

When the media get hold of the story, on a slow news day, they’ll make it the lead story. It’s sure to get people interested and sell advertising space online. The connotations of the outcome are massive – it will be suggested that Bill unduly influenced his clients, the court, and the jurors. Fear is what sells media stories, and the audience will be fearful of what hypnotists have the power to do.

He’s not looking forward to that.

“So an Alternative Dispute Resolution is out of the question?” Judge Dean questions.

“There will be no ADR for this case.” Bill places his index finger firmly down on the table. “There will be no settlement. And there will be no court case.”

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, Mr. Harvey.” Judge Dean flicks through the pages in front of him. “But I can ascertain that we’re not going to get anywhere today. I’m satisfied that an attempt at a settlement has occurred, and I’m also satisfied that no settlement will be reached here.”

“Then let’s set a court date,” Taylor quips.

“Hold on.” Judge Dean puts one hand up as a stop sign. “I, for one, do not want this case to go to court. I don’t want this theory tested in my courtroom, so I’m going to set a mediation attempt to see that this is resolved before we have to go to court.” Judge Dean is firm. “The next meeting is set for two Fridays time, and then we will have another CMC two Fridays after that. You both had better work on resolving this, and this had better be determined by then.”

“It won’t be settled,” Bill states.

“For now, the court date will be set twelve weeks from today’s date.”

“I’ll look forward to this case coming to court.” Taylor grins. “I’m sure it will be quite an adventure.”

“It won’t be making it to court.” Bill stands, tall, almost knocking his chair backward. “And I will guarantee that.”

CHAPTER 21

“Bill Harvey?”

“Harry Leach. My favorite person.”

“The name’s Harry Beach, and you know that.”

Bill draws a long breath as the day starts to turn into night. Walking out of a Chinese takeaway on Maple Avenue – with a fried shrimp in his mouth – was the last place he expected to be hounded by the media.

But this is L.A., and reporters here work twenty-four-seven for a break.

“I hear that you might be in trouble with the law.” Harry begins walking next to Bill.

“The law? No, Harry. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Bill doesn’t stop to chat, mostly because he doesn’t want his wonton soup to go cold.

“That’s what they all say. You sound like one of your clients.” Harry quickens his pace to keep up with Bill’s long stride. “Word is that you might have influenced one of your clients unduly.”

Bill stops, taking a step closer, looking down at the shorter man dressed in a casual shirt and shorts. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m just asking questions, man. No need to get nasty. All I’m trying to do is get the full story. I mean, it would be a lot more helpful if you just answered some questions, then I could write a more well-rounded view of the story.” Harry fixes his white bowler hat into position. He was never a fan of hats until he started to go bald prematurely at age twenty-eight, and then they became his number one fashion accessory.

“I’m not helping you with any story because there’s no story here,” Bill snarls out, leaning more into the reporter’s personal space.

“I beg to differ.” The self-importance seeps off Harry. In his world, he has to push boundaries and make powerful people angry enough to snap and tell him the truth. He believes that he’s doing better for the world, making a difference by keeping people updated with the news they need to know. Bill’s opinion of Harry’s work is very different. “Word is a former client is suing you for $100,000,000 in the civil court. That’s not going to look good for you, but it’s going to sell media space for me. This is going to be a massive story, and I’m running with it, man. It’s going to be huge. It’ll launch my career.”

“There’s no story.”

“Give me something, Bill. Don’t just let me go on rumors. Give me something solid to work with. I would hate to write an article without your input. If I had to do that, it might even be unduly unfair to you. Of course, none of us would want that, so please, just give me something to go on.”

“I’ll give you my fist if you don’t leave me alone.”

Harry smiles; it’s a threat he hears often. Sometimes, the people even follow through on the threat, but he has taken enough punches to know a good story is worth it. A front page on the paper, a leading story online, gives him all the satisfaction that he needs.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how a negative article will affect your career.”

Bill draws a deep breath. Being threatened by reporters is not something he enjoys. “How long do I have until you write the article?”

“Two weeks, maximum. Maybe even before then.”

Two weeks until Bill’s career is stained forever.

And that’s the problem with ideas on the Internet – they’re forever. One leaked photo, one slanderous article, and then suddenly your name is mud, no matter how many times they retract the article.

If this story reaches the Internet, then the information is there to be found over and over and over again – whether it’s correct or not.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you something, if you give me something.” Harry adjusts his hat as his target begins walking away.

“What could you possibly give me?”

“A name and a location.”

“I don’t need either of those.”

“You might if the name is Monty Lee.”

Bill stops. He had spent the afternoon looking for Monty Lee, the former business partner, but gave up when all the leads dried up. Monty disappeared from the world five years ago after Tiffany Lee was kidnapped.

“Ah, I see that’s caught your attention. You’re interested in what I’m selling.”

“How could you possibly know where he is? He’s off the grid – been untraceable for years.”

“Not to me. I covered that story a lot; a sad story where he lost two daughters. I was there when he made the decision to disappear, to save his last daughter. He thought that Kevin Wu was going to come after his third daughter as well, so he went to the hills. Off the grid, as you say. But he gave me something first.” Harry waves his finger in the air. “He gave me the details of his location just in case anything ever turned up. He wanted to know if justice ever came to Kevin Wu. And rumor in the LAPD is that they’re close to charging Kevin Wu with the murder of Monty’s second daughter. No body has been found, but they say that they can get him on kidnapping charges. Monty would love to know that piece of information.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Give me something to work with, and I’ll give you Monty’s location.”

Bill looks up, then left and right. Except for a few people hurrying out of the darkness, the streets are empty around them. His wonton soup is going cold, but that can wait. He usually burns his mouth on the first sip anyway.

“Alright, Harry, I’ll give you something. Kevin Wu is taking me to court.”

“I know that.”

“He claims that my hypnotherapy sessions changed his brain behavior and he’s suing me for damages. He’s saying that he made bad business deals under my influence. He claims that I unduly influenced his behavior and as a result, he’s suing me for loss and damage.”

“This is all public knowledge. I need something more than that.”

Bill draws another long breath. “But my feeling is that he’s using the civil court as a precursor to the criminal court.”

“Go on.”

“Like you said, rumor is that he’s about to be charged with either the kidnapping or murder of Tiffany Lee, Monty’s second daughter. A tip-off has arrived and all of a sudden, that cold case is open again. But that crime occurred just after the hypnotherapy sessions.”

“So, you’re saying that he’s going to claim that the hypnotherapy sessions changed his behavior in such a way that he’s not criminally responsible for any crime that occurred?”

“Exactly. But he won’t make that move until the criminal charges are laid against him. The civil court is his way to test that defense in court without the criminal charges. A first take, if you will – a chance to test his expert witnesses and evidence, and see what works and what doesn’t. If it works, then he’ll use the same defense in the criminal court, and if it doesn’t, he’ll know where he went wrong.”

“Clever,” Harry comments, biting his lip. “Very clever. I knew he was cunning, but this is next level. The man should be congratulated for his planning.”

“I’m not going to congratulate him.”

“Of course not. But you have to admit that it’s clever, even if you’re on the wrong side of it.”

Bill steps closer to Harry. “Tell me where Monty Lee is hiding.”

“Near Wrightwood – about three hours drive from here. Take the last left as you come out of the town. It’s right up the top near Mountain High Resort. Once you pass the last house out of Wrightwood, you’ll see a rusty gate on your left. He’s living up there with his wife, mother, and child, growing their own food, and homeschooling their daughter.” He scribbles an address on a piece of paper. “There’s a small community up there on acres of private land, but be careful.”

“Why? He was a numbers man, not the muscle of the business.”

“He’s a former accountant, but he’s no pen pusher anymore. These days, he’s an angry man that lives off the land, and they have their own laws in the community up there. The man is dangerous, and still very, very angry. Just step carefully with Monty. Very carefully.”

CHAPTER 22

Monty Lee was indeed hard to find.

He’s hidden like a man that never wants to be found.

After the accidental death of his youngest daughter, his loving family was distraught and devastated. She was only five, only a sweet little angel, when her parents were at Kevin Wu’s home for a party to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Innocently, she picked up a bag of white powder and tasted it. She was dead by the time the ambulance arrived.

As a grieving father, Monty sought someone to blame, and Kevin Wu was the obvious target. He pushed and pushed the LAPD to charge him with murder, or at least, manslaughter, and even though he was arrested and questioned, no charges were ever laid. There was simply not enough evidence to charge him with criminal negligence. Without an arrest, Monty felt like he was letting his deceased daughter down. Every day that passed without consequence for Kevin, Monty felt like he was failing his daughter, failing the honor of his family.

It was Kevin’s only daughter who went missing next, only weeks later.

All fingers pointed at Monty, but again, there was no evidence. It was a clean kidnapping, and nobody was talking.

Kevin Wu was not a man to take the disappearance of his daughter lightly, and soon after, a third child, Monty’s eldest, went missing. This time, there was no doubt who was guilty, but evidence is another thing altogether.

Three children bore the consequences of a terrible accident.

And two families were never going to be the same.

Like all good fathers would, Monty spent a long time looking for his missing daughter, and many hours trying to prove that it was powerful Kevin Wu that kidnapped her. And they got so close, but the DA wasn’t convinced that they had enough evidence to convict him. Without a body, there was never going to be a murder charge.

It was only once they were really close to an arrest that a targeted shooting occurred at Monty’s house, and it almost took the lives of his wife and daughter. It was at this point that Monty decided to cut his losses and run.

To save their remaining daughter from the terrors of the criminal underworld, the Lee family disappeared into the hills. Along with his mother, they found a settlement of people living a simple life, cut-off from society. The Lee’s erased all trace of their existence; destroyed everything and left no trail behind them. Completely off the grid.

Their only contact with their former life was reporter Harry Beach, and he was to contact them with any update on their daughter’s case.

But Harry Beach is a wheeler and dealer, and he will use any information he has to secure a story.

As Bill drives up the long-wooded driveway, his car is hit by numerous overhanging branches and bounces over large potholes in the rarely used dirt road. Finally, he comes to a clearing and brings the car to a slow halt. A few paces away, a man swings an axe out the front of a small house and doesn’t even look up at the clearly out of place shiny black Mercedes.

Carefully stepping out of the car, Bill studies his surrounds – a small clearing, one brick house, five old caravans, and evidence of vegetable cultivating behind the six-foot fence surrounding the house, keeping the animals out at night.

Half an hour from the closest town, their existence is deliberately cut-off from the world. No electricity, no town water, no modern luxuries.

“Hello. I’m after a man named Monty Lee.” Bill states as he steps out of the car into the fresh mountain air.

The powerful axe swings down, breaking the wood in half, but no answer comes from the man’s mouth.

Bill steps closer.

“I’d stop there if I were you.” The man grunts as he swings the axe again, not taking his eyes off the job.

Bill doesn’t stop; he doesn’t respond well to threats.

As he steps forward, the man stops swinging the axe and stares at Bill. It’s been a while since he last saw a stranger come through this area.

The man resembles the photo of the Chinese-born Monty Lee that Bill found, but he no longer has the body of an accountant. His forearms are thick, shoulders wide, cuts covering his overworked hands. His flannel shirt is a mixture of blood, sweat, and more sweat. Hardworking and weathered, he looks like he hasn’t smiled in years.

He wipes his brow with the back of his forearm and then nods towards the small house, where a woman stands at the door with a shotgun in hand, an older lady behind her.

“That’s my wife, Tessa Lee, and my mother, Ling Lee. They really don’t like strangers. So, I suggest that you stop walking this way and start talking.”

“My name is Bill Harvey.” Bill stops walking forward, looking at Monty Lee but keeping the women in his peripheral vision.

“You a cop?”

“No. I’m a lawyer.”

Monty laughs. “Don’t need a lawyer up here, pal!” He opens his hand to indicate to the forest around them. “Whatever you want to sell me, we don’t want it. We’re not buying.”

“I’m not here to sell anything.” Bill takes another step closer. “I’m here to talk about your past.”

Monty stares at him, looks across to his wife, nods, and then the women disappear back into the house. Bill’s shoulders relax as the timeworn door swings shut behind her.

The caravans that surround the house are all from the early 60s and look like they have been used every day since. There is repair work on all five, a missing window on one, and a missing door on another. It’s at this point that Bill sees a beat-up pickup truck parked at another entrance to the clearing, and he hears another truck roar in the distance.

“You came up the wrong road.” Monty nods towards the Mercedes. “I’m surprised your car made it up that road. Usually, most sedans bottom out up there – I’ve had to tow a few cars out.”

“I didn’t realize there was more than one way in.”

“Most people don’t realize there are roads up here. It’s private property, and that’s the way we like it – private.” Monty leans the axe against a nearby tree stump. “But I was expecting someone to be coming by. I guess you’ve spoken with Harry.”

“That’s right.”

“And do you have an update on the case?”

“No.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“I need your help.”

“I’m not the helpful sort, pal.”

Monty never trusted Harry Beach, but it was the only way he could remain updated on his daughter’s case. He called him every month that he ventured into town, hopeful that there would be something to add, something that drew them closer to closing the cold case. He even let himself hope that Tiffany would be found alive one day.

