Page 11 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER TEN

After I was released with all charges dropped and I was made to feel like I should genuflect to not only the Darien Police but to Declan, my godfather waited approximately two minutes inside his limousine before he demanded, “Tell me what really happened today, Kalie. Why do I sense there’s more to the story than what your father told me? ”

Jared Dalton, not just my godfather but also a partner at Watson, Rubenstein, and Dalton, is a man to be feared in most legal circles.

The fact that he’s discussing Declan in hushed tones causes tingles to quiver along my skin.

I waste no time divulging every sordid detail from my law school graduation until I saw him earlier today.

I hesitate before finally adding, “There’s just one thing, Uncle Jared. ”

“What’s that?”

“You might not believe me—”

He cuts me off. “You know better than that.”

That’s when I let out what I held back to my father over the phone. “Jon was there. He…helped him.”

His eyes narrow as he reaches into the mini fridge, its interior aglow with soft blue light, and pulls out two cold bottles of water.

He hands one to me with deliberate care.

“Care to repeat that?” he asked, uncapping his own bottle and taking a long, deliberate sip as if steeling himself for the next revelation.

“You heard me.”

Jared pauses mid-sip, lowering the bottle slowly. “Was he just trying to smooth things over? Keep you protected?”

“That’s what you’d think,” I reply, my brows knitting into a sharp V as memory surged back.

I remember, in painstaking detail, phones held high, recording every second.

“Hold on.” I yank my phone from my jacket pocket and frantically enter search terms into the engine, recalling every surveillance detail from earlier that day.

I know they were focused on three distinct faces amid the clusterfuck at the courthouse.

Still, despite looking up my name, Jon’s, hell, even Declan’s, I find nothing.

Not a single video.

“What the hell?” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper as disbelief mingled with dread courses through my body.

“What’s the problem?” Jared asks, peering over at my screen with furrowed brows.

“Uncle Jared, at least forty people were recording us using their phones. I set the search parameters to capture everything, but nothing is showing up: no trace of me and nothing of the case. It’s as if today never happened. Nada,” I explain, tapping the screen to highlight the empty results.

He retrieves his own phone in a brisk yet measured motion. Within moments, he too was deep in a search, his thumb scrolling relentlessly. Every article and clip dissipated into digital ash. With each flick, confusion deepened in his eyes.

“Even StellaNova doesn’t have this,” I note, referring to the prestigious news outlet where Chuck works, my voice tight with incredulity.

“Kalie, that’s impossible,” Jared insists, his expression mirroring my own dismay.

“Not if someone is scrubbing this,” I counter. My voice is laced with suspicion.

“But why?” he demands, leaning in. “If he wanted to press charges, hell, even if he wanted sympathy during voir dire, Conian needs positive media spin. It portrays him as less of a villain. There should be no reason why he wants what happened to vanish.”

“But who has the pull to—” My voice fades as ominous connections begin to form in my mind.

“It’s not necessarily what you’re thinking,” Jared warns, his tone a cautious blend of certainty and unease.

“What am I thinking?” I challenge, my eyes narrowing as I wait for him to articulate the inevitable.

“Just because it involves you doesn’t mean your family is involved. It could be anyone the Byrnes are entangled with.”

“You’re right.”

Jared leans back, considering. “I mean, a corporate giant? Political favor? Plenty of people owe the Byrnes a debt,” he muses aloud.

“But which of those people has the clout to erase every digital footprint of damning evidence?” I press, feeling the pressure intensify with each syllable.

“Admittedly, that narrows the list quite a bit,” he concedes. For a long moment, the hum of the limousine and the swirling autumn hues outside seemed to underscore our grave discussion.

As we wind through tree-lined streets, the landscape unfolding like a painting in rich detail, our destination looms ahead—the estate where my family’s wedding and event planning business is headquartered.

Crossing into the town of Collyer, I murmur, “Funny, I left this morning thinking I was just going to back Aunt Em over a minor issue.”

“Now look—you’re back as the first official family felon,” Jared retorts with a wry twist of his lips.

“If what I’m thinking is correct, maybe I’m not the first. Maybe I’m merely the first to get caught,” I counter, images of countless smartphone screens replaying in my mind like a broken reel.

In this hyper-connected age, there should be some digital residue—the slightest trace of those videos—unless, of course, you had one or more of the world’s most skilled hackers on the payroll.

Jared’s eyes darken in agreement. “This isn’t a media blackout.”

“No,” I say, voice low and certain, “it was a deliberate wipeout of the entire event.” As our car slows and the trees yield to reveal the sprawling mansion where I spent many hours of my childhood, a shiver races down my spine, and I spot my father’s car in the lot.

