Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“No,” I say quickly, a squeeze in my chest at the thoughtful offer. “No. You have amazing family traditions, and I’m not intruding on any of that, Oliver. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. We’re talking about this tonight. I really have to go. Later, sweetheart.” He, of course, calls everyone “sweetheart,” and everyone but me seems to like it, but it’s a joke between us that’s become part of our friendship. He starts to hang up but hesitates, his tone serious. “Ember.”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to win because you made us all see his innocence, even if my boss won’t admit it.”
“Are you sure I convinced you? After this happy birthday chat, I’m not so sure.”
“You convinced me before the trial ever started. He’s all you talked about for months, despite my frequent ethical objections, I might add. And catching killers is good, but we never catch the real one when we blame the innocent one. You did good.” This time, he hangs up.
I drop the phone on the bed. God, I really love/hate that man. It’s crazy kismet perfection that a bad date led us to best friend status. I throw off the blanket and sit up when, unbidden, my mind flashes back to the woman in front of the courthouse, to the moment she collapsed, lying on the ground, her body jerking around as we tried desperately to help her while we waited on the emergency team. By the time the ambulance had gotten there and I’d confirmed the woman was safe, I had to be in court, and so had Oliver.
I’d tried to check on her after court, but no one at any hospital I called knew who I was talking about. I’d called every hospital possible, and they all ended with the same outcome.
The woman didn’t exist.
The Sacred Book of Nephilim
It is written that there is only one true Mordechai Angel, Aza, the one who has the power to protect or destroy but must choose either path. Choice is free will, and free will is a gift or a curse, determined by who yields its power. Influence and temptation are mighty swords, as is the pleasure of the flesh. This Mordechai must choose allies cautiously, must align with the true light, or darkness will fall. The direction this wind blows will be as mighty as the outcome that will frame all that humanity will know and all that it will be. Slaves, soldiers, friends. Enemies, life—or death. For without the one true Mordechai Angel, Aza, all shall perish who do not bow to the darkest knight of them all, the one true Mordechai Demon known as Sabon.
Chapter two
After my chat with Oliver, I head into my cubbyhole of a bathroom to take a quick shower because, of course, I don’t have the luxury of a birthday bath. Even if I had time for such a thing, my humble little condo is without a tub. But it’s cute, in budget, and close to both work and the courthouse. One day, I’ll go bigger and better, but for now, I’ve sunk almost every dime my grandfather left me last year from his hard-earned consulting business into my own firm and done so with the certainty that I was doing what he’d encouraged: choosing my own path and a future not dictated by anyone, not even my parents. He’d be proud of me for my courage to believe in myself as much as he did. That said, in hindsight, my own self is only one person, which is limiting—a thought that delivers me to both the shower and an inner monologue I can’t seem to flip off. Winning this case is necessary. I’ve staked my credibility and my firm’s future on a not guilty plea. I’ve gone so far as to publicly vow my mission to force the authorities to find the true killer before he takes another life. This isn’t about money or fame to me. It’s about right and wrong. It’s about stopping the practice of creating fall guys for personal election-year gain. If I wanted to drench myself in Chanel, I’d be working for my father’s top firm, not out on my own.
I tried that. Working with him and having him treat me like an underperforming stranger when I did nothing but overperform was worse than living with him and being ignored.
Shaking off a thought that will mess with my head, I refocus on today, on my own trial, through my own firm. I turn off the water. It’s time to go to court.
Only a quick glance at my watch tells me it’s really not time to head that direction, not just yet. It takes me all of thirty seconds for my mind to fill with nerves over the verdict, but I quickly shut that down. I’ve emphasized the prosecution’s circumstantial evidence and explained the legal standard of reasonable doubt, which I’ve certainly established. I brought in experts. I even had some of his students speak on his behalf. I’ve done everything I can do, and now it’s time to put it all in God’s hands.