Reasonable Doubt 3 (17 page)

“File away. No judge in his right mind would give you sole custody.”

She laughed. “This is actually why people fuck to get what they want,
honey
. It comes in handy for times like this. Besides, you’re not even her real father.” She kissed Emma’s forehead. “Did you overhear that part while you were watching us fuck or were you too busy taking notes?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer.

“Do not fuck with me, Liam.” She hissed. “You have no idea how far I’m willing to go to stay out of prison.”

“Even though you deserve to be there?” I snatched Emma away from her, making her stir. “You sought out clients using my name and you misappropriated the money. For what?”

“Status. Something you’ll never understand.”

“Something you’ll never need.” I countered. “Everyone behind bars shares the same level of popularity.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to give you a few days to come to your senses.”

“Or else what?”

“You don’t want to know the answer to that.” She walked out, slamming the door behind her—waking Emma.

She looked at me with her bright blue eyes, smiling. “Can I go play?”

I nodded, unable to even speak. Carrying her to the balcony, I didn’t even bother grabbing an umbrella for myself. I set her down and helped her into a coat, trying not to think about what Ava could possibly have up her sleeve.

Emma tilted her head up to the sky and swallowed raindrops, and then she dashed away from me—running in circles.

A loud thunder roared in the distance, and as if she could tell what I was about to say, she looked at me with a wide grin. “Five more minutes!”

The New York Times
didn’t waste any time printing the story. Well, stories.

Henderson & Hart, Revered Law Firm, Embroiled in Scandal.

Hart Agrees to Cooperate Against Henderson, Following Brutal Bar Brawl.

Henderson Arrested, Questioned, After Wife Claims Recent Domestic Abuse.

The only story they didn’t mention, out of a hanging thread of respect, was my losing custody of Emma. Of me having to hand her over to Kevin.

I was innocent of every charge I faced, but due to the fact that I’d bashed Kevin’s head in, and Ava had claimed I was just as violent with her, it left the judge no choice but to put her in custody with her supposed “loving and biological father per the mother’s request.”

I thought it would only be for a week or two, a month at most, but as the charges piled up and the cases were trudged through the courts at a snail’s pace, the months wore on and on.

To make matters worse, Kevin and Ava purposely took Emma to places they knew I frequented: My favorite place at Central Park, my spot on the Brooklyn Bridge, my favorite restaurants.

In between my court appearances, I followed them to the park—resisting the urge to yell at them for letting her get too close to the streets, holding back the urge to take her back and flee the state.

Instead, I filed injunction after injunction—fighting multiple cases at once. I searched through every loophole of custody, documenting cases after case of non-biological fathers retaining rights.

Eventually the truth about Ava and Kevin’s scheme began to surface, and on the same day that Ava confessed to lying about me beating her—when she admitted that she’d made that all up, I won custody of Emma.

It was three days before her fourth birthday, so I arranged for a few of her neighborhood friends to come by with their parents. The theme was the rainforest, of course, and the party favors were umbrellas and rain-boots.

Kevin, still foolishly proclaiming his innocence in regards to the fraud, had grown quite attached to her over the past few months. He asked if he could still see her on the weekends once he returned her to me, but I didn’t even bother answering that question.

He’d seen her long enough.

Standing outside my brownstone, I called him two hours before her birthday party, making sure he was still dropping her off on time. Instead of talking to me like an adult, he made Emma repeat his every word to me.

“We’ll be there soon,” she said, a smile in her soft voice. “Can you please let us enjoy our last few hours alone? She’s my daughter, too.”

“See you soon, Emma.”

“Goodbye, Daddy!” She hung up and I rearranged the party decorations for the umpteenth time, greeting the early guests and directing them into the living room.

Half an hour passed.

A whole hour.

Two.

I called Kevin, annoyed that he was pulling this bullshit of a stunt—as if it was even
half
as difficult as it had been for me, but there was no answer.

Upset, I dialed the police and they showed up to my door within minutes.

“Are you Liam Henderson?” They asked.

“Yes, I’m the one that called.”

I pulled the court order out of my pocket and explained what was happening, how Kevin was technically committing kidnapping, but they interrupted me.

They weren’t at my house to take a report.

They were there to give one.

As they calmly explained what had happened, how she was less than a block away when the car collided with a truck, my world stopped.

I asked which hospital she was being flown to, which route was the fastest to take, but the cops simply sighed and looked past me, as if they didn’t want to say anything further.

They didn’t have to.

Their looks said it all.

Emma’s funeral was held on a grey and wet day, another harsh blow to my chest. I sat through speeches from the few people she’d crossed paths with, from her young friends who had yet to fully comprehend what her death really meant.

My next door neighbor, a four year old named Hannah, said, “I hope you come back next week, Emma. You can come to my birthday party.”

I stared at the tiny casket as they lowered it into the ground, half of me wanting to jump in with it and risk being buried alive. At least then I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.

As the crowd dissipated one by one—tapping my shoulder and saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss,” as they left, I spotted Ava walking into the cemetery.