When Harry relayed information that Kevin was close to being arrested for Tiffany’s murder, his heart sunk. Not because the case was coming to a close, but because it meant that little flame of hope that his daughter was alive was blown out completely. It still breaks his heart every day that he thinks about Tiffany, still makes him shed a tear when he’s alone in the pine forest.

He couldn’t tell his mother, Tiffany’s grandmother, the news yet. Out of everyone, she was the most convinced that Tiffany was still alive. The news that she wasn’t would completely destroy her.

“How many of you are up here?” Bill asks.

“Enough.”

“A medium sized house, five caravans, a basement. That’s enough to fit a small community.”

“What’s your point?”

“It’s must be a quiet life out here. I would hate for that to be spoiled.” Bill makes a thinly veiled reference to his ability to find him.

Monty stares at Bill, processing the information, and once he has, his right hand grips the axe again. Lifting it up so that it sits on his shoulders, Monty clenches his jaw. “It’s quiet enough to make sure that if someone disappears, they’re never found again.”

Bill nods, an acknowledgment of the threat. “I’ll get to the point. I’m having trouble with Kevin Wu.”

The grip on the axe tightens. “We don’t speak that name around here.”

For a former accountant, he seems quite scary. “I need your help. You were his inside man, and you know information that could help me put him away. Help me put him behind bars.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I’m looking for someone to testify that he’s setting me up. He planned my downfall five years ago, when you were still close to him. He meticulously and cunningly planned for me to take the blame for a crime that he committed. I need you to testify that he set me up.” Bill deliberately doesn’t mention which crime. “Someone mentioned you might be able to do that.”

“No.”

He studies the unflinching man with a sharp axe. “They also mentioned that you would know where his old notes are, a specific black book. If you’re not willing to testify, then at least tell me where the notes are. That’s all I need. The black book – the one with the names of his prostitution clients. I know that it wasn’t burned, so I just need to see it. It will show the court how bad his prostitution racket was. I can send him away with that alone. I’m sure you want to see that.”

“I can’t help you,” Monty repeats, his grip still firm on the axe.

“Maybe you’ve got them stored in that basement under the house?” Bill nods towards the basement door near the side of the house.

The reply is strong. “There’s nothing in there. Whoever told you that I could help is wrong. Very wrong. I’m not risking my family again. There’s evil in the city, and I refuse to risk my family again. Leave us alone.”

“Terrance Marshall assured me that you would help.”

“Terrance Marshall?” Monty’s jaw clenches tighter.

The knuckles gripping the axe turn white. It’s not a name he enjoys hearing either.

“Does he know I’m here? Did you tell him our location?”

“No.”

“What else did Terrance say? What did he say about me?”

Bill squints. “What do you think he said?”

“I’m innocent. I had nothing to do with it. It was all Terrance’s decision, and I didn’t do anything. I had nothing to do with it. I’m innocent, and if you think that I’m going to go down for that oaf, then you’re going to meet the end of this axe.”

Thoughts run through Bill’s head. “Innocent of what?”

Monty stares at Bill, trying to read his expression. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything. Don’t try and trap me into saying something I didn’t do. I’m innocent.”

“All Terrance told me was that you could help me with the notes.”

“No.” Monty grunts. “Don’t trust Terrance Marshall. Not one bit. He’s a killer and has been his whole life. Tell him that if he ever comes this way, then he will find himself at the bottom of a very shallow grave. Alive. I’ll bury that man alive.”

“You’re not friends with Terrance?” Bill pushes him.

“We’re not friends. That man is a criminal, and he’s done things that nobody should ever witness. I had nothing to do with whatever he claims. If I ever see him again, I’ll kill him. I can guarantee you that.” Monty shakes his head. “He came here once – said he was looking for me. I was impressed that he actually found us – I didn’t give that guy enough credit. Apparently, it’s harder to disappear than I first thought. One of the other residents told him that they’d never heard of me, and that was that. He never returned, but I can guarantee you that he’s still looking for me.”

The anger is starting to build in Monty’s body. His veins are pulsing in his ripped arms, his jaw is clenched tight, and his eyes are narrowed on Bill’s movements.

“I can see that you won’t be able to help me with the notes, Monty. I’ve come to see the wrong man for help.”

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“If…” For the first time since meeting, Monty’s expression softens. “If they find Tiffany’s body, please tell us straight away. If she’s dead, then I want to have the honor of burying my daughter. I want to give her the farewell that she deserves. That’s all I want - a chance to bury my daughter. Please.”

“You have my word.”

Bill steps back towards his car, keeping his eyes on the house, wildly suspicious about the secluded settlement in the woods.

CHAPTER 23

“I’m missing something, Kate.”

Bill Harvey sits in his office boardroom, looking over all the files spread out in front of them, studying them closely.

With the evening sun sneaking through the large windows, the boardroom feels more like a new office showroom than a place to discuss legal strategies. Redesigned only a year ago, the boardroom is spacious with clean lines, light colors, and new furniture.

“Let’s do a timeline,” Kate states as she sits across from her boss. She ties her hair back into a ponytail, a sure sign that she’s becoming focused. She moves a file from one end of the table to the other. “Six years ago, you defend a man named Kevin Wu and get him off criminal charges. Despite the evidence, the court declares him innocent of pimping and pandering. You wrote in your notes at the conclusion of the trial that he’s the most cunning, untrustworthy person you’ve ever met, and you won’t be defending him again.”

“That’s right. I didn’t know the extent of his activity then, but it turns out that he’s consistently trafficked people from Hong Kong to L.A. to use in his illegal brothel operations. If I had known that then, I wouldn’t have taken on the case.”

“So it all kicks off with Monty’s daughter dying of an accidental drug overdose at Kevin’s house. Kevin is cleared of any wrongdoing, but then four weeks later, his daughter, Amy Wu, goes missing. People think it’s Monty out for revenge, an eye for an eye, but there’s no evidence, and Monty isn’t charged. Two weeks after the disappearance of Amy Wu, Kevin’s wife, Eva, comes to you saying that Kevin feels he needs to get out of the criminal game, and your former job as a hypnotherapist will help him lose the need to conduct a crime.”

“She seemed genuine. She wanted him out of the brothels, out of the drugs, and out of that world. She thought this was the best way to do that. And if it helped him get out of the game, then I was going to do what I could. After the disappearance of her step-daughter, Eva said that she had seen enough violence in her life, and she wanted to start again. They wanted a clean slate, and I wanted to help them achieve that.”

“I’m sure they did seem genuine.” Kate moves another file around the table. “Kevin does five sessions of hypnotherapy over a period of one week with you, then claims he’s cured and clean. In your notes, you write that he seemed very reluctant about the sessions, and you’re sure he isn’t there for the right reasons. And at the end of the five sessions, he says that ‘a girl’ is going to get hurt.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Only two days after the fifth session, Monty’s second daughter, seven-year-old Tiffany, goes missing. Her body was never found. Kevin is accused, but again there’s not enough evidence. And of course, no charges are laid.”

“Possibly three dead girls. This isn’t a nice story.”

“Monty physically attacks Kevin, beats him up so bad that it puts him in hospital, and then Monty’s house is shot at – his wife and last remaining daughter almost killed. Desperate to protect what is left of his family, Monty disappears without a trace – goes to the mountains with his wife, mother, and child, to live a gypsy lifestyle and his only contact with the outside world is reporter Harry Beach.” She moves another file around the table. “Five years later, the police go after Kevin Wu really hard and shut down all his operations. Again, no charges stick, but suddenly, the LAPD is watching Kevin Wu’s every step. So Kevin doesn’t have an income, and he still has large debts to pay. He then comes at you with claims that your hypnotherapy sessions changed his life, and he was under the influence of your sessions while making bad personal and business decisions. He wants to be compensated for that to the tune of $100,000,000.”

“That’s it, Kate. That’s all of it.”

“And you’re saying that Kevin had this planned all along. From the day that he walked into your office for the hypnotherapy sessions, he planned to kill Monty’s second daughter as revenge for the disappearance of his only child, and you were his cover, his fallback plan.”

“Almost. He planned to kill Monty and use the hypnotherapy as his defense. But it didn’t work out like that. Monty stayed alive, and it was Tiffany that went missing. And now, he sees that defense as a solution to all his problems.”

“Bill, that’s the most planned, cunning, ruthless behavior I have ever heard of.”

“I should have listened to my intuition, Kate. I shouldn’t have trusted him, but I fell into his trap. How could I have been so stupid?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You wanted to help him get out of the game. There’s nothing wrong with that. It was the right thing to do at the time.”

“And look where’s that’s got me.” Bill throws his hands up in the air. “I shouldn’t help people. I should just worry about my own interests and forget about helping anyone.”

“Don’t be like that. You’re better than that,” Kate responds. “So now, you think that if you can put Kevin Wu in prison for human trafficking, pimping, or murder, you can convince him to withdraw the civil case.”

“And all we need is evidence. We have somebody that can help us, but won’t step into the courtroom.”

“Terrance Marshall.”

“Right.” Bill leans forward, elbows resting on the table as he looks over the files. “He’s refusing to testify – says that if he does, then he will incriminate himself, and doesn’t want to spend his final years behind bars.”

“Then what you need is leverage.”

“Leverage?”

“Absolutely – make coming to court Terrance’s only option. Find something that is dear to him, and use that to squeeze him.”

“Blackmail him?”

“Not blackmail, just…” She bites her bottom lip. “Just give him no other option. What could convince him to come clean with the evidence?”

“Not a lot, it seems. He lives a very simple life on the edge of a reserve, and he’s slowly dying. Death doesn’t scare him, and nor does pain.”

“How about any family?”

“As a hired thug, he spent most of his life destroying relationships, not building them. He never married, never had kids, never really dated anyone, as far as I’m aware. I did hear a rumor that he had a child, a girl, and the mother had passed away, but I never heard anything more of it. And I certainly didn’t see any evidence of children when I went to his house.”

“How then?”

Bill places his pen on the table, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if an answer is written on it. He stares at the smooth ceiling for a long while before answering.

“There’s something on his property. Terrance is protecting something back there. Maybe he’s kept Kevin’s black book at his house, or maybe it’s the CCTV footage of the park, but whatever is there might be our only chance to convince him of testifying.” He keeps looking upwards. “If we find the notes, or if we find the footage, then not only will we send Kevin Wu to prison, but we can also convince Terrance to testify. If Kevin finds out that Terrance kept the notes after asking him to destroy them, then Kevin will come at him regardless of testimony or not.”

Kate looks up. “You got that idea from the roof?”

“We need to find the evidence. If Terrance has kept it, the fear of what Kevin will do will be enough to make him testify in the civil case.”

“And where will you find the evidence?”

“In the most obvious place.” Bill smiles. “I’ll get Jack to stake out Terrance’s house and study his movements. Once he’s out of the house, I’m going to search it. I don’t want to have to blackmail him, but that might be my only chance to win this case.”

“Good. I’m coming.”

“Not a chance. Terrance is big, he’s mean, and he’s still very dangerous. There’s no way that I can allow you to do this.”

“I’m a grown woman; I can look after myself.”

“Not against a man twice the size of you.”

Kate raises her eyebrows and stares at Bill, a clear statement that she isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Alright.” Bill sighs. “But you have to stay out of trouble.”

“You got it, boss. So, what’s the plan?”

“Jack will scope the place, and when we have the chance, I’ll go in and search his house, but I’ll need plastic gloves.”

“For fingerprints?”

“No. Because the place is filthy.”

He picks up the mobile phone lying on the table and dials.

“Jack. You’re on. There’s something at Terrance Marshall’s place, and we’re going to find it. And then, we might have a chance to save our jobs.”

CHAPTER 24

Sitting in the back of Jack’s Ford pickup truck, Bill and Kate watch as Terrance leaves the old, gray house, built in a time when plain was considered value for money. Nestled in the trees, backing onto the reserve, the house is not the place where you would expect to find a hardened criminal. It looks more like the place where a family of four, with two cats and a dog, spend their downtime.

The piles of trash sitting next to the front door dispel that thought.

Known as the ‘Wilderness in the City’, Montecito Heights is home to many long-term residents, who want to see out their final days in their piece of paradise. The Ernest E. Debs Regional Park that backs onto the suburb is 280 acres of mostly low-lying scrub, scattered trees, and dusty hills, but it’s enough to feel like you’re a hundred miles from Downtown L.A, when in fact, it’s only a thirty-minute drive.

Terrance Marshall limps to his car, lugs his heavy frame into the front seat, roars the engine of his Chevy in park, indicates for at least one minute, checks all his mirrors twice, and then slowly drives away.

“At least he’s a safe driver. Can’t fault him for that,” Kate says from behind the tinted window of Jack’s truck, taking a photo of the number plate as Terrance leaves.

“Your job is to watch two things,” Jack says firmly. “You need to watch the street for Terrance’s black Chevy returning, and you need to watch that entrance to the street for any sign of people coming in and out. If you see anything unusual, you need to call us straight away. Don’t hesitate. If you hesitate, we die. Is that clear?”

“I think so.” Kate’s voice shakes with the responsibility. “But how do I know if it’s unusual? I haven’t spent much time in Montecito Heights, but from what I have heard, all sorts of things happen out here. We’re right next to the reserve. Anything could happen.”

“You’re looking for groups of serious people. Any of them. If two or more people walk onto the street, and they’re not a family, call us. Any car that looks out of place, either too rich or too poor, call us. Any sudden movements in the shadows, call us. If anything changes, call us. We’ll make the decision after your call. It’s better safe than sorry. Call us if anything happens.”

