Chapter 90 Is It Over Now?
Marcus appeared first— mid-forties, charcoal suit impeccably tailored, briefcase in one hand. Behind him walked a uniformed officer, keys jangling at his belt.
Andrew’s shoulders eased a fraction. “About goddamn time,” he said, voice low and edged with fury. “I’ve been sitting in this fucking cell for ages. What happened?”
Marcus didn’t answer immediately. He waited until the officer inserted the key, turned it with a metallic clunk, and slid the barred door open.
Marcus stepped inside. He turned to the officer. “Please. I need a moment alone with my client.”
The officer gave a curt nod, no expression, and walked away without a word. His boots echoed back down the hall until they faded.
Andrew stepped closer. “Am I free to go?”
“Yes,” Marcus said, opening his mouth to continue.
Andrew raised a single index finger to his own lips. “Shhh.”
Marcus stilled.
Andrew leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I don’t trust this place. There might be cameras in here. Tell me whatever you want to tell me when we’re in the car.”
Marcus gave a small nod. “Okay, sir.”
They exited the cell together. The officer waited at the release desk— gray metal counter scarred with years of use. Andrew signed the property receipt with a quick, angry flourish. The desk sergeant slid a plastic tray across: black leather wallet, iPhone, stainless-steel wristwatch. Andrew pocketed them without looking, fingers moving with practiced efficiency.
Outside, the night air hit like a slap— cold, carrying the faint diesel tang of the city. A black Cadillac Escalade waited in the near-empty lot, windows tinted to opacity, engine already idling low and smooth.
The rear door opened before Andrew reached it. He slid inside first; Marcus followed. The door closed with a solid, expensive thud.
The driver— a silent man in a dark suit— pulled away without a word. Tires hummed over cracked asphalt as they merged into Brooklyn traffic.
Five minutes passed in silence. Streetlights slid across the tinted windows in slow golden bars.
Andrew broke first. “So what took so long?”
Marcus turned in his seat. “The bail hearing came out stronger and tougher than I anticipated. There was a moment— about three hours in— when I thought the judge was going to deny bail. It was tight. Very tight. That’s why the amount ended up being so high.”
Andrew’s gaze dropped to his lap. “Seven fucking hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he whispered. His right hand curled into a fist again; fingernails dug half-moons into his palm. “I’m practically broke now.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek.
Marcus kept his voice even. “You have strong opponents. They came prepared— very prepared. This case is going to be very tough.”
“I know.” Andrew drew a long, slow breath through his nose, then let it out in a sigh that seemed to deflate him for a single second before he straightened again.
“Do they have a case?”
"They Don't." Andrew’s lips thinned. “They’re just crazy, bitter people coming after me. A crazy father-in-law and his crazy daughter who’s suffered from amnesia and is making up stories to bring me down. They don’t have any evidence to back these outrageous claims. And I’m going to countersue them for defamation. I’ll make them bleed for this.”
Marcus’s expression remained neutral. “So there’s no truth to what they’re saying?” He paused. “Your Honor, you know I’m your lawyer. I need to know.”
Andrew met his eyes— direct, unflinching. His face hardened into something colder, more resolute.
“No. There’s none.” His voice was flat, final. “I won’t lie to you on something this sensitive. We’re dealing with delusional people with zero evidence. And I’ll make them pay gravely for what they’ve done. I’m no pushover.”
Marcus gave a small nod. “Understood.”
The rest of the ride passed in heavy silence. The city lights blurred past— neon signs, brake lights, the occasional pedestrian hunched against the cold.
Twenty minutes later the Escalade turned off the main road, passed between the towering steel gates of the estate, and glided up the long, curving drive. Gravel whispered under the tires.
The front door of the mansion swung open before the vehicle even stopped. Amelia stood framed in the light— black silk dress, bare feet, hair loose around her shoulders. Her arms were wrapped around herself; her face was pale, eyes wide.
Andrew opened the door. Marcus spoke quietly.
“Thanks for dropping me off. We’ll discuss strategy tomorrow— how we put my accusers to shame.”
“All right, Your Honor. See you tomorrow.”
Andrew stepped out.
Amelia moved first— quick, almost desperate. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close. Her body trembled against his.
“I was worried sick about you,” she whispered into his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the back of his shirt.
Andrew’s arms came around her automatically. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head for a moment, then gently eased back so he could see her face.
“Is it over now?” she asked. Her eyes searched his— fearful, hopeful.