Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
The judge blinked, then turned his eyes toward Malone on my right. “And your stance, Malone?”
Malone stood up, uncaring that the judge had used her first name instead of her last. “We’re here to refute that claim to the nth degree. It’s a gross, negligent, bald-faced lie that we vehemently disagree with.”
“What’s your proof that she’s getting neglected and living in an unsafe environment, Lewis?”
Lewis cleared his throat and said, “My clients have been having a private investigator following Mr. Penn around, and they believe they have enough evidence to prove that he’s abusing her.”
“Let’s see it then,” the judge snapped.
A woman came from the right side of the bench and walked toward “Lewis,” who was really Lewis Weston, the newest lawyer that the Combs had hired to represent them. He was young, inexperienced, and unhip to the bullshit that the Combs were trying to peddle. He had yet to learn that the Combs lied to get what they wanted, and when they didn’t get what they wanted, they moved on to someone that could hopefully get them what they wanted.
I’d been here, in this exact spot, so many times over the last few months that my ass was well acquainted with each divot in the seats that we were forced to sit in.
The woman brought the papers to the judge, and the judge started to sort through them.
“What, exactly, am I looking at?” the judge asked.
“Your honor, I can explain.” Paula stood up.
The judge’s bushy eyebrows lifted and he said, “Please. Explain.”
“The photo labeled number one is a time-stamped photo showing that my granddaughter was picked up well past closing time.” Paula sneered at me. “She was also dropped off at six-thirty that morning. She was there for a whole thirteen hours.”
The judge looked from her to me. “Not that I feel like this is something that is bad, but please explain this to me.”
“I drop Lottie off twice a week at daycare. It’s a twenty-four-hour daycare, which I have to pay extra for, because sometimes I’m required to be an hour and a half away before the school day starts.”
“What do you do for the school?” he interjected.
I was surprised he didn’t know.
Most did.
But…
“I’m the owner of Angel Security. A non-profit business that travels around the country ensuring that schools are protected during school shootings,” I replied quietly.
The judge sat back in his chair. “What got you into that? I thought you were a baseball player.”
My stomach sank. “I was. I quit four years into my career to start this business up. My son, Jett, was killed along with multiple other children during a school shooting at their elementary school. I now make it my life’s work to make sure that no other parent has to ever experience that.”
He nodded. “And that night that you were late picking your daughter up. What happened?”
“There was an accident on the interstate. I took an alternative route, but there was an accident on that road, too. It took me two hours of back roads and waiting for me to get to the daycare. I did call and let them know that I would be late, though. I actually called every thirty minutes to update them. I wasn’t the only one that was unable to pick their kid up on time.”
“It’s a twenty-four-hour daycare, is it not?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Then you’re not picking her up late. You were there when they were open.” He nodded his head. “It was just later than usual for your daughter to be there, correct?”
“Correct,” I confirmed.
He looked over at Paula, who was standing there silently fuming.
“What else is here that I’m looking at?”
She cleared her throat, then started to go into the fact that I “passed Lottie around” all the time.
“And these men and women,” Paula sneered in my direction. “They’re part of a motorcycle club. One that’s suspected to be a criminal club.”
A criminal club.
Jesus.
“I see,” he said. “Ma’am, not to be rude, but all of these things aren’t indicative of ‘bad’ or ‘criminal.’ Bikers are a good bunch, mostly. They’ll give you the shirt off their back. My daddy was a biker. He was the nicest man I knew. Watched out for his neighborhood and his community. Hell, he died while trying to save a turtle. Pulled over and stopped his bike in the middle of the road. The turtle lived, but he died.”
Paula didn’t know what to say to that.
“Emergency injunction denied. The child will remain with his father.” He paused with the gavel in his hand. “Though, don’t go getting up yet. We have a few more things to discuss.”
The Combs’ lawyer started to look nervous.
“W-what’s that, Your Honor?” Lewis stuttered.
Malone sat back with a smile. “You’re going to like this.”
I waited to see what the judge had to say and was pleasantly surprised for the first time in a while.