“Got it.” Kate nods, focused on her task. Excited to be on her first stakeout, Kate had spent the afternoon Googling ‘How to stay focused on a stakeout’. Next to her sits two cans of energy drinks, four bags of candy, and a box of matchsticks.

“And lock the doors,” Bill adds, wanting nothing more than to keep Kate safe. “If there’s any danger, you’re to drive away. We can look after ourselves. Do not put yourself in danger. Keep yourself safe first.”

“On it,” she replies as the two men climb out of the car.

Dressed in a white business shirt and suit pants, Bill stands out in this place. Most people in this suburb will assume he’s a detective, and in this area, that’s dangerous. Luckily, he has Jack Grayson by his side. Dressed in his usual work uniform of a tight black shirt and slick jeans, Jack looks more at home on these streets than he does inside a courthouse.

Trained in the brutal martial art of Krav Maga, Jack is confident he can defend himself in most dangerous situations in this part of the city. The Glock pistol resting under his shirt also helps.

With as little noise as possible, the men walk across the front yard, past the overgrown bushes, and to the door of Terrance Marshall’s house. Gently, Bill knocks on it. When there is no answer, he nods at Jack.

Without a word between them, Jack leans down to the door handle, jiggles it, and slides a card into the gap between the door and the frame. It’s a skill that his next-door neighbor taught him when he was a teenager, and those skills have come in handy more times than he cares to remember.

He never trusted the old man next door, but when he was twelve, he had locked himself out of the house. The man in his seventies, a loner, walked across to him, didn’t say a word, jiggled the door with a pin, and popped the door open. It turned out the man had served in the Second World War and had learned those skills during the German occupation of France when he served as a spy.

And so was born one of the closest connections Jack had during his childhood. He would spend long hours during his summer holidays listening to the man tell stories of a bygone era, hearing about the war, and learning skills as a spy.

With two forceful pushes and one right turn, the door opens. “Can’t do that with the new doors. Luckily, most of my clients live in old areas with old doors that have old locks.” As Jack steps into the house, the wall of smell hits him first. “Whoa. What does this guy do all day?”

“He certainly doesn’t clean,” Bill states as he follows Jack inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Alright, boss. Where to start?”

“Anywhere. When I talked to Terrance, he was evasive about something in here. We’ll search anywhere where he could be hiding anything valuable.”

Starting with the hallway cupboards, Bill goes through old paperwork, dating back twenty years, searching for anything of use. Jack starts in the bedroom, wincing as he lifts unwashed clothes off the floor to check underneath them. He checks under the bed, in the bathroom, and in the kitchen cupboards.

“Nothing, Bill,” he concludes within ten minutes. “The place is fairly sparse. Apart from a collection of photos from his army days, I’ve got nothing.”

In the hall, Bill has an equal amount of success. “I’m the same – nothing. No USB footage, no black book.”

“There’s no sign of any hidden cupboards, safes, or trapdoors.” Jack taps his knuckles along the walls, listening for any hollow sound. “He would have to be stupid to leave anything of value here. Wu and his boys would find it too easily if he did. I don’t think he would have left anything here. If he kept them, he would have hidden them somewhere else.”

“His car?”

“That would have been even stupider. No. Maybe a deposit box, or a warehouse. Somewhere secure, but hidden.”

Rubbing his chin, Bill nods. “There must be some evidence of it here. Maybe a receipt for the deposit box, or a bill from the storage place?”

Jack nods, and Bill returns to the cupboard, searching through the old paperwork again. Heading back to the bedrooms, Jack spends the next ten minutes searching for any clues.

“Bill.” Jack walks back into the hallway. Bill turns from the paperwork he’s looking through. “There’s a lot of camping gear in his bedroom. And it’s all relatively new. It seems unusual that a man like Terrance would be spending much time in the forest, or sleeping outside. He really doesn’t seem like the naturist type.”

“I agree.” Bill places the last receipt back in the cupboard.

“He’s got torches, a sleeping bag, bug spray, and an old pair of well-worn boots.” Jack shakes his head. “What would a man like Terrance be doing in the forest?”

“What do you think?”

“Judging by all this gear, I’d say he’s looking for something.”

“Or someone.” The thoughts flood Bill’s head. “He said he was looking for Monty Lee in the hills. These men have an old score that still isn’t settled.”

As Bill thinks, his mobile buzzes in his pocket. He answers it.

“Terrance’s car has turned into the street.” Kate’s voice is panicked.

He looks at Jack. “We have to go.”

Jack’s focus instantly kicks into action. “Back door. This way.”

As they scurry, the headlights of the Chevy shine through the living room window.

With adrenalin pumping through their veins, the men move out the back door, Jack closing it behind him, pulling it shut with the gentlest of tugs.

It’s only two steps into the yard when Bill spots it.

“Jack,” he whispers, “what’s that?”

Turning, Jack winces as he stares at the small trapdoor on this side of the yard. “It’s a door. Probably a small basement.”

“Here? Terrance said he didn’t have a basement.”

As Bill starts to step towards it, Jack grabs his arm. “No, Bill. Not now. It’s probably nothing at all. We have to go. This guy won’t appreciate finding us in his yard.”

As Bill stares at his friend, the light in the house turns on, following by the dulled mumbling of the television.

“C’mon, Bill.” Jack tugs at his friend’s arm, desperate to sneak through the broken fence and get out of the yard. “We have to move.”

Bill stares at the bunker door for another moment. “That’s it, Jack. In there is where he’s hiding the footage.”

“Not now. We have to go.”

Another light goes on in the house, and Bill reacts.

He scampers through the yard, through the fence; moving away from the house.

And away from the basement.

CHAPTER 25

The smell of bacon fills Bill Harvey’s nostrils as soon as he steps into the old diner on Wilshire Boulevard. That smell always brings a smile to his face.

His favorite diner has remained oblivious to the passing of time, a time warp on the busy street. The eatery is almost full – most of the crowd are locals looking for a reason not to eat breakfast at home, whether that be because of a persistent nagging partner, a need for interaction, or a complete lack of culinary skills. Over the past decade, the rise of the hip café has dwindled the regular crowd for most diners, but not this one.

People come here from all over Downtown for the diner’s simple, delicious, and very reliable bacon and eggs. It’s a recipe that they’ve been cooking for decades, and the cook, a Hungarian immigrant now in his seventies, won’t stop until his body prevents him from doing so. Hardworking, focused and dedicated, Hans Horvath should be the poster boy for what America can provide for those that are willing to toil for success. He works hard, lives in a nice house, has a loving family, loves his customers, and is loved by the community.

“Ah, Bill!” Hans shouts as Bill walks in the door. “Good to see you, my friend! Sit, sit!”

Bill smiles as he walks to his booth, the same process he has done for more than ten years, but this time he isn’t alone. This time he’s joined by the only family he has left, waiting patiently for his arrival.

“Bill.” Jonathon Harvey, as tall as his brother, greets him with a handshake.

“Morning, Sunshine.” Ella Townsend, the youngest of the three siblings, offers her brother a kiss on the cheek before sliding across the vinyl seat in the booth. “It’s good to see you.”

Bill sits down, barely saying a word, slightly overwhelmed that his siblings are joining him for breakfast. The three of them haven’t shared a breakfast for decades. After they grew up in a small farming community outside of L.A., their lives took very different turns once they reached their teens.

Ella Townsend watched her family fall apart through the eyes of a young girl. It shaped her, impacting her more than she could ever realize. Struggling through years of depression, she walked away from contact with Bill after their parents died.

Their father’s suicide hit her hard. At a time when she was at her most vulnerable, she lost the person that she respected the most. She couldn’t understand why her father would abandon her, why such a hard man would choose the easy way out. For many years, she blamed herself for his death, crying over his gravestone time and time again. Maybe she wasn’t enough for him? Maybe she wasn’t enough to keep him around?

Instead of turning to her brother for help, she shut him out and tried to start another life elsewhere. Luckily, she found a stable husband, a stable job, and stable friends.

‘Stability is the enemy of anxiety,’ became her life motto.

But now that her mental state is stable, she’s finding that stability is also the best friend of boredom.

“We haven’t done this for a very long time.” Ella tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Dressed casually, her appearance still speaks of class and money. Her effortless beauty meant she had a hard time convincing people she was unwell; most people refused to believe that attractive people could not be in love with their lives.

“You must have been only this tall.” Jonathon laughs, holding his hand at table height. With his thinning hair slicked back and a tie-dye T-shirt, he looks like a man stuck in 90’s fashion. But that’s what happens when you have to survive off donated clothes.

“She isn’t much taller now,” Bill jokes, and his little sister playfully punches his arm.

“Thanks for letting me join you here, Bill.” Jonathon’s head drops. “I have to say that I’m sorry for what happened. I can’t apologize enough. I’m fighting the addiction, but sometimes it’s really hard. Ella’s been so good to me.”

Bill nods his response. In a courtroom, words are his weapon, but in a heightened emotional situation, he draws a blank. For all his skills, for all his talents, dealing with his own emotions still makes his shoulder’s tense.

“Jonathon has something to tell you about his job.” Ella smiles, eager to move the conversation past what happened one week ago.

Over the past seven days, she has been by her brother’s side, helping him in the comedown, sleeping in his tiny apartment to ensure that he hasn’t had another midnight heroin craving. It’s what he always needed; a loving, non-judgmental person that was willing to stick by him, no matter what.

“Did you manage to hold onto it?” Bill questions.

“I did.” Jonathon nods. “Luckily, they didn’t need me for a few days, so I kept my mistake quiet. When they drug-tested me yesterday, I was clean. I was lucky.”

“This time.” Ella adds. “You probably won’t be that lucky next time.”

“Then let’s make sure there isn’t a next time.” Jonathon smiles. “And I tell you, I’m glad I was clean. Yesterday was such a hard day work. I could never have done that high on drugs.”

“What did you do yesterday?”

“I had a moving job for the Whitehall family. Their grandfather had died, so the place was a deceased estate, and we had to clean the whole house out. The family has to sell the house to pay for his medical bills, but weren’t sure what to do with all the belongings, so everything had to go. We had to pack, pick up, and take it all out to a storage facility, where the family will go through everything later.”

“Going through a dead person’s estate must have been weird.” Ella sips her coffee.

“The house was alright, but the weirdest thing was the hidden basement. It was deliberately hidden, but apparently that’s quite common in those parts.”

“A hidden basement?”

“That’s right. Apparently there’s a few of them in L.A. We had to walk out into the yard and there was this little manhole down in the ground. The guys said it was a Cold War basement, built when people thought that Los Angeles was going to be the target of a Russian bombing. It was all concrete, a few inches thick. He had all this stuff down there that we had to move up a ladder – old boxes full of paperwork, old bottles of wine, even an old bed. It was like another house down there – a cold, concrete one-bedroom basement. The guy could have had a whole different family sleeping down there.”

The younger brother smiles broadly. In the depths of his addiction, he could never imagine that his life would get back on track. He could never imagine that he could feel happy again. And he certainly never thought that he would feel proud of himself again.

“I thought the Cold War bunkers were the stuff of rumors?”

Three hearty plates of bacon and eggs are placed on the table in front of them. It’s a beautiful smell, full of European spices and absorbing aromas.

“It was real.” Jonathon pauses to swallow a mouthful of eggs, digging straight into the breakfast. “Saw it with my own two eyes. Definitely not a rumor. And trust me, after having to lift all that stuff out of that basement bunker, my back will tell you that it wasn’t a rumor.”

“Sounds like something out of the backwaters of Eastern Europe. How many bunkers do you think are still out there?” Ella closes her eyes while eating her bacon. The look of satisfaction on her face is immeasurable.

“The boys on the job told me that they’ve done ten or so of these basements.”

“If you think about it, it’s really creepy.” Ella shudders. “Who knows what could be in some of those bunkers? It’s so weird to think that those bunkers were built forty to fifty years ago, and they’re still there, just under people’s houses. People could store anything in there. They could even hide people in those types of basements.”

Bill places his fork down.

As the conversation turns to horror movie plots, involving bunkers under suburban houses, Bill’s thoughts turn back to work. Almost automatically, he eats his plate full of bacon, eggs, and a side of tomato, hardly stopping to appreciate the flavor of the award-winning food.

“Bill?” Ella breaks his focus.

“Yes?” He turns to his sister.

“I just asked you how work is, but judging by that far-off look in your eyes, I’m going to guess things are quite intense.”

“I have a very tough case at the moment.” He looks down to his empty plate. “I have two weeks to find someone to testify in a case, locate a box full of old notes, or find some missing CCTV footage.”

“Why the rush? Can’t you just apply for court extension?”

“No.” He places his fork down. “In two weeks, there will be a news article that will destroy the defendant’s reputation, regardless of the court case outcome.”

“That sounds like a tough case. Who’s the defendant?” Jonathon questions.

“I am. And I have two weeks to find the information, or I’ll be asking you for a job with the removals company.” Bill stands and tosses enough money on the table to cover everyone’s breakfast, along with a healthy tip. “But you’ve just given me the information I need.”

CHAPTER 26

“The only reason I’m here is because there’s money involved.”

