Page 82 of Shatter

"I want you to represent a couple in court - badly."

"Interesting... go on..." he says, rubbing his chin.

I explain the Abby situation, and how horrible her parents are. He got himself a girl a year ago who has three kids herself that he thinks of as his own. I knew he wouldn't like hearing about children being taken advantage of. His normally chaotic energy turns dark the more I tell him. When I explain the abortion, he stands, punching the table between us.

"Those fuckers," he growls, a lock of brown hair falling into his face.

"I know."

"How can I help?"

"I want you to introduce yourself. Offer to represent them pro-bono. Feed them some bullshit and ego stroking. I'm fairly certain Athena is a covert narcissist. A little bit of flattery will have her eating out of your palm. Then, when we go to court, I want you to bomb it."

He nods, the gears in his intelligent brain already miles ahead.

"I'll get them to trust me, feed you intel they give me. If they really have spent her money, they could be looking at jail time..." His smile turns wicked. "And I know the perfect judge to try the case..."

His smile is terrifying. I wouldn't want to be at the center of his attention when he decides to destroy someone.

"Judge Mercer's niece was a child actress who was killed in a domestic violence situation. She won't like the idea that Melody was taken advantage of..."

I join him and stand. I shove my hand towards him, realizing that, mentally, he's a hundred steps ahead of us, and a million miles away. I shake his hand and thank him for his help. He'll call in the favor one day, but I don't care.

I want Athena and Chris six feet under. But I’ll settle for behind bars.

Chapter forty-five

Abby

I've been avoiding Athena and Chris this entire week, and they've been giving me space, too. I'm pretty sure they think that if they leave me alone I'll go back to their perfect little play thing.

But when the doorbell rings, Friday night, I sneak out into the hallway to watch.

Athena is already marching toward the door.

"We're not expecting anyone," Chris calls from the sitting room.

She checks herself in the mirror by the entrance before opening the door.

Of course she does.

Even for an unexpected visitor, Athena Snow has to look perfect.

A man stands on the front step wearing an expensive charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, and no tie. His brown hair is just a little too long, falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look a little wild - a little crazy. It's a juxtaposition to how tailored and expensive his suit and loafers are.

There's a dangerous, manic aura around him I can't quite explain.

"Mrs. Snow?" he asks.

"This is she."

I roll my eyes at my mother. Who talks about themselves in the third person?

The man sticks his hand out offering it to her, while tucking a beige folder under his other arm.

Athena's slow to shake his hand.

"My name is Mathew Richardson, esquire," he says in explanation, and his smile is disarming. He even bends at the waist a little to seem less intimidating.