Page 46 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)

CHAPTER 46

FRAN

M y knee bounces in the back seat of the Uber as I stare out as the city lights pass by in a technicolor blur. Robbie wanted to come with me, but I told him it would be better for him not to. The last thing he needs right now is to draw attention to himself in the same bar he was filmed fighting in before he was arrested, especially while wearing a limoncello sweatsuit two sizes too small. With absolute reluctance, he agreed to wait back at my apartment.

The drive downtown seems to take forever, and my stomach twists painfully.

On one hand, I’m angry that I didn’t realize it sooner; in retrospect, it’s so fucking obvious.

On the other hand, my nerves are at an all-time high because what if I can’t find what I need in order to prove it?

Finally, the Uber rolls to a stop outside The Exchange and I thank the driver, hurrying out of the car, through the cold night air, and into the bar, relieved to find the place relatively quiet.

Vera is covering my shift, and when she looks up from what she’s doing at the bar, she does an almost comical double-take, her eyebrows knitting together as her gaz e takes me in.

Hurrying out from behind the counter, she rushes to me, keeping her perfect smile firmly in place as she mutters through gritted teeth, “What are you doing here… and why are you wearing pajamas?”

I pull my coat closed, covering what I can of my Minion print PJs, my gaze flitting about the space. “I need to go out the back.”

“What’s up?”

She walks with me to the door to the back room, and I step inside, pulling her with me. “Tyler’s good with computers, isn’t he?”

She scoffs. “Yeah, he’s a fucking genius. I mean, hello , he went to MIT.” Rolling her eyes, she continues, “He dropped out half-way through his junior year because he was so sure he’d be the next Avicii, and yet here we are, five years later?—”

“Is he working tonight?”I interject her ramblings.

She shakes her head, slowly.

“Can you get him to come down here?”

Vera studies me, brow furrowed dubiously. “What’s going on?”

I look around to make sure no one is nearby. “I need access to the security footage from last night.”

She arches one eyebrow, questioningly.

“Tadd,” is all I have to say for realization to drop, both eyebrows climbing up into her hairline.

Half an hour later, I’m sitting in the back room, knees bouncing nervously when Vera shoves Tyler inside before closing us in. He lifts his chin at me in casual greeting, wearing glasses and looking every bit a hot nerd.

“V told me what’s up,” Tyler says, walking by me and taking a seat at the desk in the corner. It’s not overly high tech, but far beyond my comprehension.

I follow and pull up a chair, watching as Tyler inspects the set-up, clicking a few buttons before typing something using the keyboard.

“Do you think you can manage it?” I ask, looking from Tyler to the computer screen and back again.

He flashes me a cocky grin, clicking something with the mouse. “It’s already done.”

With a gasp, I look at the screen to see a black and white image of the bar appear, complete with yesterday’s date stamp.

“What time did it happen?” Tyler asks, scrolling.

I puff air from my cheeks, thinking back to last night. The last twenty-four hours is one big blur of pixelated events, so it’s difficult to pinpoint. “God, I don’t know. Sometime between ten and eleven, maybe. Definitely before midnight.”

Tyler nods, carefully studying the screen as he continues scrolling and, lo and behold, timestamped at 22:36, we find exactly what I was hoping we would.

In full view of the camera, in black and fucking white, I see Robbie sipping his drink while Tadd speaks to him. And then, I assume the moment I’m grabbed by Tadd’s grimy friend, Robbie disappears out of frame. Tadd remains by the bar, taking a quick look over his shoulder before pulling a small bag from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. He opens the bag and tips some of its contents into Robbie’s glass of Coke before dipping his finger into the white powder and rubbing it over his gums. But then, just when it looks like he’s about to put the bag back into his pocket, Tadd smirks deviously to himself, glancing around one more time before quickly stuffing the remaining drugs into Robbie’s coat that’s hung over the back of one of the barstools.

Literally eight seconds. That’s all it takes. Eight seconds for Tadd Jennings to attempt to destroy an innocent man’s life. I feel physically sick.

Tyler rewinds the footage, watching it three more times before finally sagging back in his chair and exhaling heavily. “Fuck.”

My hands are shaking. I can feel every beat of my heart, hear it in my ears.

“Can you copy it?” I ask, looking hopefully at Tyler. “Download it onto my phone?”

He clicks a few buttons and takes my phone, working his magic, and a few minutes later he hands the device back to me with a smug grin. “Done.”

I stare down at my phone, realizing that not only do I have enough evidence to clear Robbie’s name, but with this footage, I can finally take down Tadd Jennings.

Robbie holds my hand tightly as we brave the sea of reporters and photographers huddled on the Madison Avenue sidewalk outside the building that houses the HMC Management office.

Blinding flashes go off in our faces, questions being shouted, and I hold onto Robbie just as tightly as he holds onto me, leading the way through the throng, head down, ignoring the onslaught as best as he can.

We head straight up to the twenty-second floor where we meet Andy. He doesn’t say much, just ushers us into a sleek boardroom with glass walls that frost at the touch of a button, separating it from the office floor.

“Okay, what’s with all the cloak and dagger shit. I am sufficiently intrigued.” Andy quirks a brow as he takes a sip from his coffee, looking from Robbie to me and back again.

