“And that makes him guilty?”
My uncle glares at me, and I have a stab of sympathy for anyone who comes face to face with him in a courtroom. He returns his attention to Zaya. “My advice would be to hire the best defense attorney you can afford. This case will be going to trial, there really isn’t any other option.”
Zaya visibly deflates. I hate the stricken look on her face. It makes me want to do things that I never do, like protect people even when there isn’t anything in it for me.
I lean forward. “But there isn’t any evidence that Zion was actually there when the crime was committed.”
West snaps the file shut. “I won’t comment on an active investigation. All the men involved are in custody.”
“Zion isn’t a man.” Zaya’s voice is a touch louder than it should be, as if she is out of practice with modulating it. She winces slightly, but then squares her shoulders. When she continues, her voice is a little softer. “He’s still underage.”
Eyebrows raised, West glances down at the file. “So he is. The only one, in fact.”
“That has to count for something,” I reason. “Couldn’t you at least get the case moved to juvenile court?”
West drums his fingers on the desk as he stares us down. “First of all, Zion requires an actual lawyer to represent him before he can get any sort of deal. Another teenager with a God complex doesn’t count as effective counsel, just because he happens to be my nephew. Nothing is official unless you use the proper channels.” His gaze moves from one of us to the other, drilling in so we know how serious this is. “That said, there is a diversion program upstate that is intended for juvenile offenders of serious crimes whom the state thinks are potentially good candidates for rehabilitation. It’s new, still in the pilot stage, and like everything else in this world worth a damn, admission to the facility is pay to play.”
My ears perk up at that, buying our way out of things is a Cortland family tradition. “You should have just said this is a money problem in the first place.”
“Everything is a money problem,” West says, voice droll. “But we’re not talking about getting off scot-free, here, not with these charges. Juvenile offenders can be held in the system until they’re twenty-three, so we’re still talking about a significant amount of time, just better than twenty years to life.”
Zaya’s face is carefully blank. “Tell me more about this program.”
“Blackbreak Academy is set up as much like a private school as it is a juvenile prison. Everyone there would otherwise be in the state prison system, but we hope this setup will encourage a lower rate of recidivism. If the participants complete the program successfully, then their records are expunged. It was only approved by the governor because most of their families are paying dearly for the privilege of keeping their children out of the regular system. Apparently, this fits the definition of a public-private partnership according to our state legislature.”
West isn’t exactly a bleeding heart, but it’s obvious from his tone that he recognizes the fundamental unfairness of this particular opportunity.
From her pursed lips and sour expression, I can tell Zaya isn’t happy with the idea of a system of justice based on the depths of your pockets, either. But this is the way the world has always worked, she just needs to get used to it.
“Sounds great—” I say.
She interrupts. “And Zion won’t have to do anything?”
West shrugs. “If he’s willing to testify against the other members of his gang, that would help me convince the judge to allow diversion. This will be a hard sell, otherwise.”
That doesn’t sound like a deal breaker, but Zaya stiffens beside me. Then she shakes her head so violently it sets the tightly wound curls on her head quivering. “He won’t do that.”
I turn to her in shock. “Why not?”
“He won’t testify against anyone, no matter what kind of deal it gets him. That just… isn’t how things are done in the Gulch. He testifies, and he can’t ever come back home.”
“And that’s worse than twenty-to-life?”
“The rules are different where I live, Vin. Most of us don’t have the luxury of our big house on the mountaintop.” Zaya’s glare is hot enough to sear my soul. Her reaction is as much about Zion as it is about the two of us. “We don’t have an uncle in the state attorney’s office or a cousin that runs the largest bank in town or enough wealth to literally buy and sell a person’s entire life. When we get in trouble, no one comes to bail us out.”
“I’m here.”
I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth. Even West glances at me with a raised eyebrow.
But Zaya just shakes her head. If she realizes what a watershed moment this is, she doesn’t let on. “He will not paint a target on my back like that, not when he has to leave me behind.”
“You won’t be living in the Gulch, anyway. You’ll be up on the Bluffs with me, safe and sound.”
Zaya stares at me like she has never seen me before, the surprise on her face obvious. Did she really think that nothing would change, that I’d put a ring on her finger and then leave my wife wallowing in squalor?
“I don’t want to live in Cortland Manor.”
“It won’t be the manor. I stay in the pool house.”
She just shakes her head and abruptly stands up. “This is too much to deal with right now. I need to go.”
“We’re not done yet.”
Ignoring me, she addresses West. “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Abbott. Sorry for busting into your office like this.” She holds up a trembling hand when I move to follow her. “You can finish without me. I’ll take the bus back into town.”
With
