Chapter 107 Chapter 107 Shown and Live On TV
Micah’s POV
The instant the officer returned to my cell, I didn't wait for him to speak. "I want my lawyer!" I immediately voiced before he could say anything else.
“So, you think you can afford a lawyer, huh?” he chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing as he sized me up. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he turned to the others. “Give him his phone for ten minutes,” he ordered, his voice carrying an authoritative edge.
“Let him get himself a lawyer. But monitor him. We don’t want any funny business,” the officer warned.
Funny business? Like what? Did they think I was going to miraculously break out of the cell? Escape from the police station when I knew full well that I’d be caught again? That any attempt at running would only worsen my already dire situation?
I stayed silent, my thoughts swirling in my head as I remained seated on the cold concrete bench. A few seconds later, another officer approached the cell, his gaze unreadable. Through the metal bars, he stretched out his hand, holding the phone.
“Take it,” he instructed firmly.
I pushed myself off the bench and approached him cautiously, making sure to move slowly. The tension in the room was palpable. As I reached for the phone, I noticed how the other officers suddenly straightened, their bodies tensing. Their hands hovered near their holsters, their fingers twitching, ready to act at the slightest provocation.
It was clear: if I so much as flinched the wrong way, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. And if they did, they would justify it by claiming I had attacked first.
I wasn’t about to give them that excuse.
Keeping my movements deliberate and calm, I raised my hands slightly—like a man surrendering—and carefully took the phone. Once it was in my grasp, I retreated, stepping backward until I was pressed against the wall of the cell. Only then did I lower my eyes to the screen and tap it gently.
The phone’s screen illuminated, and my heart clenched at the sight of my wallpaper.
It was a picture of Rebecca, smiling brightly, her eyes gleaming with happiness. I let out a quiet sigh, a mixture of regret and something darker weighing heavily on my chest.
That night, after she had taken me in, after she had let me stay in her mansion, I had gone online and found one of her pictures. I had set it as my wallpaper, just like I had done with all my past ‘clients’—those poor souls I had tricked into believing I needed their help, into giving me their money out of pity.
It was a tactic. A way to make them feel special. A way to deepen their attachment to me so they would continue supporting me without question.
But looking at her face now, I didn’t feel clever. I didn’t feel in control.
I felt sick.
“My choices have indeed marred me,” I thought, exhaling heavily.
It was true what they said—that the choices we made could either elevate us or utterly destroy us. And mine? Mine had led me here. To this cell. To this moment. To this overwhelming realization that I had wronged the one person who had been nothing but kind to me.
Rebecca had done so much for me. She had paid for my hospital sessions, trying to help me manage my binge-eating disorder. She had given me money when I claimed to be struggling, and again when I pretended I had been evicted. And what had I done in return? I had betrayed her trust. Used her name. Dragged her into this mess.
“Seven minutes left!” the officer barked, yanking me from my spiraling thoughts.
My pulse quickened. My fingers trembled slightly as I hurried to open the browser and search for a lawyer. I didn’t have any contacts saved—I had never needed one before—but I knew that with a quick search, I could find a list online.
I typed in: Best-performing lawyers in Mandena.
Immediately, a list of names appeared, complete with photos and pricing. My eyes widened at the outrageous fees.
“100 grand?” I muttered under my breath, disbelief washing over me.
One after another, I scrolled through the top-ranking attorneys, only to find that their prices were completely out of reach. My stomach twisted as I scanned the sixth name on the list—another unattainable figure.
Then, my gaze landed on the seventh.
“55k,” I murmured, my eyes flicking to the name beneath it. Deborah Blackwood.
I hesitated for only a second before clicking on her profile. My eyes darted across the screen, absorbing the details of her career.
Wins: 1500.
Losses: 2.
A 1500-win track record? That was impressive. More than impressive. It meant I had a shot. That maybe—just maybe—I wouldn’t be doomed.
“Three minutes left!” the officer called out again, his tone sharp.
Panic flared in my chest. I had no time to hesitate. Without thinking twice, I tapped on the Hire button and began filling in my details. My name, the police station’s address—everything they needed. My fingers moved quickly, adrenaline fueling me.
Thankfully, my debit card information was already stored on my phone. Within seconds, I completed the payment and received confirmation.
“Time’s up!” the officer’s voice thundered through the cell, snapping me out of my focus.
Before I could even react, the cell door swung open with a loud clang. Heavy footsteps followed, and then, in an instant, the phone was snatched from my grasp.
I didn’t resist. I didn’t argue. Instead, I raised my hands slightly, a silent gesture of compliance. There was no need to fight. I had done what I needed to do.
I had hired a lawyer.
But was it enough?
I slowly sank back onto the bench, my head falling into my hands. My thoughts swirled, thick and suffocating.
Was this really worth it? All the lies I had spun, all the money I had manipulated out of Rebecca—was any of it truly worth the weight now crushing me?
I had everything I needed to fight this case. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had already lost something far greater.
And maybe... I had lost it long before I ever stepped into this cell.