“You know how I’ve been trying to profess my innocence despite no one bothering to hear me out?”

Andy sighs. “Robbie, you tested positive?—”

“Yes, but he’s still innocent!” I interrupt, holding up my phone like it’s the Holy Grail; in this instance, it kind of is.

Andy looks from me to Robbie, brow furrowed.

I smile smugly, moving to the projector connection at the end of the long table. “You’re gonna wanna take a seat for this.”

Andy mutters something under his breath but does as he’s told, taking a chair on the opposite side of the table.

Pressing the button on the control panel to draw the shades on the windows, I figure out the projection and scroll to the saved video in my phone. I glance at Robbie and he nods, and I press play, the screen coming to life with the security footage from The Exchange.

The silent video loops a few times, and from the corner of my eye, I watch as a myriad of conflicting emotions cross Andy’s face. Confusion. Shock. Disappointment. Anger. So much anger. And finally, guilt, his lips falling into a frown as his eyes flit to Robbie, the weight of the realization that he doubted not only his client but one of his closest friends seemingly sinking in.

I pause the video and turn to both Robbie and Andy.

“We need to send this to Raymond immediately,” Andy says, taking out his phone and scrolling through it, I assume for the lawyer’s number.

Robbie nods, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I’m so sorry, Robbie,” Andy murmurs after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically tight. He’s clearly taken aback with emotion.

Robbie looks at him, his eyes heartbreakingly hopeful. “I just wanna play fucking hockey.”

“And you will,” Andy says confidently. “I’m going to make damn sure of it.”

My belly knots, roiling with nerves as I look down at my phone. “There’s something else,” I announce, more than a little anxious, considering I’ve been hiding it from Robbie all morning.

Both Andy and Robbie turn to me, their expressions nearly identical.

I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, looking down at my phone again, at the DM staring back at me.

“What is it, Keller?” Robbie presses after a moment, his voice soft and not at all pushy.

I swallow hard, releas ing a shuddered breath. “I wasn’t sure anything would come out of it, so I didn’t tell you…”

Robbie nods slowly, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“I reached out to Lola Grey last night…”

Andy drags a hand over his face, sighing forlornly.

Robbie’s eyes widen, his face falling stark, sheet white, like he’s just seen a ghost.

“I explained who I was, and what had happened… to you,” I continue, my hand shaking as I tentatively click onto the video I received at four a.m. this morning.

The projector screen comes to life once more with an image of Lola Grey. I was shocked when I first watched it this morning while Robbie was in the bathroom. The Lola Grey I know of, the one I’ve seen all over social media and the tabloids, is nothing like the woman presented on the screen. Her make-up free face is gaunt and splotchy, her bleached blonde hair dull and brassy, with dark roots showing through. Dressed in a gray hoodie that swallows her small frame, she’s a shadow of the infamous woman she’s known to be. And I know I don’t know her personally, but I feel for her.

“My name is Lola Grey, and I am currently undergoing an in-patient program at New Start Lodge, in the foothills of the Camelback Mountains, Arizona. I’m here because I am a drug addict.”

I move to the chair next to Robbie, taking a seat. Glancing sideways at him, I watch as he rubs his chin, gaze intently focused on the screen. Reaching out, I rest my hand on his arm, squeezing him gently just so he knows I’m here. I’m on his side. And I will be for as long as he’ll let me be.

Lola Grey continues, “On the night of August seventeenth, I was staying in a suite at the Sunset Hills Hotel in Los Angeles. I was not in a good state of mind. I was high, snorting cocaine, popping prescription pills, smoking weed. And I was on the verge of doing something really stupid. I contemplated jumping off the rooftop of the hotel because I wanted to end my own life. And all because Robbie Mason told me he didn’t want to be in a relationship with me.”

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Robbie’s hand covers mine on his arm, and I know this is hard for him, but I also know he needs to see this. The world needs to see this.

“I was so angry at Robbie. I was hurt. I felt rejected. I punched him. Scratched him. Screamed at him. And despite all of that, he stayed with me that night. He refused to leave me alone because he was worried about me. But later on, when I woke up, I found Robbie asleep on the sofa. And I placed a bag of cocaine in his lap, and I took a photo and sent it anonymously to a few online media accounts, knowing exactly what would happen and exactly what people would insinuate, knowing exactly what damage it would do to his reputation.”

Lola shifts, clears her throat, and even through the camera, it’s blatantly obvious that her eyes are welling with tears. “In the time that I spent with Robbie, never once did he even touch a single drug. He was an advocate against the use of drugs. He tried to help me. And above everything, he kept my secrets all while I exploited him. I am so sorry for the damage that I caused. I hope, one day, Robbie can forgive me.”

The image on the screen goes dark with the end of the recording, and a heavy silence settles around the boardroom, thick with the kind of palpable tension that makes it almost impossible to breathe.

“Holy shit…” Andy mutters.

“She’s going to post it to her social media accounts tonight,” I say carefully.

Andy glances cautiously at Robbie.

“Are you okay?” I whisper after a moment, squeezing Robbie’s arm.

He nods, still staring at the screen, at the paused image of Lola Grey. I see the bob of his throat, and then he turns to me, meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”

With a small smile, I release the breath I was holding, squeezing his arm again.