“Of course.” Bill nods. “I would expect nothing else.”

Under the false pretense that he would be willing to discuss a settlement, Bill walked into the mediation session grinning from ear to ear. Taylor Reaper had obviously expected that he would be signing off on a settlement today, or he would have sent one of his junior lawyers to the session.

But the defendant didn’t want that – Bill wanted to get under the skin of his opponent and waste his time until he snapped and fired out a piece of information that he would’ve preferred to keep disclosed.

Mediation specialist Jodie Glass sits at the head of the table, her meek voice barely heard in comparison to the two loud men. “This mediation appearance has been ordered by the court, and I understand that—”

“We know the spiel; we’re both lawyers.” Taylor sits in the small conference room, one long leg crossed over the other, hands resting in his lap, like he’s ready for Bill just to state an amount.

“I apologize for his rudeness.” Bill looks at the petite middle-aged woman searching through the files in front of her. “His level of arrogance doesn’t represent all lawyers.”

“Go on.” Taylor impatience is clear. “How much?”

“I’m not going to settle.” Bill can’t contain his smirk as he leans back in his chair.

“What?” Taylor jumps forward, uncrossing his legs, hitting his index finger on the table. “You said on the phone that you would be willing to discuss a settlement! This is a mediation attempt, not some time to play a game! I came here in good faith!”

“C’mon, Taylor. You can’t be serious?” Bill laughs. “You didn’t honestly think that I was going to discuss a settlement with you? If I didn’t say that, you wouldn’t be here. You would have sent one of your juniors to this session, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to see you squirm.”

With a huff, Taylor shakes his head. He leans back in his chair, angry that he fell into the trap. For years, he has tried to get a win against his adversary, and every time he fails he feels worse about himself. It’s only a small win for Bill, but one that desperately gets under the skin of his opponent.

“This must be strange for you.” Bill studies the man across from him. “You’ve made a career out of defending white-collar criminals, people who trade in numbers and papers. You haven’t touched organized crime or anything remotely dangerous. This is a very strange deviation from your current business model.”

“I was sold the second they mentioned your name. I couldn’t imagine anything more enjoyable than watching you go down.” Taylor’s jaw clenches. “What do you want then? Why call me here?”

“I wanted to let you know that we’re going to be presenting a witness that will testify that this is all a setup.” Bill lies. “And I wanted to see your reaction in person.”

“Not a chance. Nobody would be brave enough to testify against Kevin Wu. That person must have a death sentence.”

“Not if that person is Monty Lee.”

“Monty Lee?” Taylor’s eyes shoot up in surprise, jumping forward with one arm on the table. “So you’ve found him?”

“Clearly, you know how much he knows. You understand how important his testimony will be to this case.”

“He’s a very vital part of my client’s long history.” He draws a deep breath, disappointed that he gave Bill the reaction that he was after. Calmly, he crosses his legs again. “But he would know nothing about this case. Nothing. The two men never had a decent conversation after Monty’s youngest daughter died.”

“He knows a lot more than you think.” Bill brings his hands together, staring at his opponent. “And I would suggest that you be careful with this case. If it goes to court, we’ll be wheeling out Monty Lee, and your reputation is going to take a hit. You don’t want to be seen as someone that can’t defend street criminals. Yes, you’re good at white-collar crime, probably the best in the city, but your reputation will take a hit if you don’t win this.”

“Are you suggesting that you care about my reputation?”

“Not at all. I would take great pleasure in being part of your downfall.”

“But you also don’t want this case to go to court.”

“Of course.” Bill studies Taylor for a moment, his eyes thinning as he glares at him. “Why get involved with him, Taylor? This isn’t your area of expertise. I know you want me, I know that you want to take me down, but this isn’t the way to do it. You’re deliberately trying to dirty my name, not beat me in court. That isn’t a fair fight.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I want justice. That’s what I want. I want to see you go down for the crimes that you’ve committed as a hypnotherapist. People should be able to walk into a hypnotherapist’s office with the confidence that they will be reasonably looked after. You didn’t do that. You took advantage of my client’s distressed mental state, and you made money from it.”

“That’s ludicrous.”

“Really?” He smiles. “You made money after Kevin legitimately lost a business deal. In fact, you made over $250,000 after the company that you were a shareholder of signed a deal that Kevin’s company lost.”

“Ridiculous!” Bill throws his hands up in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding? Really? That’s the angle you’re pushing now?!”

“It’s not an angle; it’s the law.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Here. Johnson and Smith. A construction company.” Taylor slides a piece of paper across the desk. “You owned shares in this company, and it beat Kevin’s legitimate business, Wu Construction, only three months after the hypnotherapy sessions. That decision sent Wu Construction onto the path of bankruptcy.”

Bill looks at the papers, chest heaving up and down. “No. This is a coincidence. Nothing more.”

“Perhaps, but in the current context, it appears quite damning.”

“This is ridiculous. This is not the angle to be pushing.”

“The angle I’m pushing is justice.”

“You’re not interested in justice.” Bill snarls. “You only believe in justice until your client is proven broke.”

“Clever, but I’m not here for jokes. If I wanted to hear bad jokes, I would spend the night at an open mic night at The Comedy Store.”

“I respect you, Taylor. I don’t like you, but I respect what you’ve done with your business. So, I’m going to give you a piece of advice for free, something I wish I knew when I was your age.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his large table.

“What is it?”

“Sharks only attack you if you’re wet.”

Taylor’s eyes squint. “So now you’re a comedian and a philosopher?”

“If you swim with the sharks, they’ll attack you. If you stay on dry land, playing with the white-collar guys, building sand-castles, then no shark is going to be able to bite you.” Bill draws a long breath. “But if you swim in their waters, if you play in their playground, then the sharks will attack you. And Kevin Wu is one great, big, hungry predator. If you don’t win this case, then he’ll come after you. If he doesn’t win this, he’s going to be angry, and you really won’t like him when he’s angry.”

Taylor’s face goes a shade paler.

He has built his business by dealing with white-collar criminals, people who fudge figures, nobody with any pull on the streets.

His top-flight schoolboy life is suddenly threatened by the client he took on.

“Taking on Kevin’s case is the first time that you’ve dealt with a real killer – someone who would be brave enough to attack you personally. You might have money, fast cars, and good looks, and you might feel unstoppable in your world, but those things hardly matter to a man like Kevin Wu. He’ll have you killed within the hour of a judgment against him.”

“He couldn’t,” Taylor whispers with his mouth hanging open.

“He doesn’t play nicely, and your rules don’t matter to him. Do you think he cares about you? Do you think he won’t touch you? No. Kevin Wu will destroy you the second you lose this case.”

“I can see that we’re not going to settle today,” Taylor replies softly. He stands, buttoning up his three-piece suit, shaken by the notion that he has endangered his own life. “Thank you for your time, Miss Glass.”

With a quiet step, Taylor walks out of the office, and Bill Harvey almost feels sorry for his privileged opponent.

Almost.

CHAPTER 27

The wind whistles through the large door as Terrance Marshall steps away from the bright sunshine and into the dark, subdued mood of the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels.

He avoided the main door of the post-modern church; instead opting for a back entrance that has led him to the calm Reconciliation Chapel. Whether it’s the cold in contrast to the outside warmth, or the presence of something more, a shiver runs up his spine as he steps inside the chapel.

As he walks in, confused and disorientated, he notices a priest is waiting patiently on a chair, resting in quiet calm with his eyes open.

“Hello, my son,” the man says in a distinctive Irish accent. “Please, come in.”

It’s not often that Terrance Marshall is welcomed inside; usually, if he’s standing at the doors, people panic. Most people bolt the door and arm themselves if they spot him walking towards their house.

Uncomfortably, Terrance steps further inside. The slick, modern feel to the building was not something that he was expecting. The only thing that he recognizes as church-like are the two old paintings of Mary, the mother of Jesus, that hang on the styled concrete walls.

“Hello,” he says, bowing his head in respect. “I don’t know if I’m in the right place. I’m not sure if this is even my religion.” He rubs the top of his bald head. “I’m not even sure if I have a religion.”

“Not to worry. Please sit down. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Terrance sits his large frame on a small wooden chair, scared that it might crumble under his weight. Leaning forward on his knees, looking at the ground to avoid the gaze of the bearded man in his seventies, Terrance goes to open his mouth, but nothing comes out.

In no rush, the priest waits.

“I…” Terrance sighs and looks at the ground. “I’ve come to confess my sins.”

The priest continues to wait, acknowledging what is clearly a large amount of effort for the man to be there. “Would you prefer to go somewhere quieter?”

“I think so.” Terrance nods, eyes still focused on the floor, and follows the priest along the hall and into a private room.

“Do I kneel?” Terrance asks as he sees the kneeling pad in front of a large wooden screen. In contrast to the grand main chapel, this room is small and calm, a place of sanctuary.

“Only if you want to.”

The priest ambles around to the other side of the screen, almost floating under his gown, providing Terrance the peace and solitude that he desires. With slow movements, Terrance leans his body forward, first coming to his right knee, and then moving his left knee onto the pad with the assistance of his hands. His knees won’t thank him for the motion, but then, his body hasn’t thanked him for much in the past.

He had attempted to go to reconciliation once before, a different church, a different denomination, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. He couldn’t admit what he had done. He couldn’t bring himself to relive the horrors he had caused.

That day, he walked back out of the church, consigned that he would live out his days as a criminal, and live an afterlife of eternal damnation.

But then the sickness began, and he had time to question his own mortality over and over again. With all that time alone, he questioned more than he had ever questioned before. Life, or death, caused him to think deeply, and he didn’t like the answers he gave himself.

“I have sinned more than most, Father. I have sinned more than I can remember.” He draws a long breath, filling his lungs with the cool air.

“Go on.”

“I have killed,” he begins. “At war. I killed people in Vietnam. Lots of people. I didn’t want to, but they were my orders.” He holds back the tears. “I have also killed on the streets. I’ve stolen, I’ve committed acts of violence, I’ve dealt drugs, I’ve beaten people for looking at me sideways.” Terrance’s eyes begin to blink back tears as he tries to be honest with himself. “I didn’t want this life. I didn’t want any of it. But it was the only way I knew how to survive. How else could I survive? I didn’t finish school, I had no skills, I had no family. The only thing I had was violence. That’s all I had. It’s all I knew.”

“We all make our own choices.”

“I didn’t. I didn’t choose this life. It was thrown onto me. I had nobody to help me, and this was the only way I knew how to survive. It was the only way I could survive. None of my school friends got jobs, none of them had a career, they were all dead before they reached thirty. I was lucky… because I did what I had to do to survive. I survived.”

“Perhaps, but you still had a choice. You must take responsibility for your choices. The choices you have made in life are the result of your free will. They are your decisions.”

“I do take responsibility for them.”

“And do you ask for forgiveness?” The voice behind the screen is calm. “Are you truly sorry for what you have done?”

“Yes…” Terrance’s lip quivers. “Yes, Father.”

“My son, I forgive you. The Lord forgives you. The Lord asks that you repent of your sins, but most importantly, you must ask for forgiveness first. You have taken the right step to forgiveness, both from the Lord and from yourself.”

With his head coming to rest on the back of his hands, Terrance weeps.

Soon, it turns into a deep, soulful cry full of years of repression. He lets it all out, slobbering on his hands, not even trying to sniff back the drooling tears.

“I want to be good. I want to live a life of peace.” He slobbers. “I didn’t want any of this.”

The priest walks from behind the screen and rests his hand on the shoulder of the crying man. “Now is your chance. You still have time to change things, but you must work hard to correct the wrongs of your past. That’s what is important now, not what you have done, but what you will do. Confess your sins to the authorities, and to the people that you have hurt. Now is the time for change.”

“How can I change?” Terrance continues to mumble, his forehead against his wrist. “How can I change what I am? How can I change what I’ve become?”

The priest tries to reassure him. “Love is the way that you turn this around. Love, my son.”

“But I’m dying, Father. I’m almost dead. I don’t have long left in this world.”

“If you are truly sorry, then the Lord forgives you.” The caring hand on Terrance’s shoulder radiates warmth. “But you must go in peace, my son, and live your remaining days trying to correct the wrongs of your past. You must take action to repent your sins.”

Terrance calms himself, wiping his eyes with the tissue that the priest hands him.

“You’re right, Father. I must correct the wrongs of my past.” In this quiet moment, in this quiet place, the worlds of pain he has caused flash before his eyes. In that instant, in that second, he grasps what he must do.

He must right the wrongs of his past.

“Father. I’m sorry, but I have to sin once more. I still have one more problem to solve.” Terrance stands tall, refocused, sucking in one big gulp of air, his chest expanding and his shoulders drawing back. “And it’s going to be one big, final sin.”

CHAPTER 28

“You were right.” Jack Grayson bursts through the front door of the lawyer’s office.

Standing next to his assistant in the boardroom, discussing their current predicament, Bill raises his eyes from a file in front of him to see what the fuss is about. The long table is covered by papers that will lead to his defense against the civil case.

It’s only been five hours since Bill sent a request through to his investigator, but Jack Grayson is good like that. Breaks codes, breaks noses and breaks records for turnaround. That’s why Bill doesn’t mind paying his high fees.

