“You said you wanted to ‘straighten out legal rights,’” I said, looking at my father now. “But this isn’t a civil disagreement, Dad. This is criminal.”
My father’s mouth moved soundlessly. Sweat gathered on his forehead.
Morris finally found his voice, but it was small. “Robert…”
My father turned, desperate. “Morris, tell them—tell them this is—”
Morris shut his briefcase with a soft snap, like a door closing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not meeting my father’s eyes. “But in this situation, there’s nothing I can do.”
He looked at the officers, then at me, the calculation clear: staying involved would jeopardize his license, his reputation, his safety.
“Before any legal advice can even be given,” Morris continued quietly, “clear evidence of criminal activity has been made public. If I stay here any longer… my own law license could be at risk.”
With those words, my father’s last shield vanished.
Kristen, who had started backing up toward the stairs, suddenly lunged as if to run. An officer stepped in front of her smoothly.
“Miss,” the officer said, “what’s inside that bag?”
Kristen froze, clutching a tote bag against her chest. Her face twisted into indignation.