Luka is testifying against his father and I’m not there to support him.
I never realized he’d get subpoenaed. How was I supposed to get that information? It’s not like we’re speaking, and he probably doesn’t even know I’m back from LA yet. In fact, he may have even assumed that I’d have no interest in supporting him anyway. But I would.
I will.
Of course I will.
Regardless of where we are in our relationship, I care about Luka. Deeply. My gut says I should be there right now at his side, not only to stand with him, but to hold him up.
Cursing softly under my breath, I dig some money out of my pocket. All I have is a hundred. I don’t even care about change as I cut around the line, holding my basket high as I weave through. Mid-swipe with a bag of chips in hand, the cashier looks up at me in surprise.
“I’m so sorry. I have an emergency. There’s like ten things in here. No way it adds up to more than this. Please, just keep the change. I have to go.”
I literally throw the money at her and bolt out the door, basket and all. My phone keeps pinging as I grab Mr. Kibbles, hurry back to the apartment, put him in his kennel, and change in the middle of the living room. I throw on slim dark slacks and a blouse, a pair of flats, then pull my hair into a tight bun. I don’t even bother to take the groceries out of the basket to put them away, I just push whatever’s in the fridge to the side and slide the entire basket onto the shelf.
I’m out the door with my sunglasses on the moment my Uber pulls up.
The only thing running through my mind is that I have to get to Luka. He must be so overwhelmed right now. I can’t imagine what it feels like to have to take the stand against your own father. He knew this might happen. We all did. But the lawyers said it was doubtful that it would ever come to fruition. And now, it’s happened. I silently chant for the Uber to go faster.
Luka may not want me…but in this moment, I know he needs me.
Luka
Chapter 4
The number one piece of advice Stefan and I were given by our legal team was to remain calm, collected, and self-assured during our court appearances. But no matter how many times you practice giving testimony in your head, the real-life act of getting sworn in on the stand and then grilled in front of a courtroom packed with jurors, attorneys, spectators, reporters, and the very person you’re testifyingagainst…is an entirely different story.
My father’s defense team is made up of nothing but smooth-talking snakes, and during their cross-examination they’ve tried to discredit me at every turn. I’m sweating bullets up here.
“Mr. Zoric? Do you need me to repeat the question?”
I heard him the first time, but my mind went completely blank as I tried to formulate a response that wouldn’t ultimately hinder the prosecution.
Shifting in my seat, I look the lawyer square in the eyes. “Yes.”
“I asked: Did you have any prior knowledge of the private email account that wasallegedlyused by your father for communication with the young women he employed?”
Clenching my fists in my lap, I will myself to focus. I’m the final witness of the day.
“Today is the first I’ve heard of that email account,” I answer honestly, causing the lawyer’s mouth to twitch into a triumphant smirk.
All of this has been such a blur. Although Stefan and I had been prepped for the possibility of taking the witness stand, we still felt blindsided by the subpoena. Our legal team had only been served at the last minute, giving us little time to mentally prepare. I assume catching us witnesses off guard was part of the defense’s game plan all along.
Since the trial began, I was sure we’d be kept out of court—we’re not only the children of the accused, but also former employees of my father’s company. Yet here we are.
I know my testimony is crucial, but all I can think about is my wife stepping out on me. I’m torn up with rage and it’s got me off my game in the worst way possible.
On top of that, my father is sitting mere feet away. I can feel his eyes on me even though I haven’t spared him a glance since I was first brought into the courtroom hours ago. I can’t bear the thought of seeing his anger or despair at my truthful responses—or worse, the possibility of his gaze begging me to cover for him with lies.
The defense lawyer pretends to think it over. “So…would you say it’s actually possible that this email account could have been used by someone elseposingas your father?”
“Objection!” the prosecutor interrupts, not for the first time. “Leading the witness.”
The judge nods. “Sustained,” she says.
As I sit through further questioning, I struggle to ignore the images flashing through my mind of Brooklyn and Mateo. Their hard partying in LA has saturated all the media outlets, and the gossip about the state of my marriage has been flying left and right.
“Mr. Zoric?” the defense attorney prods, waving a stack of pages at me. “Exhibit F?”