Flanked by two prison guards, she fell to her knees and bawled once she reached the uncovered grave.

“You made me late for my child’s funeral.” She cursed at the guards. “I fucking missed it…How cruel can you possibly be?”

“All furloughs have the same time constraints, ma’am,” one of them said flatly. “We couldn’t have left any earlier.”

She shook her head and continued to cry, beating her hands against the ground. As if she needed to distance herself from the guilt, she stood up and walked towards the podium, reading the papers that were left behind.

She broke down again and I walked over.

“Liam…” She held out her arms. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

“
She is
.” I refused to console her. “And it’s all your fault, Ava. Your fucking fault.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” She sniffled. “Don’t you think I
feel
that?”

“It should be you down there in the ground right now. It should be you.”

“Liam…”

“She didn’t deserve to be taken away from me and you know it.”

“I do know that…I was just—”

“Trying to prove a point? To do whatever it took to hurt me because you fucked yourself over and you wanted to bring me down with you?”

“We can get through this…We can still find a way to restore your name in this city, and you’re the best lawyer I know so…I know you can turn everything around and maybe help me too. Maybe forgive me?”

“I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you rot in prison, to make sure you never get out and that the parole board never gives you an ounce of sympathy.”

“You don’t mean that, Liam…”

“If I ever find a way to get away with murder, you and Kevin will be my first victims.”

The guard across from us gave me a look.

“Don’t be like this, Liam…”

“My name won’t be Liam for too much longer just so you know. It’ll be Andrew.”

“Are you leaving? Are you about to leave me here?”

“That should be you in the ground right now…” I noticed the funeral director stacking the chairs, mindlessly breaking down what was just another ceremony to him. “That should be you…”

One of the guards began speaking with the funeral staff, inquiring as to whether they should leave the premises or not. Noticing her time here was limited, Ava grabbed onto me. “Liam, I mean…
Andrew
. You clearly still love me because you’re trusting me with that…We can rebuild everything we had, we can start over, you and me…We can do this if you help me…”

I grabbed her hands and moved them away as one of the guards stepped closer.

“You know I don’t belong in prison,” she said, crying. “They’re transferring me to a permanent location next week…Save me, Andrew…Save me…”

I said nothing.

“If I could take everything back, I swear…I swear I would. Don’t you think I love Emma, too?”

“Loved,” I said. “It’s past tense now, don’t you think?”

She sighed. “Please don’t leave me…”

“I won’t.” I stepped back so the guards could escort her back to the van. “I’ll write…”

“Really?” Her eyes looked hopeful as she walked away. “Okay, I look forward to your letters…I look forward to fixing us…”

The rain picked up its pace, transitioning from a drizzle to a downpour, but I remained standing—unable to walk away from Emma. I re-read her tiny tombstone, crying as her face crossed my mind.

Emma Rose Henderson,

A Daddy’s girl, through and through.

Gone too soon,

But never forgotten…

I stared at those words for hours, letting the rain drench me to the bone. It wasn’t until the director informed me that the gates were closing, that I walked away.

Lost and heartbroken, I spent the next few months in a dizzying haze. Despite the fact that Ava was the one behind bars, the paper continued spouting her lies as facts, slandering me, and I didn’t even bother disputing it.

I didn’t have the energy.

I submitted written testimonies through lawyers I’d hired—knowing that eventually things would sort themselves out. I didn’t even care that Ava had hired her own high profile team to block me from getting a divorce.

I no longer gave a fuck about anything.

My firm collapsed before my very eyes—everything down to the sink-ware was sold off in parts, and in the legal community, the downfall became a warning, a tell-tale of what happened when status and greed consumed one of us.

I drank every morning, letting the alcohol numb my pain. And whenever I awoke from passing out, I drank again. It was only when I started drinking coffee that I could somewhat function well enough to get anything done.

Visiting the cemetery was too painful, almost as painful as stepping inside Emma’s room. So, I hired a few people to pack it away in boxes, telling them to leave out the “E” and “H” frames; I could bear to look at those since she’d hand-picked them.

For months, I mourned the life she would never have—attempting to make sense of it all. I knew deep down that I couldn’t stay here, but I couldn’t leave as the same man that I was; I knew that I’d never get over Emma, but I needed a way to cope. A way to slowly re-integrate myself into the real world.

Stopping by a newspaper stand, my eyes caught an article about the newest hotshot lawyer in town—Michael Weston. Dressed in one of the expensive suits that Kevin once raved about, he was the talk of the city and from the words I was reading, he was cocky—only slightly cockier than I had become recently.

“Oh, you got the last one…” A woman said as she stepped next to me.

“You want this paper?”

“Well…” She blushed. “Not really the paper. I just want the ad of Michael Weston so I can show my friends my ideal dream guy.”

“Have you read some of the shit he’s said in this interview?” I raised my eyebrow. “He’s an asshole.”

“That just makes him more loveable, don’t you think.”

“They asked him what he does when he gets less than favorable reviews.” I couldn’t believe how fucking gullible this woman looked. “Do you want to know what he said?”