“A few homes in the area had bunkers built in the 60s. There’s a record of building permits or extensions for the address you gave me. The application is for a large, concrete basement to be used as a bunker. I was surprised because I didn’t think that there would be any records for Monty’s house, but it appears the original owners were quite the rule followers. Having said that, a lot of the bunkers were filled in over time, but I did find a website dedicated to photos of basement bunkers in California.”

“There’s a website for everything,” Bill adds, moving from the back of the table, closer to Jack.

“There’s probably even one dedicated to handsome lawyers.” Kate smiles as he closes a file on the table. “And they’re invaluable, very intelligent assistants.”

“You would be at the top of that list, Kate.” He sits down at the end of the table, and Jack follows his lead, eager to tell him what he has found.

“There is no exact address listed for the photos of the website, but it’s listed as a bunker near in the forest near Wrightwood. The description says that it’s on a ‘very private property’. It sounds like his place.” He brings up the photo on his smartphone. “And this is what the bunker looks like on the inside.”

Bill studies the photos, flicking through the three photos on the device. “Just enough room to store something important.”

“You hope,” Kate adds.

“I saw Monty’s reaction when I looked at the basement entrance. He’s hiding something valuable, and it has to be in that basement. That’s our key. That’s where he would store the black books from his days in Kevin Wu’s prostitution racket. And that’s how we put Kevin behind bars.”

“What if it’s nothing?” Kate moves around the table. “Didn’t you mention that you also saw a basement at Terrance’s house? Isn’t it more likely that he has the black books stored down there?”

Bill stares at his assistant, the thoughts crashing through his head.

“And there’s something else you should know,” Jack adds as he sits down. “Monty Lee was in the city today.”

“Monty Lee? Are you sure?”

“I am. I went to stake out Terrance’s house again, and saw a suspicious car at the end of the road. When I went closer, it was clear that the man in the car was Monty, and he was staking out the house. He was trying to be discrete, but he wasn’t very good at it.” Jack leans forward in his chair. “He’s a lot bigger and rougher than the photos I’ve seen of him, but I’m sure it was Monty Lee.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I saw him with my own two eyes.” Jack picks up his smartphone again and flicks through more photos. “And my camera.”

He turns the phone around, and Bill studies the picture. “There’s no doubt that’s the man that I saw the other day. But what was Monty Lee doing outside Terrance’s house?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m going to assume that he was looking for a chance to settle a score.”

Bill studies the photo of Monty sitting in the front seat of his pickup truck. “I mentioned two names when I met Monty: Kevin Wu and Terrance Marshall.”

“You must have pushed the right buttons when you went and saw him. He must have been angry enough to risk everything and come out of hiding.”

Kate squints. “But why’s he come out of hiding now?”

“I think he’s going to try to finish things once and for all,” Jack states. “He must be tired of always looking over his shoulder – always wondering when Kevin or Terrance are going to find him, and pay him back for what he did to Amy Wu.”

“We have to move on both those basements tonight. Either of those places could store the things that we’re looking for. If we don’t, then Monty Lee might be planning to do something stupid. If he goes after Terrance and kills him, then we lose any chance of getting a testimony, or finding that stolen footage.”

“Which means that we lose any chance of forcing Kevin to withdraw the case.”

“Which basement are you going to start with?” Kate sits down next to them.

“Hopefully…” Bill draws a long breath. “… the right one.”

“If Monty Lee is monitoring Terrance’s house, then that leaves his place open. You could—”

“It has to wait until tomorrow,” Jack replies to Kate. “We’re not going at night.”

“It’ll be the only time we get the chance to do it, Jack.” Bill moves closer to his friend. “We have to go tonight. We can’t break into those places during the daytime.”

“It’s too dangerous to go at night. There could be anything in those basements. There could even be an armory.”

“Or a burial ground,” Kate adds.

The investigator squirms as he looks around the room, running his hand over his short-cropped hair.

“What’s wrong?” Bill questions. “Afraid of the dark?”

“I’m not scared of the dark.” The concern in Jack’s voice is clear. “I’m afraid of what’s hiding in it.”

CHAPTER 29

She can hear him coming.

He makes quite the noise as he opens the basement door. Mumbling, she can hear that he’s studying the broken door from her escape attempt from a week ago.

Even with the ability to leave, she didn’t exit her basement again. Every time she even went near the door, her heart rate went up. The outside world filled her with fear and terror.

Tonight, his tone sounds aggressive. As he approaches, the fear drenches her, anxiety crippling her movements.

Her shoulders tighten. Her eyes close tight.

As he walks closer, she pretends to be asleep under her dirty blanket.

“Why did you try and escape?” He moans. “Why? You have everything here. Everything. The world out there isn’t what you think it is. Your life is so much better in here.”

She doesn’t move in the hope that he will think she’s asleep and leave her alone.

“Why?”

She can hear the desperation in his voice, the pain.

He drops the bag of food on the floor; it’s heavier this time. More bread. More luxuries. Perhaps even apples. A small smile escapes her lips.

“I went to the library and got you three new books to read,” he says, grumbling. “Don’t know if you’ll like them, but they say they’re for girls your age.”

New books? Lying on her side, facing away from him under the blanket, her smile broadens.

Life is pretty good here. Why would she consider running from this?

“Listen,” he says. “Like I said, things around here are going to change shortly. I don’t know exactly when, but some things are going to happen soon. Really soon.”

She pushes the blanket back and sits up.

“So you are awake.” He comes to sit at the edge of the bed. “Our time here is coming to an end, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next. But I just want you to know that… well, I will do everything to make sure that you’re ok. You’re going to be fine.”

Without a word, she sits forward and wraps her arms around the man.

She holds him for a while until he pats her on the back. “Don’t get all soppy on me. I don’t know how things are going to change, but they will. Someone else is going to look after you.”

Desperate to avoid the emotion, he peels her arms off his shoulders, stands and trudges away.

As he walks away, she cuddles her arms around her chest, memories getting the best of her.

She remembers the day she was taken; the day they came and grabbed her from her home. She was sleeping in her room at the time, and in the middle of the night, two people grabbed her, a man and a woman, and they tied a cloth around her mouth before dragging her out the window.

At first, she was sure it must have been a nightmare, she was sure it was just a dream, but the pain quickly made it real. She tumbled into the trunk of a car, a hard slap across her cheek, and driven away at high speed.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t even make a sound. She was too scared to even move. She lay in the pitch-black, trapped in the trunk of the car, for what seemed like hours, until the car eventually stopped.

That was when the arguing started. Lying in the dark, scared out of her wits, she listened to two people argue about her fate. She recognized both voices.

They were screaming just outside the trunk.

“She has to die!”

“This has to happen!”

“You signed up for this!”

But all the while, he defended her. “I won’t let you do it,” he had said. He wouldn’t let it happen to her. He couldn’t let it happen to her.

That’s when she heard the physical fight break out. She heard a body smack against the car, the loud crunch echoing through her confined space.

The car started again, and they began to drive away, but that’s when she heard the distinctive sound of gunshots.

Three of them.

The last shot was followed by the sound of smashing glass.

The back window of the car had been blown out, but the car didn’t stop. The car only raced away faster.

When they finally stopped, he opened the trunk and held out his hand, leading her to the concrete basement. There was nothing there then, not even a bed.

But over the years, he built everything she could need: a flushing toilet, a comfortable camp bed, a bookshelf and a desk. He even gave her a purple beanbag last year.

When she first came to the basement, she asked when she could go back home. All she wanted was to go back to her grandmother, feel that warm hug one more time.

“A number of problems have to be sorted out first,” he would say, before becoming angry. Even at seven years old, she learned not to ask the question again.

She’s learned a lot over the years, entertaining herself with her books, along with the benefit of her vivid imagination. She feels like life has been good to her, and the basement has taught her to appreciate even the smallest things in the world – the dash of sunlight on her skin, the taste of a crisp apple, the first moment she opens a new book.

But she can feel that things are changing, and she won’t let her fate be in the hands of others.

She will be in control of how her world will change.

She won’t let someone else dictate her fate.

She can’t let another man take her.

Tonight has to be the night that she faces her fears and runs to freedom.

CHAPTER 30

Three flashlights. Two backpacks. One gun.

The two men set off into the night, walking to their destination under the shroud of darkness. The wind howls around them, covering any other sound of the reserve.

Definitely not what Jack wanted.

“It’s not a well-maintained track,” Jack complains as he pushes a bush out of his face.

He walks forward, through the scrub, through the reserve, along the back of the yards. Numerous dogs bark and yap as the men pass, but they continue down the track, looking for the entrance to their destination.

“I’ve seen you beat four men into the ground in a bar fight, I’ve seen you take on gangs in a shoot-out, and I’ve seen you walk into hostile rooms full of knives, but never, never, have I heard you this scared.” Bill laughs. “It’s just the reserve. There’s nothing out here.”

“There is, Bill. There are all sorts of things out here – animals, traps, criminals. I would much rather be walking through ‘Death Alley’ with a backpack full of hundred dollar bills than walking through here. At least out there, you know how the people are going to react. Here, you have no idea. It’s all the unknown out here.”

Bill laughs again. “I never thought I would see the day when I’m braver than you!”

“Just remember, I’m the one with the gun. I could bury you out here.”

“You couldn’t do that.” Bill laughs. “You’d be too scared without me here.”

They continue through the woods, past the hooting owls, along the tracks, up the hills, and past the trees.

“It shouldn’t be far away.” Jack slows his walking. “There. Just ahead.”

They peer over the six-foot fence, looking for any movement in the house. There’s a light on in the living room, the flickering of a television left on, but at two o’clock in the morning, there’s no other movement.

Bill draws a deep breath as the moonlight bathes the area in front of them.

Careful not to make any loud noises, they jump the fence, sneaking up to the house.

“The door to the basement has been used recently.”

“How can you tell?” Jack’s hushed voice sounds panicked as they kneel in the shadows, behind a small bush.

“Look how well-maintained the trapdoor is. There isn’t a weed overgrowing any of it. This isn’t a forgotten-about place. Someone has just placed a few branches over the top of it in an attempt to hide it. That basement is well-used by somebody.”

“Which means that person could come back at any moment.”

“Come on, Jack. It’s not like that. Now is not the time to be scared.”

“No, Bill. It is. We could be shot out here, and our bodies would never be found. Never. No one would ever find our bodies, and no one would know anything about our deaths.”

“I’ve got a GPS on my phone.”

“That’s not much good when we’re dead,” Jack complains. “We’ve found it now. We know it’s here. Let’s go back to the car, and come back during daylight.”

“Not a chance.” Bill steps forward into the clearing, flashlight ready. “It’s time to go in now.”

CHAPTER 31

He didn’t lock the door again.

But that didn’t matter. She had figured out a way to open it without his forgetfulness. She could lift the handle from the inside, pushing the door upwards.

Gathering a loaf of bread, a bag of apples, and three books into her sack, she makes the steps towards freedom.

This is it.

She won’t turn back for anything. Even if he comes at her, she will run. He’s gotten old, and she’s gotten faster, and if out of reach from his long arms, he would never be able to catch her.

With the sack slung over her shoulder, she steps up towards the door, pushing gently against it. With peering eyes, she pops her head out to see her surrounds. No movement. No one here.

Judging by the location of the moon, he would have to be asleep now. She’s sure of it.

Still on the inside, she lets the door close for a few moments. She takes one final look at her surrounds, blowing a final kiss to her home.

This time, she won’t run from the noises.

She can take whatever is out there.

She can be brave, strong, unrelenting.

She has to be.

Whatever wickedness is out there; she will challenge it. She can punch it. This is her turn now. Her time to be free. Her time to feel the sun on her skin.

Whatever the world has to throw at her, it has to be better than waiting for another man to take her.

She pushes the basement door open again, slow enough to not make any sounds.

She steps out, hoping for the cover of darkness.

But a flashlight shines in her eyes.

CHAPTER 32

“Who are you?” the male voice whispers to her.

The girl doesn’t answer.

Too shocked, too blinded by the light blaring in her eyes.

“Is anyone else here?” Jack Grayson steps forward towards the girl almost pinned to the outside door of the basement, stunned by the flashlight.

She doesn’t answer.

It’s the first time she’s heard a new voice in a long time.

“It’s ok,” Bill whispers as he steps towards the girl. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re your friends.”

Jack Grayson’s hand moves to his hip. No young girl would be down in a basement by herself. Bill rests his left hand on Jack’s arm, calming him, urging him not to draw his weapon.

“We’ve come to look in the basement.” The girl before them is unwashed, dirty, and her hair is long and frazzled. She looks like she hasn’t washed in years. “We’re not going to hurt you, but you need to be very quiet.”

Bill’s index finger goes to his lips; trying to keep the conversation discreet. He knows something in this situation isn’t right. She looks too wild, too unkempt, to be a girl who just stumbled upon the basement. He steps towards the silent girl, holding his arms out wide.

Jack follows, one hand still on his hip, the other holding the flashlight, studying the house for any potential movement.

As he steps closer to the girl, the first thing to hit him is the smell.

“How long have you been here?” he whispers, but the girl doesn’t reply, still too shocked by the presence of the men.

“I don’t like this, Bill,” Jack mutters over his shoulder. “Something isn’t right here. This isn’t normal.”

With his flashlight, Jack leans down into the open door, scanning the inside of the basement.

“There’s a bed,” he whispers, then turns back to the girl. “Is this where you sleep?”