“Something tells me we’re about to find out,” I say, tilting my chin in the direction of the vehicle with a mix of dread and defiance.

Jared runs a hand over his brow, shaking his head. “What kind of shit storm has this family gotten into now?”

“Now you appreciate my reaction,” I retort, a note of smug satisfaction creeping into my voice.

Before our banter has a chance to settle my nerves, the car door is abruptly yanked open from the outside.

My mother’s fear causes her lips to tremble.

But before she can lay into me for scaring her senseless, Jared tries to alleviate the moment with a burst of humor.

“Violence is never the answer as I’ve been educating your daughter.

” Jared winks at me, because he’s been doing anything but that.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Jared.” Without a word to me, my mother pulls me into her arms. I seek comfort in her indomitable spirit—the kind that could command a hurricane-like force with a mere look.

She steps back before shaking me gently.

“Why wasn’t I your first call? Why did you call your father? ”

“Mama,” I try to interject, reaching out as if to calm her, but she is already too far gone.

Then her voice rises in a bellow that sends chills down my spine. “Before any of that, tell me why I’m being told to play nice when all I want to do is find that bastard, Conian, and throw my own punch in his face—not discuss him in my conference room!”

At that, both Jared and I blurt out, “What?” in unison, our voices echoing in the suddenly charged air.

“Don’t tell me you weren’t aware,” my mother snaps, eyes narrowing. “Your father said we were all meeting here to discuss Declan Conian.” She spits his name like a curse. “Keene said that’s why he wanted to meet here after you were released.”

Jared’s eyebrows went shooting straight up to his hairline. “All I was informed was to bring Kalie here. Neither of us was aware that was Keene’s intent.”

I knew it was true and said so.

“Keene claims he said you requested this.” My mother’s confusion is evident. “In fact, he brought Caleb and Jon with him.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. This is going from bad to worse.

I won’t have the opportunity to speak my truth.

Jared and I exchange a glance as we hurry toward the entrance.

My pulse races. Since this morning, I feel like my life is a movie on fast forward just before it skips to the end, and you miss the crucial parts.

The interior of the mansion is bustling with nervous energy as the various teams that make Amaryllis Events flit about.

A new intern passes by, diligently replacing a floral arrangement Uncle Phil pieced together with a new one.

The smell of cake permeates the air as Aunt Corinna and her team craft another masterpiece of edible art.

As we walk toward the grand staircase, I note the door to Aunt Emily’s studio is closed, but who knows if that’s due to her having a client or to avoid the tension thickening the air.

After we ascend to the second level, it’s easy to understand where the core of the tension is coming from. My father is pacing back and forth, cell glued to his ear. Caleb and Jon are off to the side, trying to remain invisible while locked in a hushed conversation.

Even as I want to walk by them without a word, Jon turns his head and catches my eye.

His face holds so many emotions, I can’t separate them.

Is it relief? Regret? Or worse, complicity?

I steel myself against the urge to confront him, knowing full well that whatever game was unraveling needed careful maneuvering.

“Glad you made it,” Caleb calls out, waving us over with a grim expression.

“What’s the point of doing this here?” I demand as we approach, skipping any of the typical family banality until I get the answers I need. My eyes lock in on my cousin’s face. Every ounce of disgust I feel is aimed directly at him.

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but Caleb interrupts, “Conian claims he wants to let bygones be bygones. Says it’s in everyone’s best interest.” His tone is caustic, but I know better than to think he isn’t aware of every player, every moving piece. Even the one they have the least control over.

Me.

A sardonic smile twists my lips. “Peace, huh? How noble.” My gaze never leaving Jon’s face. “But peace requires trust, and trust requires loyalty. We all know that’s something that’s not in my playbook right now, Uncle Caleb.”

Jon shifts uncomfortably, feeling the weight of my words. That’s when I hear a snort from the top of the stairs. My mother and Aunt Cassidy are standing on the landing, watching the scene play out. Drawling, I tack on, “For being a master of manipulation, I think you overplayed your hand, cousin.”

Jon flushes. “You might not trust me now, but trust this. Cooperating with Declan Conian is imperative.”

“Imperative? Interesting, Jon.” What he clearly realizes is I don’t trust him, not after today. For a man who treated me my whole life as if I were his second sister, he didn’t put my welfare first.

Before any of us can utter another word, my father barks out, “Conference room. Now.”

As the members of my family continue to spar with words, the tension in the room thickens. Observing all of them, I realize I’m not just a player in their game, but a pawn. Somehow, someway, I got caught in the crossfire of something I don’t quite understand.

But I will.