“Now what?”
“We went to the art building too. That’s why I had the tattoo show at the farm. Vicious was mad that the lady didn’t invite him to the tattoo show, but that was good luck, really. Because that’s part of why we got to go see the donkey people.”
I press my lips together. Because I’m getting annoyed. “Vivian. You need to start from the beginning and tell me everything you did that day.”
She smiles at me. “OK.”
And then I go down another rabbit hole.
One I am now a part of.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - VIC
After a two-day shitshow whereby I am treated like a second-class citizen, insulted by the family court judge, and threatened with a long list of felonies if I get within a hundred feet of either Daisy or Vivian, I am released on bail and told to come back in two weeks for the hearing.
OK. I get the reason they’re saying I can’t see Vivi. It’s a fucking lie. But in the context of that lie, it makes sense. But why is there a restraining order against me for Daisy?
I never did anything to Daisy. She never complained about me being around. Shouldn’t she be allowed to see me if Vivi isn’t with her?
Yes. The answer is yes. So the fact that the court says no is a problem.
“We’re gonna get it taken care of,” Ronnie says, turning around to look at me from the passenger seat of her Suburban. “It’s going to be fine. Ford’s lawyer is on it.”
She and Spencer picked me up. They also posted my bail, which was no joke. The prosecutor tacked on the felony kidnapping charge just to be a dick. Because we all know there’s no way I kidnapped Vivi. Alec Steele says they’re just using that charge to introduce evidence to make me look insane.
How does an uncle mistake a random little girl for one of his nieces?
I mean… I look over to my right and find Cinderella shooting me a gummy smile in her car seat and Snow White on the other side of her with a sympathetic look on her face. Behind me, in the third row, are examples three, four, and five.
Ronnie carted them all down to the hearing this morning to put them on display as exhibits A through E. But the prosecutor objected and the judge called it theatrics, so. They just had to sit there and behave for four hours while my shit got sorted.
I don’t know if it’s going to be fine. I mean… the prosecutor has a point.
How did I not notice that Vivi wasn’t one of Ronnie’s kids? How did I spend an entire day with her—with so many now glaringly obvious tells—and not figure it out until I produced her to my sister?
Bobby was right. I’m the king of assholiness.
“Stop it,” Ronnie says. “We’re thinking positive.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I can hear your thoughts, Vic. You’re having doubts.”
Of course I am having doubts. I’m not Spencer Shrike. I’m not Ford Aston. I don’t have that kind of money or those connections. I mean, maybe last week, before I bought a bunch of land that Daisy and Vivi won’t ever see again, I might have considered myself rich because I had all that cash stashed away.
But now I’m broke again. I have that five grand the Morans paid me and that’s about it.
“Vic.” Ronnie is trying to make me look at her. But I’m looking out my window, counting the seconds until we arrive at the mansion. “Vic!”
“Ronnie,” Spencer says. “Leave him alone. He’s thinking.”
“I don’t want him thinking,” Ronnie protests. “It’s all going to work out.”
Spencer pulls the Suburban into the cracked and crumbling driveway and honks the horn so Gramps can bring Oliver out.
“Vic.” Ronnie makes one last attempt.
But I just get out, tell Spencer thank you, and start walking towards the house.
Everything about this charge feels personal.
It’s like… there are people in this town who sincerely want us to be unhappy. And I know that we’ve always had a reputation as the white trash who live on Mountain. But this is somehow worse.
They are trying to take Daisy and Vivian away from me. That’s what this feels like.
I’ve been in court enough times to understand how it works. It’s not about guilt or innocence, it’s about deals.
The prosecution needs a win. So they throw all the charges at you to make you plead out. Admit your guilt for a lesser charge or risk the big one—the one that will land you in prison for a decade—and take it to trial.
That’s what this kidnapping charge is.
Leverage.
Oliver runs past me down the porch steps and then Gramps is waiting for me inside. Everyone else is at work. Pops had to take my clients at the shop or we probably wouldn’t make rent this month.