The girl nods.

He draws a deep breath; the situation is becoming bleaker by the second.

“Bill.” Jack nods towards the small basement home. “We have to go.”

“What’s your name?” Bill whispers, hands still open, stepping closer to the girl.

The girl stares at him. The only person she has talked to for years is her captor. It crosses her mind that these are the men that are going to take her, and her entire body stiffens.

“What’s your name?” Bill asks again.

She doesn’t answer.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He places a caring hand on her shoulder. “I’m here to help, but I need to know your name.”

“It’s…” she mumbles, trying to remember her full name. “It’s...”

“What’s your name?”

“Amy Wu.”

CHAPTER 33

“Amy Wu? Are you sure that’s your name?”

“Yes,” the girl replies. It’s the first time she has heard her name out loud in a very long time.

Bill looks at Jack, still standing at the entrance to the basement, his mouth opened in shock.

“How old are you, Amy?” Bill leans forward.

She shrugs again.

“Amy, how long have you been here?”

“Most of my life.” She feels the tears beginning to well in her eyes, overwhelmed by all the new stimuli.

“It’s ok.” Bill rubs a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He kneels down next to her, calming her with his slower tone of voice. “It’s ok. We’re here now.”

He looks back at Jack, mouth still wide open.

“Who else do you live here with, Amy?”

“No one.”

“No one? Does anyone else come here?”

“Just him.”

“Who is ‘him’?”

“I don’t know his name. He comes once a week, leaves me food, keeps me safe.” Her arms fold across her chest, eyes looking down. “I love him. Please don’t hurt him.”

“We’re not hurting anyone, Amy.” He looks at Jack and nods.

Jack draws the gun from his hip holster, turning towards the back door of the house.

Bill keeps the tone of his voice low. “Is he part of your family?”

“Family?” She looks at Bill with large, round eyes. “I don’t have a family. I’ve just got him.”

“We should leave,” Jack states, coming closer to his friend and the girl, uncomfortable with the situation. “This isn’t good. We have to go.”

“Not yet,” Bill replies, desperate for more information.

“Bill,” Jack says over his friend’s shoulder, “right now, we have to get this girl out of here. Everything else can wait.”

“I agree that we have to go.” Bill stares down inside the concrete basement. “But I need more information first.”

“Bill, it’s enough,” Jack says, back turned to the house behind him. “We really have to—”

Whack.

CHAPTER 34

Jack Grayson drops to the ground, hit hard from behind.

A large silhouette is cast behind them.

“You really should have listened to him, Bill.”

“Terrance Marshall.” Bill knows the voice well, but still, he points the flashlight at the older man’s face.

“Get that thing out of my face.” Terrance grumbles as he picks up Jack’s gun from the ground.

With his vision blurry, Jack rolls onto his side, looking up at the large man now holding his weapon. The light from the living room window shines on Terrance’s face, highlighting his lack of emotion.

“I knew you would come to save me!” Amy shouts, moving towards him, and Bill puts his arm out, preventing her from going any closer to the man.

“Don’t move.” Bill stands tall. “I need to understand what’s happened here.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Amy Wu has been presumed dead for five years. There are many, many questions to answer.”

“You can ask all the questions you want,” Terrance says, waving Jack’s gun in his hand. “Doesn’t mean I have to answer them. Now, you three, inside.”

Bill assists Jack to his feet, holding him under the arm. Jack is still too far away, and his mind too fuzzy, to make a move on Terrance.

Loosely holding the weapon, Terrance studies the two tall men as they walk towards the back door to Terrance’s house, Bill’s hand placed on the girl’s shoulder. Rubbing the back of his head, Jack opens the door, his eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the bright light inside, before he leads them all into the house he searched only days ago.

Terrance escorts them into the living room, but then places the gun on the kitchen bench, and slumps onto his worn couch.

Confused, Jack picks up the gun, and then looks at Terrance.

“You can keep the gun,” Terrance states. “I don’t need it. I don’t want it either. I’ve done enough damage with those things. I have one more problem to solve, but you’re not it.”

With her eyes wide open, Amy looks around the house.

“The house is so beautiful,” Amy says in wonder, not to anyone in particular. Her head spins at all the extra luxury that she’s never seen. “There’s so much space.”

Jack and Bill look at each other, confused. “You haven’t been in here?”

“No.” Her voice is filled with innocence. “Never.”

Bill’s attention turns to Terrance, who’s looking down at his hands, shoulders slumped forward. “Start talking, Terrance.”

“If you’re going to shoot me, just do it already. I deserve it,” Terrance mumbles, wiping a tear from his eye. “I’m dying, you know. You might as well finish me off now. When all this comes out, I’ll be a dead man anyway. There’s no way I’m going to survive this one.”

“Don’t say that.” Amy turns, but again, Bill holds out his arm, stopping her going any further. “Please don’t say that. You can’t die.”

With love in his sad eyes, Terrance lifts his head to look at Amy, the girl he has protected for so long, the girl he has raised in the basement, the only meaning that he has left in his life.

“That’s why you wanted your ashes spread in the yard. So I would find Amy.” Bill lowers his arm.

She runs to Terrance’s side, hugging him, stretching her skeletal arms around his large torso.

“I didn’t want to leave her down there alone. If I died, I didn’t want her to be alone in the world. That’s why I left the basement door unlocked, just in case something happened to me.” He pats Amy on the back as she holds him, her head snuggled into his chest. “And I knew that you would take care of her, Bill. You’re a good man, and I knew you would have done the right thing.”

“You’d better start talking about why she’s here.” Jack’s grip on his gun is firm but still pointed towards the floor.

Terrance looks at Bill, then back to the girl who won’t let him go.

“I was hired to…” Drawing a long breath, he pulls her arms off him and leans forward, coughing deeply.

“Steady.” Jack takes a step forward, the gun now focused on the torso of the felon.

“Don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. I have nothing to gain by taking you out.” Terrance shakes his head.

“Go on, Terrance. Continue your story.” Bill places his hand on Jack’s arm, indicating that he should lower the weapon.

“Five years ago, I was doing a lot of work for Kevin. I made some bad decisions, decisions that I still regret to this day. That’s when someone approached me to kidnap Amy. I didn’t know that they wanted to kill her; I thought they were just going to use her for ransom. I didn’t like Kevin, so I jumped at the chance, but when I found out what they wanted to do, I got so angry. I left them by the side of the road. I didn’t know what else to do, so I bought Amy here.”

“Who? Who hired you?”

“I can’t tell you that. But I will tell you that they thought that Amy had died. The day we kidnapped her, we had an argument. They shot at my car, and I told them that Amy was dead. For all these years, they believed me.”

“Who was it?”

Terrance shakes his head, leaning both forearms on his knees. “When the police wouldn’t arrest Kevin for Monty’s daughter’s accidental overdose, the rumor was that Monty was going to kill Amy, but someone else stepped in first, and offered me $500,000 to help kidnap her. They knew that Monty would take the fall for the crime. I agreed because I thought that was all it was going to be – a kidnapping. But then they said that they were going to shoot her, and I lost it. I couldn’t let another innocent girl die.”

“So you kidnapped her yourself?”

“I brought her here. I thought it was only going to be for a few months, while I figured out what to do. I couldn’t take her back to her parents’ house. How could I explain to Kevin what I’d done? He would have killed me on the spot.” Terrance rubs his hand over the top of his head. “And then I figured it out.”

“What were you going to do?”

“I had to kill two people, and I had to start with Monty Lee. If I let Amy go, then Monty would just hire someone else to kill her, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. He was hell-bent on revenge for the death of his daughter. The best way to keep her safe was to hide her away from those people that were trying to hurt her.”

“But instead, Monty lost a second daughter to Kevin Wu.”

“I know,” Terrance says with remorse, chin almost on his chest. “I didn’t want that, and I didn’t expect that. I felt so bad, but all I knew was that I had to keep this girl safe. I did my best. I made sure she had books, and I was even looking for an old television for her. I tried to keep things normal.”

“Normal?” Jack scoffs. “Kidnapping a girl and hiding her in a basement for five years is not normal. This is not a normal childhood. You’re a murderer and kidnapper. Who knows what you did to her?”

The normally angry Terrance Marshall doesn’t respond. Feeling defeated, his time for anger has long past.

“How long were you going to keep Amy here?”

“As long as it took.”

“So, Monty wasn’t only running from Kevin, he was also running from you.” Bill works through the timeline. “And it was you that shot at his house, almost killing his wife and child.”

“It was. He knew I turned on him, and he knew I was going to hunt him down. I’ve been looking for him for a very long time, but in my old age, I’m slowing down. I don’t have enough steam left to find him. And only once I had taken Monty out of the picture, could I turn to the second person.”

“Why?”

“Because as soon as I took out the second person, I would have been killed. There was a guarantee on that.”

A moment of silence falls over the room, Bill and Jack considering how to move the situation forward.

“I told Monty that you sent me there after him.”

“You found him?”

“In the mountains, near Wrightwood, on a settlement within private property. There was an old house surrounded by five caravans – looks quite the ideal life in a commune. But he became very angry when I mentioned your name.”

“I went there, and I didn’t see him.”

“And he’s been stalking this house. I saw him here earlier today, watching your place.” Jack lowers his gun.

“A black pickup truck? Tinted windows?”

Jack nods.

“I saw it just outside before I went to sleep tonight. I thought it was strange, just sitting there, and I knew something was up. Thought it might have been you guys – that’s why I wasn’t sleeping that well.”

“If Monty finds out that Amy is still alive, he’ll kill you.”

“If anyone finds out she’s alive, they’ll all want to kill me, but I’m not afraid of death anymore.” With Amy’s help, Terrance lugs himself up off the couch. “I went to church, Bill.”

“And did what?”

“Asked for forgiveness.” He begins to move towards the front window to check on the pickup truck.

“Really?” Bill opens his mouth.

“I confessed that I had sinned and the priest told me to pray the Lord’s Prayer. I haven’t done that since the day I returned from war. I cried, Bill. I blubbered like a big hunk of a mess. The priest was there for me, and he blessed me. Honestly, I feel free. I feel ready for death.” He opens the blinds, leaning close to the window to check any movements outside.

“You can’t die yet. You still have too much explaining to do.”

“Like what? It’s all out in the open now.”

“You need to tell me where the footage is. And Kevin’s black book.”

“Sorry.” Terrance’s eyes drop down as he leans on the windowsill, tired of what life keeps dealing him. “I destroyed the footage the day I took it.”

“Did you watch it?”

“No.” He shakes his head, ashamed of his past. “I didn’t. There’s no black book either. Sorry, Bill. If I had it, I would give it to you. I would love to help you, but I can’t.”

“Then why convince me that you still had it?”

“To keep me in the loop. If I had told you that it wasn’t available, I wouldn’t have heard from you again.”

“Then you have to testify for me. Tell the court what you told me about Kevin. Amy becomes my leverage.” Bill looks across at Jack, gun lowered, but still ready for action.

“For you, I’ll do that.” Terrance rubs his shoulder. “And I’ll tell you something else. You’re looking at the wrong person for Tiffany’s murder. You’re—”

The close and loud rumbling of a pickup truck captures their attention.

“Expecting someone?”

“No.” Terrance leans close to the living room window again, but the sudden shine of headlights almost blinds him.

“Get down!”

Smash.

CHAPTER 35

After a sudden, massive impact sprays Amy forward, the rest is a blur.

Her head is dazed, her vision is blurred, and the taste of blood fills her mouth. When she raises her head off the ground, she looks down at her sweater, drenched in red. She’s not even sure if the blood is hers.

Pain shoots down her left side as she tries to turn over. At least one broken rib, maybe two. She’s short of breath as she stares at the black pickup truck halfway into the living room. In front of the truck are a pile of bricks, broken under the force of the bull bar. Furniture has been thrown around the room, resembling a bomb site. Like cardboard, the front wall of the home has crumbled under the force of the powerful truck.

With the headlights still on, the driver’s side door swings open.

As the man steps out, she gasps.

The sight of the blood-stricken man isn’t shocking; it’s the shotgun he’s holding that startles her.

“Amy!” Terrance splutters blood from his mouth, trying to move under a pile of bricks. “Amy!”

As Terrance struggles to push the bricks off him, he hears the click of a loaded shotgun.

“Stay right there,” the man says.

Terrance’s vision is still blinded by the glaring headlights.

“And you,” the man continues, “stand up.”

Rubbing the side of his head, blood running down his arms, Bill begins to stand up. “Monty?”

“That’s right.” The shotgun points to where Jack lays, thrown backward from the impact, the gun dislodged from his hand, lying a few feet away from him. “Don’t go near that. If you move, I will shoot you.”

“Monty Lee.” Terrance splutters again.

“Terrance Marshall. I never thought we would see each other again.” Monty grunts, pointing the gun back at Terrance as he tries to move. “But I’m glad this day arrived. I will finally get revenge for what you did to my Tiffany.”

“I didn’t kill Tiffany,” Terrance moans.

“Don’t lie to me! I know you did it!”

“I didn’t,” he whispers. “Tiffany died because of what she knew. She died because she overheard a conversation. But I tell you, I didn’t kill her.”

“I don’t believe you! And I will kill you for what you did to my girl!”

