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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Several weeks later

"I can't believe this," I say, sobbing into my mother's embrace. "How is it possible that he managed to get you released, when the judge had previously ruled that there would be no bail amount at all?"

"God, sweetheart. It had to be Him."

Still holding her, I look up at the sky and say a silent prayer.

Yes, it had to be God.

When I woke up from the fainting spell—right after LJ's sister said those awful things—I felt dead inside for nearly an entire day. I turned off my phone and cried for almost twenty-four hours straight.

I cried for myself, for his poor fiancée, and for their child. Then I cried for myself again—this time in rage—until there were no tears left and only emptiness remained.

And then I remembered the name on the letter I had seen, the name of his cousin, and typed it into the search bar on my laptop.

Lazarus Jasper Seymour. A billionaire.

The story was everywhere.

LJ’s cousin—coincidentally the owner of the house we stayed in—and the fiancée of the bastard who deceived me had been in an accident.

I didn’t find any mention of the baby, but her death was all over the news, so I figured she must’ve been pregnant. One article even stated that his cousin was still in a coma.

None of the headlines directly blamed LJ, who I discovered is often called the “God in White,” as apparently he's the world’s top heart surgeon.

But it was obvious to me that he knew everything—that he was at fault.

And the words from his sister left no doubt about what a selfish, miserable man he really is.

I tore up his card and changed my phone SIM card.

I don’t think he’ll try to find me, but I’m not taking any chances.

I don’t trust myself not to throw something at him if I ever see him again.

The strength of the hatred I feel for LJ is matched only by the intensity of the passion he awakened in me.

By the end of that self-pity spiral, I was still alive. I felt like trash—used and discarded—but I was breathing.

And I remembered that I didn’t need to be strong just for me, but for my mother too.

I had made a terrible judgment call by getting involved with that cheating bastard, but the fight for my mother's freedom couldn’t wait.

More than ever, I threw myself into work, this time focusing on something concrete instead of just leaving everything in the hands of lawyers.

I found out that the maid who claimed to have seen my mother push the old woman had a criminal record and vanished mysteriously shortly after the lawsuit began.

Then, as if by some miracle or cosmic alignment, the country’s most famous criminal defense attorney, Matheus Berardi, reached out and offered to take the case pro bono? 1 .

He didn’t say how he found us, and for one brief moment of insanity, I thought maybe LJ had something to do with it.

But then I remembered—I never told him that my mother was in prison.

Besides, someone as selfish as him wouldn’t bother helping us.

I didn’t question the man. I accepted his help as a true miracle. I handed over the information I’d uncovered about the maid, and now, about a week later, here I am at the gates of the prison, finally welcoming my mother back to freedom.

I know we’re being watched by the lawyer and by Badger, but at this moment, I couldn’t care less. I dreamed of this, prayed for it night after night—and now she’s here, free.

Two hours later, we’re home. Mom goes into the kitchen to make coffee for the four of us. I follow her with my eyes the whole time, as if she might vanish at any second.

"I hope you understand that this doesn’t mean my job is done . . . yet," the lawyer says.

"Yes, I understand, Mr. Berardi. But either way, I want to say that I don’t have enough years left in my life to thank you for what you’ve done."

"With the main witness now deceased," he explains, since they’d found the missing woman’s body, "there’s nothing left to support the case. A trial costs the state a fortune, and all they had was the word of one person who, as far as we know, was anything but credible."

"And who’s now dead," Badger adds.

"It’s strange," I say. "When I started digging into her background, I was hoping to find something proving she’d caused the old woman’s fall. But all I found was a history of petty fraud from when she was younger."

"You did excellent investigative work, Alexis. Have you ever considered going to law school?"

"I have, yes. But I’d rather stick to my field. My show is growing fast."

He nods and smiles. The lawyer, despite clearly being wealthy, is kind and approachable. So different from our previous one, who only seemed concerned about when I’d be sending the next check.

"I’ll keep investigating," he says. "Right now, I have several private investigators trying to clarify what really happened that day. I don’t make promises, guys—I’d rather give results than illusions—but I’m optimistic about this case."

My mother enters the dining room with a tray in her hands. "I don’t know what brought you all the way from Boston, Mr. Berardi, but I’m grateful you found it in your heart to help us."

He looks a little embarrassed and spins the coffee cup between his fingers. "I do have to ask you something, Miss Gillis."

"Please, call me Marla."

"All right, Marla. Here’s my question: do you have any enemies?"

"What?"

"From the moment I took on this case, it struck me as rather unusual. We know you didn’t push Mrs. DeCarlo down the stairs. Unless it was the maid herself who committed the crime, why would she falsely accuse you?"

"No. Anilla, the maid who accused me, was in the kitchen with me at the time Mrs. DeCarlo fell."

"Which leaves us with the possibility that she was paid by someone to lie about seeing you push the old woman. Probably the real criminal."

"Whatever the reason she agreed to testify against you, she got what she deserved in the end," Badger says—and silently, I agree.

I’m not quick to forgive, and I won’t pretend I’m sorry that woman is dead. She stole nearly a year of my mother’s life, and if it weren’t for Mr. Berardi, who knows what would’ve happened if she’d gone to trial?

"I don’t have enemies. The people I know are limited to the citizens of this small town. As for friends from my past—not that there were many—I lost touch with them years ago, back in North Carolina."

"But my gut tells me this wasn’t just a case of someone pushing an old lady and blaming the first employee they could find. I think it was targeted at you."

My mother turns pale, but the lawyer offers a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, Marla. Now that I’ve taken your case, I won’t stop until I uncover the truth. You have my word."

1 ? Some prestigious law firms offer a tiny amount of "pro bono" services in very special cases, working for free.