“Is there an affidavit?” the judge asked, annoyed. “Or are we just having a conversation?”
“Here, Your Honor.” Wells handed a document to the bailiff. “With regard to probable cause, I respectfully refer Your Honor to the detectives’ report that clearly gives motive. Mr. Dowd will plead no contest to the vandalism of the Rare Earth Jewelry shop, the owner of which is romantically attached to Mr. Wentz.”
Judge Norman set the affidavit down. “It is the determination of this court that probable cause has been sufficiently rendered.”
“Your Honor—”
“Mr. Perry, do you wish to go forward in entering a plea? Or perhaps you’d like to talk it over with your client?”
Perry adjusted his glasses and stood straight. “In light of Mr. Grimaldi’s affidavit, I ask for time to consult with my client.”
“I thought you might. This arraignment is hereby postponed to the day after next.” Norman banged his gavel.
I was shuffled out of the courtroom, hardly able to catch a glimpse of Shiloh.
In the hallway, Perry asked the guards to back off. “I need to confer with my client.” He leaned against the wall beside me. “So that wasn’t ideal.”
“They’re lying,” I said. “Grimaldi wasn’t there. I tagged his car a few months ago. This is bullshit. It’s vengeance.”
“Which we’d have to prove.” Perry glanced up, and I followed his gaze to Ms. Wells, who’d entered the hallway surrounded by her assistants. “I hate surprises. Let me see what we’re up against.”
He conferred with her for a few minutes, his expression growing grimmer by the second, while she wore the look of someone who held all the cards.
Perry rejoined me, loosening his tie.
“Well, this just gets better and better,” he said dryly. “They have cell phone footage taken back in June. You’re shown telling Frankie that you will ‘fuck his shit up’ if he messes with your girlfriend. They have photos of your bruised hands from the night in question, they have an eyewitness, and they have the victim’sown word. If this goes to trial,they’re going to go for attempted murder in the first degree. That’s a life sentence, Ronan.”
Like father, like son.
“But if you take the deal, they’ll reduce the charges. Second degree attempted murder or even aggravated battery and injuring with intent to cause grievous bodily harm. You could get ten years instead of twenty-five. Behave yourself, and you’re out in half that.”
I stared at him. “You want me to plead guilty to a crime I didn’t commit so I can spend ten years in prison instead of the rest of my life.”
I’d lose everything. Shiloh. She is everything.
“The case against you was already strong, but you add Grimaldi…” Perry shook his head. “That changes the game. If you want to plead not guilty, that’s your right. But it’s a risk. A long shot. If we lose…”
If I lose…
I closed my eyes and thought of my mom. How she tried to go through the system and how it failed her. Again and again until she was dead.
The rest of the inmates had finished rendering their pleas, and the guards motioned it was time to get everyone shackled back up and moved out.
Perry put a hand on my arm. “I know it’s a tough call, but this is what we’re up against. Think long and hard about it.”
That night in my cell, I thought about it. I thought about handing over five or ten or fifteen years of my life to prison because that was my best bet. But the raging anger at the unfairness of it all burned out, leaving bitter ashes of regret. This was my fault. I was Russell Wentz’s son. His blood was in my veins, and it didn’t matter that I tried to do right and protect those I cared about. The poison corrupted and corroded me.
I flexed my bruised knuckles in the dim light.
My fault. Because I like it too much.
But Shiloh… Christ, how could I not fight for her? For us? Ten years in prison wasn’t the torture—it was ten years without her. That was unsurvivable.
The night grew late. The sounds of other inmates coughing, cursing, or snoring echoed in the hollow hallways. My cellmate cried himself to sleep, as usual.
Sometime deep in the night, I was still awake when footsteps approached and stopped outside my cell.
“Hey, Wentz.”