“Do it,” he whispers, the searing pain starting to shoot up his leg. “Just don’t hurt her.”

Monty’s vision goes back to the girl struggling to move at the side of the living room, having been thrown three feet through the air.

“Who’s the girl?”

Terrance looks up at the raging man standing in front of them. “No one.”

The non-response piques Monty’s curiosity. “Stand up.” With his gun, he indicates to the girl. “Stand up and move over there.”

She doesn’t move.

“I said stand up!”

Despite the pain aching through his legs and torso, Terrance struggles upwards. “I said leave her alone.”

“Is she yours?” Monty grunts. “Because if she is, I will make sure that you watch her die. Just like I had to watch my children die.”

“No.” Terrance shakes his head, trying to stand up straight despite the pain aching through his ribs, chest, hips, and legs.

“Who is she?!”

“No one.”

“She’s someone! She’s right in front of me! I can see her.” Monty Lee, veins popping out of his skin, walks over and grabs Amy by the hair, turning her head to look at Terrance. “She sure looks like someone to me.”

As Monty focuses on the girl, Jack Grayson edges sideways.

Monty stares at the girl. “It can’t be. No.”

The shock runs through him.

“What’s your name, girl?” he whispers, pulling her hair tighter, tilting her head backward.

“Amy,” she whispers.

“Amy what?!”

“Amy! Don’t tell him your last name!” Terrance calls out.

“Amy what?!” Monty holds the shotgun to her head, resting the cold metal against her jaw. “Amy what?!”

“Amy Wu,” she answers innocently.

Monty’s world stops. Not a movement.

For all the action, for all the adrenaline, she’s the only thing he can see.

That daze doesn’t last long.

“Amy Wu?” His pleading eyes look back at Terrance. “Amy Wu? The girl that my daughter was killed for?”

Terrance doesn’t answer.

“She’s still alive?!”

Monty doesn’t know where to turn. Who to turn to. What to do next.

Running on instinct, he presses the shotgun harder into her chin.

“Amy Wu?” he repeats.

Jack creeps further to his left, closer to his gun.

“How is this girl still alive? Why? Why?!” His knuckles go white from the grip on the shotgun. Every muscle in his body clenches. “My family was torn apart for this girl. And she’s still alive!”

Jack is almost at the gun.

Slightly further to go.

“No, Monty.” Terrance tries to reason with him. “It’s not her. She’s mistaken.”

Jack’s fingers reach out.

“It’s not her? I can see that it’s her! She’s the spitting image of her mother! I can see that! Don’t lie to me!”

Monty grips the gun.

The rage is bubbling inside of him.

The anger is ripping through his veins.

Jack moves closer.

Almost there.

“She should have died five years ago!”

“No, Monty,” Terrance pleads, too far away to save her, “that’s not what this is.”

“What?!”

Monty turns away, letting go of the girl’s hair, unable to control his movements as the anger fuels him.

Jack is so close now. Within striking distance.

Monty turns back.

The confusion is gone.

Only rage exists now.

Only anger controls him.

“She has to die!” He holds the shotgun inches away from her face, the butt of the gun resting on his chest.

Tears stream down her cheeks, but she doesn’t move. She can’t.

“She’s not dying!” Terrance yells.

“Tiffany died because of her!” Monty steps closer, biceps clenching as he points the gun at her head again.

“No!” Terrance moves.

Monty’s attention swings to the man charging towards him.

Jack moves.

Two shots are fired.

Two people go down.

CHAPTER 36

In the blinding headlights, it takes Bill Harvey a few moments to understand what has happened.

There were two shots, in quick succession.

He looks to Jack, lying on the ground, conscious, gun in hand, pointed in the direction of the headlights.

He looks to Amy, frozen in fear, holding her body tight, waiting for someone to tell her what to do next.

Then he looks to the bodies on the ground.

Terrance Marshall lies on top of Monty Lee, a slow creep of red filling the carpet next to them.

Bill inches forward next to Jack, still with his gun drawn, still ready to fire.

“You hit?”

Jack’s response is cold, but still, he doesn’t move. “I’m good.”

“Amy? Are you ok?” Bill walks towards her.

She doesn’t answer.

He rests a hand on her shoulder, careful not to startle her. “Amy?”

With large innocent eyes, she looks up at him and nods.

“Terrance?” Bill advances towards the two men, Jack now standing to his right, gun still drawn and pointed at the two bodies on the ground. “Terrance?”

Terrance moves, rolling over as he clutches his stomach. He moans with the agony of a man who has just taken a gunshot to the abdomen.

“No.” Amy reacts, running to the side of her captor. “No!”

“It didn’t get all of me.” He groans, clutching his side, trying to stop the fast flow of blood. “He must be a bad shot if he missed this stomach.” He tries to laugh, but instead, he coughs deeply, spitting blood.

“Don’t die,” Amy cries, cuddling him. “You can’t die. I need you. I need you to stay alive.”

“You don’t need me.” He tries to laugh the statement off, but the fast flow of blood from his stomach, drenching his hand, is sapping all of his energy. “Nobody needs me.”

“I need you,” she cries. “I need you to stay with me.”

His presence is all she has known for the last five years, it’s all she can remember.

“And I’m afraid that I can’t let you die today either, Terrance,” Bill states, hearing the ring of sirens in the distance. “I still need you to testify. I need you to testify that Kevin set me up, and I need you to testify that Kevin killed Tiffany Lee.”

“If I live, I’ll testify.” Terrance pants, short of breath. “He set you up, but he didn’t kill Tiffany.”

“You drove the car to the reserve with Tiffany in the trunk.”

“I did.” His voice is soft as Jack moves past them. “But I didn’t drive Kevin Wu.”

Jack leans down to the body of Monty Lee.

“He’s alive,” Jack says as he presses two fingers against his throat, looking for the wound. He locates the wound on the side of Monty’s chest, covering it with hands. “Your jacket.”

Removing his jacket, Bill hands it across to Jack, who presses it hard over the wound.

“You’re going to make it, Monty.” Jack tries to get a response from the man he shot. “We’ll get you through it.”

“Thank you,” Terrance mumbles to Amy. “Thank you.”

“No, no, no,” she cries. “Don’t die.”

Terrance doesn’t respond to Amy, conserving what little energy he has left. “Bill.”

Bill turns his attention to the dying man. Terrance nods then looks at the girl by his side.

“I will,” Bill responds, acknowledging Terrance’s unspoken request.

And Terrance Marshall lies down for the final time.

CHAPTER 37

“Did you find Monty Lee?” Harry Beach walks to Bill Harvey’s side, outside the steps of the courthouse that holds his fate.

“Not now, Harry. It’s been a very long night.”

“Are you going in to settle?”

Despite his fast stride, Bill stops in his tracks, staring down at the reporter. The sun is still early in the sky, bathing the area in a soft morning glow. “What are you talking about, Harry?”

“The case.” He adjusts his hat, confused by the question. “Are you going in there to settle?”

Bill’s mouth drops open a little. Harry Beach doesn’t know what occurred only hours earlier, and if Harry doesn’t know, nobody knows. “Are you playing me? Is that what this is? Looking for a different angle for your story?”

“I don’t understand.” Harry squints. “Kevin Wu said that he was coming here to settle. He said that this meeting was about settling this case.”

“Kevin Wu is here?”

Harry nods. “As is his wife.”

When Bill left the hospital, he left the young Amy Wu in the care of Detective Stacey Oates, her shock at the girl’s story only matching his. Oates had already tried to contact the Wu family three times before she left, but nobody answered, and no one returned her call.

For Bill, the recent ordeal was nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, the same for Jack Grayson. The same could not be said for Terrance Marshall – declared dead at the scene.

“How long ago did they walk in?”

“Only ten minutes ago.” Sensing a story, Harry pulls out his phone, and steps closer. “What’s going on, Bill? You look like you haven’t slept, and you look very confused. Where have you been all morning?”

“The hospital, and then a storage facility.”

“I don’t understand. How’s that connected to this case?”

“Follow the Wu family and have a camera ready.” Bill looks to the courthouse. “You’ll get a front-page story, Harry. A shocking one.”

CHAPTER 38

“Thank you for your timely arrival, Mr. Harvey.” Judge Dean looks at his watch. “I trust that you have come to this Case Management Conference in good faith for a settlement.”

“I’m only here because it’s mandatory.”

“We have made our conditions clear.” Taylor Reaper unbuttons his Italian fitted suit jacket as he sits down. “Mr. Harvey needs to acknowledge that he takes full responsibility for his actions, and the actions that he influenced Kevin Wu to take, and then we can begin to discuss a smaller settlement amount.”

Still angry that he was played by Bill last time, Taylor won’t be fooled a second time.

But in response, Bill only shakes his head.

“Mr. Harvey?” Judge Dean questions. “If you would like to begin proceedings.”

A phone buzzes on the table. Kevin Wu, dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit, looks at the number and then places his phone back down without answering it.

Sitting behind her husband, Eva Wu takes her buzzing phone out of her purse. Following her husband’s lead, she does the same, not answering the call.

“Detective Oates?” Bill nods towards the phones.

Kevin’s eyes squint together. “How would you know that?”

“She has important news for you.” Bill places his briefcase on the table. “I suggest that you return her call.”

Kevin scoffs. “No. I’m not falling into that trap. I don’t return the calls of police officers. I know what she wants – she wants to trap me, force me into a mistake. I know how you guys work, but I’m not going to fall for it. Not today.”

“That’s not the case. She has good news for you.”

Kevin bursts out laughing, slapping his right hand on the table. “There’s not a chance that I’m falling for your tricks. Not a chance. If Detective Oates wants to find me, she can send out a warrant for my arrest.”

“Return the call. She has information for you.”

Bill looks at Eva Wu, sitting behind her husband, arms folded across her chest, hair covering half her face.

“Mr. Harvey, I’m keen to get this CMC moving,” Judge Dean interrupts. “If you could please sit down and begin.”

Tired from the night of fighting and confusion, Bill takes pleasure in sitting down. “I’m not settling this case.”

Taylor looks away, shaking his head, fist clenching on the table. “I knew it. This is just another play by you.” He begins to pack up his files. “I don’t have time to waste here. I have a job to do, not games to play. I’m not your pawn, Harvey.”

“Your time here won’t be wasted,” Bill states, staring at Kevin, whose eyes are focused on the edge of the table in front of him. “But I imagine that your last four months have been.”

“Mr. Harvey,” Judge Dean interjects again before the argument gets out of hand. “We’re all busy people. Get on with it.”

Bill nods, still discerning how he’s going to play this. He had expected to walk into the room and find that Taylor Reaper had requested an extension with all the confusion surrounding the night’s events.

“Tell me, Kevin, what’s it like to be the smartest person in the room?”

Kevin tilts his head as he stares at Bill.

“You’re too smart for me, obviously. You outsmarted me in those hypnotherapy sessions, didn’t you, Kevin?”

“What game are you playing?” Taylor asks.

“Kevin is a very smart man. Very, very smart.” Bill’s voice is composed. “Too smart, it appears.”

“I don’t have time for this.” Taylor throws his hands in the air.

“The orange door, Kevin. I found it.”

“What orange door?” Kevin uncrosses his legs and leans forward.

“Mr. Wu, I would ask you to stay out of these discussions,” Judge Dean asserts, but Bill ignores his request.

“Door 1649. Centinela Road. That’s the door you found in the hypnotherapy sessions. The one that you couldn’t open because it held too many of your secrets.”

“That…” Kevin leans backward, crosses his legs, folds his arms, and shakes his head. “That means nothing.”

After unclipping his briefcase, Bill reaches in and removes a small black book.

Kevin doesn’t respond; instead, he turns to look at his lawyer.

“What’s this?” Taylor questions.

“It’s Kevin’s black book from the year in question. It proves that he bought drugs the morning of his brain scan. He even noted why he purchased a barbiturate named Thiopental: Drugs for brain scan. There’s a date, and a location, of where he bought the drugs.” Bill flicks the book open to the middle page. “It clearly has the date and the time that he bought them.”

“I’ve never seen that book before in my life.” Kevin turns away.

“The storage facility has video footage. It shows you entering that storage room numerous times.” In the early hours of the morning, the storage facility attendant was offered a few hundred dollars, and he happily looked away while Bill downloaded the surveillance recordings.

“It’s not me.” Kevin moves back from the table, looking at the door. “This book is a fake. I’ve never seen it before.”

“It’s your handwriting, it’s your notes, and it proves everything.” Bill leans forward. “It proves that you set me up. It proves that you deliberately took drugs on the morning of the brain scans to influence the results. You’re done, Kevin.”

“So what?”

“That means this case is over. It’s clear that you have tried to set me up right from the start. This is all the evidence that I need to dispute your claims.”

“You think you’ve won?” Kevin shrugs. “This proves nothing. Nothing. All this proves is that you might not be responsible for my claims, and that means nothing to me. All I do is withdraw the case, pay these people, and then I go about my life.” He defends himself. “Losing this case doesn’t affect me.”

“There are names in that black book.”

“So? They’re just names. It doesn’t connect anything to anyone. It proves nothing!” Kevin’s fight or flight response kicks in. “Nothing!”

“In court, it proves that I’m innocent.”

“Congratulations. You’ve won this case. I withdraw it. I withdraw the whole case.” Kevin throws his hands in the air. “But guess what? It still means nothing to me. I still walk free.”

“The names in this book might prove nothing for the courtroom, but on the street…”

Kevin’s mouth drops open.

“That’s right, Kevin. I have no intention of handing this book to the police. To them, it’s worthless. Without testimony from you, it’s just a bunch of names. But those names are the people who requested you to traffic young women from Hong Kong. I can’t prove that, but I don’t have to. I’m not taking this book to court – I’m going to hand this book to the people whose names are in it. They know that the only thing keeping them out of prison is your testimony.”

“You wouldn’t,” he whispers.

“It’s called karma. And it’s coming for you.”

Kevin shakes his head, flicking his hand in the direction of the book. “Makes no difference to me. None. The names in that book trust me. They trust that I won’t testify against them, and you said it yourself, without my testimony, those names mean nothing. I will still walk away from this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Bill snarls as he leans forward. “Because your life is about to be turned upside down. I know who murdered Tiffany Lee.”

Kevin laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Now you’re losing the plot. I didn’t kill Tiffany Lee.”

“Come on, Bill,” Taylor interjects. “This isn’t the time or the place for this. This is a Case Management Conference.”

“And that CMC has concluded,” Judge Dean interrupts. “Mr. Wu has indicated that he’s going to withdraw the case. Go on, Mr. Harvey, I’m interested to see where this goes.”

Bill pauses for a few moments, allowing the tension to build. “Did you know that there was a tip-off that you were at the entrance of the Ernest E. Debs Regional Park on the night that Tiffany Lee disappeared?”

Kevin’s voice is soft. “I didn’t kill her.”

“The tip-off stated that you were at the entrance to the park. They stated that you took Tiffany Lee into the park and murdered the young girl.”

“That’s enough,” Taylor interrupts again.

“I have nothing to hide,” Kevin responds. “I wasn’t there.”

“Of course, you weren’t. But someone wanted you to take the fall for the crime.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Someone wanted you out of their life. They killed Tiffany, and they wanted you to go to prison for it. They tried to set you up for murder.”

“You’ve lost me. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t say anything more,” Taylor interjects. “Keep your mouth closed.”

“Last month, the LAPD received an anonymous tip-off from a woman that stated you were at the park with Tiffany Lee.”

“That’s a lie.”

“The tip-off said that they watched you take her into the reserve. They could say this because they knew exactly what happened that night.”

“I wasn’t there. How many times do I have to say it?”

“The tip-off came from a woman, Kevin.”

Bill’s eyes drift towards the woman sitting behind her husband.

Everything falls into place.

Squinting, Kevin turns around. “Eva?”

Eva Wu.

A wife, a stepmother, and a cold-blooded killer.

“And it wasn’t just Tiffany.” The thoughts rush through Bill’s mind. Back to everything that Terrance had told them. “It wasn’t just Tiffany…”

“No.” Eva shakes her head. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“The anonymous tip-off – it came from you. It came from you because you wanted your husband gone. You wanted him out of your life. You told the police it was Kevin so that they would arrest him, and drag him out of your life.”

“Eva?” Kevin questions again. “Is this true?”

She shakes her head again, struggling to find the answer. “Of course not. How could it be?”

“Eva?” Kevin questions again.

“What?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.” She looks away from her husband.

“Eva?”

“I didn’t…”

“Eva.”

“He’s turning you against me, Kevin. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see what he’s doing?”

“Eva.” Kevin glares at her. “Did you set me up?”

She looks to the door, shaking her head, avoiding the truth.

“You did, didn’t you?!” He reads his wife’s expression. “Eva! You tried to send me to prison!”

“You wanted to do it!” she snaps. “But you didn’t have the balls to do it! You weren’t brave enough to kill her! I did what you couldn’t! For our family’s honor!”

“Eva.” Shock overcomes him.

“But that’s not the whole story, is it, Eva?” Bill presses for more. “I spoke to Terrance last night. He told me everything.”

“No.” Her mouth drops open.

“Everything, Eva.” Bill is firm. “Tiffany died because of what she overheard.”

“She shouldn’t have been there. Tiffany was too nosy.” She shakes her head. “She shouldn’t have heard what I was talking about.”

“Terrance told me everything.” Bill grits his teeth. “He told me about your night with Amy.”

“No.” She’s startled. “That’s not true. I didn’t touch Amy. I didn’t…”

She fights to get the words out, but she struggles to lie under the glare of everyone in the room.

“Eva?” Kevin stands. “What’s he saying?”

“I didn’t…” She turns away from her husband. “I…”

In one small moment, with the eyes of the room burning on her, the weight of her years of guilt breaks her resolve.

“It wasn’t me.” She turns around. “Terrance killed Amy. I was there that night. He killed her. He told me.”

“You were there that night?” Kevin’s world stops spinning. “You kidnapped her? You kidnapped my daughter?”

“I wanted her out of our lives, but I didn’t kill her. It wasn’t me; it was Terrance. It was all Terrance. He killed her. He did it. I didn’t kill Amy. I’ll testify that Terrance did it.”

“What?” Kevin’s expression softens. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“I didn’t kill her. I wanted her gone, but I didn’t touch her. It was Terrance Marshall. You have to believe me. I’ll testify against Terrance. I’ll let the world know what he did.”

“No, you won’t,” Bill states. “Because nobody killed Amy. And she can tell everyone what really happened that night.”

All the heads in the room turn to look at the defense lawyer.

“What are you talking about?” Taylor questions.

“Amy Wu is alive.”

The room goes quiet.

Dead quiet.

CHAPTER 39

The nerves in her stomach mask all her pain. Her chest still hurts, and her head is still confused, but nothing could take her away from her focus right now.

Family.

The moment she has dreamed about for so long, the moment she was not sure that she would see again.

Her family.

Her constant dream, her constant hope – to feel what it’s like to be part of something again. The thought of her family was what got her through the really hard times, the lonely nights, the painful and deserted reality.

But drenched in fear, she questions whether she will even remember them, or worse, will they even remember her? Have they moved on with their lives? Do they even want her back?

The avalanche of thoughts threatens to freeze her with anxiety. She wants this so bad, but she isn’t sure she can take the possible rejection.

As she steps into the private room at the hospital, worries fill her every movement. She can barely function, barely step forward. She feels like she’s going to vomit.

As she walks through the door, she sees her father first.

The moment that they stare at each other seems to last forever. Is this really happening to her?

The first embrace is almost a tackle. Her father comes at his daughter in frantic confusion, lost in a sea of emotion.

Gripping her tight, her father starts to cry uncontrollably, only pulling out of the hug to grip her face; staring at his lost daughter, looking at how much she has grown.

She lets her guard down. Over the past five years, she has built a solid emotional wall, trying to suppress all her feelings, but now, in the arms of her protective father, she can let it all out.

The tears come out like a river.

Wetting the shoulder of her father’s shirt, she never wants to leave this place. Her fingernails dig into his back as her head pushes into his chest.

Here, she feels safe.

Even with his sobbing.

“Amy?”

The voice from behind her sends shivers through her body, shocking her eyes wide open.

“Grandmother?” Amy turns, the first words she has spoken since she entered the room.

“Amy! My Amy!” The embrace from her grandmother, now shorter than her, is almost a tackle worthy of a linebacker. A frantic squeeze. Frenzied kisses. “Amy!”

The embrace is warm, comforting, and for the first time today, Amy smiles. It’s her grandmother, full of love, full of affection. The one with the deepest hugs. The one with the most love. The one that got her through the hardest times of her life.

“You’re so big!” her grandmother cries. “You’re so tall! My Amy! You’re really alive! My Amy!”

This is all Yin Sun wanted. Her Amy, safe and well. Her Amy, alive. For years, she has prayed for her granddaughter’s safe return, but she never truly believed her prayers would be answered, so she prayed that her Amy was safe. It was all she wanted in life.

Bending down to cradle her grandmother, arms wrapped around her, Amy couldn’t be happier. For the first time in so long, she feels a part of something.

This is her place in the world.

Her family.

Her home.

CHAPTER 40

The day is blanketed in gray, drops sprinkling from the threatening clouds.

Holding an umbrella, Bill Harvey leads Kate Spencer over the grass, stopping at the back of the small crowd. The solemn feeling drenching the surrounds is matched by the dark clothes of the people huddled around the coffin.

For Monty Lee and his family, this day has been five years in the making. Five years of hope, five years of uncertainty.

Monty Lee stands at the front of the crowd, next to his wife and child, his hand resting on the edge of the smooth mahogany wood coffin. There is no tension in his hands, no pain in his face.

After years of anguish, he can bury his lost daughter.

Standing near the side of the crowd, still wary of strangers, Amy Wu stares at the coffin of her former friend. Her cheeks look fuller, her skin looks cleaner, and her hair has been brushed and cut.

Amy had gotten in the way of Eva’s perfect life – after the accidental death of his friend’s daughter, Kevin was trying to withdraw from his business ventures to protect Amy, but Eva wasn’t ready to end her time as a high-flying socialite. She had to get Amy out of the way.

After Amy disappeared, Kevin went straight back into the drug game, and Eva’s world was perfect.

But when Terrance and Eva were arguing about Amy’s fate in an almost empty parking lot, poor Tiffany had been standing only yards away. Terrance had lied to Eva and said that, despite refusing to touch the girl at the time, he had changed his mind and killed Amy. He told her that he had no other choice. Tiffany had tried to run once she heard the news, but Eva was quicker, chasing her down and dragging her into the car. The girl never stood a chance.

When Terrance tried to protest, Eva threatened to tell Kevin what had happened to his daughter. To keep Amy safe, Terrance felt he had no other choice but to do as Eva demanded, and drive them to the entrance of the reserve.

Eva informed the police of the location where she buried the body of young Tiffany Lee. She was just a girl in the wrong place at the wrong time – overhearing a conversation that she shouldn’t have heard.

As the first shovel of dirt is tossed onto Tiffany Lee’s coffin, Kevin Wu lowers his head.

A simple bow between the warring fathers at the start of the funeral has ended half a decade of fighting.

Kevin never wanted Tiffany to die. He wanted his revenge on Monty for what he thought was the kidnapping of his daughter, but the person that had committed the crime was lying next to him in bed each night. He knew Eva and Amy didn’t always get along, but he never thought Eva would try to remove her from his life altogether.

Lying low, Kevin has avoided the wrath of those implicated in the black book and has made plans to disappear from L.A. completely, taking Amy and his mother with him.

“Do you think they’ll be ok?” Kate asks as the crowd starts to disperse after the end of the funeral.

“Amy and Kevin? Yes. I really do.”

“How’s she doing now?”

“Surprisingly, she’s doing quite well.” He holds the umbrella to cover Kate as the rain becomes heavier. “Terrance looked after her. Through the books, she learned a lot, just as much as any twelve-year-old, and her drawings are amazing. She said that she learned from drawing in the dust. She’s doing really well, even after she found out that her stepmother is being locked up for murder, and her kidnapping.”

“What do you think the future holds for Amy?”

“A lot of counseling.” Bill sighs. “She has a lot of emotions to deal with, including the loss of Terrance. It’s going to be a hard road, but she’ll do well.”

“You really think she’ll be ok?”

“I do. Her grandmother will do everything for that young lady. She had some money set aside, and she’ll do anything for her.” He looks to the sky. “And it’s surprised everyone how positive Amy’s outlook is. Despite the terrors that she suffered, despite growing up underground, she has a great mind, a great heart, and a positive view of the world. I watched her eat a ham sandwich, and she couldn’t have looked happier. She was almost crying with joy about something as simple as a sandwich.”

“It makes you wonder what’s the best thing for her. If bringing her into the city really is the best idea, after what she’s been through. You wouldn’t keep her in the basement, that’s horrible, but there’s something to be said for a slower pace of life. Hopefully, the Wu family recognizes that.”

“Just because you can play a melody faster, doesn’t mean you should.” He flattens out his black tie. “She’ll be ok.”

“You’re not going to go after Kevin? Get revenge for what he tried to do to you?”

“No, Kate.” Bill walks tall. “Our justice system worked. I should be proud of that.”

“And the Lee family?”

“They’ve buried the hatchet with the Wu family, but they’ve decided to stay in their commune. That’s their world now.” He shrugs. “They want to protect their daughter, and they think that’s the best way to do it.”

They both brave a moment of solitude; Bill walking with his head down.

“Life is about family.” Kate moves closer to him. “Despite everything that these people have been through, it’s still all about family. That’s what really matters.”

“Family is the world’s greatest masterpiece.” Bill’s thoughts drift back to his own family; his brother and sister, and his deceased wife. “It’s what makes it all worth it.”

“I do feel sad for Terrance Marshall though. He died without ever having a family.”

“Despite all the pain he caused, he tried to change his life in the end. He tried to protect Amy, and he tried to do something great. Hopefully, someone listened to his prayers, and he’s gone to a better place.” Bill begins to smile. “And if he hasn’t, then I’ll shake his hand in the afterlife.”

THE END

Also by Peter O’Mahoney

In the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

Will of Justice

Redeeming Justice

Fire and Justice

In the Tom Whiskey Private Investigator Series:

Whiskey Justice

The Max Harrison Series with Patrick Graham:

Criminal Justice

Defending the Innocent

The Paid Juror

Burning Justice

The Girl on the Road

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

THE END