Rebound: Chapter 32

Less than an hour after I first spoke to Shane Ryan, he calls me back. “The information you requested has been delivered to your office,” he says. He’s no-nonsense, and I like that.

“That was … quick.”

“Our girl is the best in the business. Plus, she says this asshole was so arrogant he didn’t bother covering his tracks. It was all there on his laptop, waiting for someone like her to come along and find it. Not that there is anyone else like her.”

“Well, I appreciate it. How do I compensate Jessie for her time?”

“No need. She’d be insulted if you tried. She considers it her honor to take down scum like this. What are you going to do with this information? I hope I don’t have to point out that it can’t be used in court, and it can’t come back to her.”

“No, I understand. And I’m going to use it to fuck him up. It’s possible I may also beat the crap out of him.”

He laughs, and it’s not an especially pleasant sound. “Sounds like a plan. You need any help with that second part, you know where we are.”

As I hang up, Beverley knocks on my door and brings me a thumb drive in the shape of an actual thumb. Huh. I take my time familiarizing myself with its contents, and by the end of it, I have a clear picture of what Freddie has been up to. Amber was far from the first woman he abused, as we suspected. He’s done the same thing to several clients and female employees. There are emails about it going back years, and I’m guessing this is only the tip of the iceberg. Most of the women will have done what Amber’s first instinct was, try to forget about it, and who can blame them? The man is powerful and rich, a master manipulator.

The ones Jessie found details about are the ones who tried to take him on. Several threatened legal action, and one went so far as to file a police report. That went away because there was no evidence. It was her word against his, and she was an office cleaner who had only recently moved here from Puerto Rico. I wouldn’t be surprised if cash exchanged hands with law enforcement also. The other women he basically threatened right back—but bigger, better, and with more bite. He told them he’d take their homes, their jobs, their whole lives. If they told, nobody would believe them anyway, he said—he was too well connected, too well respected.

Fuck, it turns my stomach. I have no idea if he really could have done all the things he threatened, but eventually, they all believed he could and went away. And Freddie just carried on hurting more and more women. I despised him when I thought he was merely an adulterer and a creep—now I’d like to wipe him from the face of the earth. I force myself to sit and think this through, because anything I do now will not be done with a sound mind.

I print out the information, along with photos of some of the women. Once that’s done, I sit a while longer. After twenty minutes, I still don’t seem to be getting any calmer. My quest for a sound mind is doomed. When I went home to shower and change, I put on one of my favorite shirts, but fuck it. I can get a new shirt.

Freddie’s office isn’t far and I have a lot of excess energy to burn off, so I choose to walk. Without engaging with the receptionist, his assistant, or anyone else—I’m too mad to behave like a civilized human being—I storm right into his office and slam the door in the face of the spluttering young man chasing me.

“You want me to call security, Mr. Kemp?” the kid yells through the door as I stalk toward Freddie’s desk. I loom over him for a few seconds, then sit down in the guest chair, enjoying his confusion. I can pretty much hear the wheels of his brain turning, working to figure out all the angles.

“No thanks, Tom,” he calls back. “Mr. James here is an old friend.”

“Are … Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure. Go away, Tom.”

Freddie finally gives me his full attention, and I glare back at him, beyond furious but keeping it under control. “What can I do for you, Elijah?” he says, smiling smugly.

I want to put my fist through the little runt’s face. Instead, I lay the photos on his desk so they’re facing him. “Samantha Salazar. Michelle Lowe. Andrea Sherman. Cindy Hernandez. Charlotte Carter. These names mean anything to you, Freddie?”

He gazes down at them, and I have to admit, he’s good. Like Drake and Nathan, he has a superb lawyer face. I wouldn’t want to play poker against any of them. Other than the slightest twitch of an eyebrow, there’s no reaction whatsoever. He turns them back around to me. “Nope, not a thing. Why are you here, Elijah?” He leans back and folds his hands over his flabby gut. “Drake not cutting it as a divorce attorney?”

Is he fucking serious? Does he actually think I’m here to ask him for representation? Unreal.

“You know why I’m here, Freddie, so let’s cut to the chase. You assaulted my wife, and you implied you were her lawyer.”

“Be careful with your baseless accusations, Elijah. I could sue you for defamation. As for the other … Well, I told you the facts. Your inferences are your own. Now, if that’s all, I’m a busy man.” He gestures toward the door and turns his attention to his computer.

I slam my palm down on the desk, and his chair squeaks when he jumps back. His lawyer face fails him, and as I lean closer, he goes pale. There must be something in my eyes that tells him I’m not fucking around here.

“You. Assaulted. My. Wife.”

He stands up, and I know he’s going to make a run for it. All the blinds are closed, cutting off any visual contact with the rest of the building. He probably keeps it like this to allow him to play his sick games. To hide what he was doing to Amber, to the others like her. He takes a few steps toward the door, and I block him. I have maybe seven inches and a hundred pounds on this guy—there is no way past me.

He looks scared when he realizes he’s trapped, and I enjoy it. That’s exactly how Amber must have felt. I move forward, bumping into him and forcing him to take a step back. Each time he steps back, I step forward. He frantically searches for an escape, his hands held up defensively in front of him.

“There’s no way out, Freddie. I have you cornered. Just like you did with Amber. How does it feel? You want me to touch your dick, Freddie? You want me to bend you over the desk and shove a stapler up your ass and tell you you’re enjoying it?”

He shakes, and I smell urine. A wet patch spreads across the front of his pants, and he whimpers, “Elijah, please—I can explain.”

“Really? Go on then.”

Despite his terror, he blusters and splutters, managing a few incoherent sentences about “a misunderstanding” and “mixed messages” and “reading the signals wrong.” It’s an impressive amount of bullshit for a man who just pissed himself in fear.

I keep him trapped but pretend to be listening. When he’s done, he looks up at me, hope shining in his eyes, and I can only laugh. “Nah. Sorry, Freddie, but I don’t believe you. Let’s get some fresh air, shall we?”

I slide open the door to his balcony and shove him outside. The view is quite impressive from the top floor. I hold him by the bunched-up fabric of his shirt and push him right to the balcony railing, leaning into him so he’s bent backward. He clings to my jacket for dear life. It’s windy up here, and his hair flutters, lifting away from his bald patch. “Elijah, please,” he whines. “You’re a civilized man, don’t do this.”

“Oh Freddie, that shows how little you know me. I’m not civilized. Not when it comes to my wife. My wife, who you laid your filthy hands on. My beautiful, perfect wife, who you dared to touch without her permission, you fucking pervert.”

My fury builds as the words pour out, and without thinking it through, I grab his ankles and dangle him over the edge of the balcony. He flails his arms and screams, but the wind carries most of the sound away. “Nobody can hear you, Freddie. And you can’t talk your way out of this one, you little shit! How does it feel to be powerless, huh? To have someone touch you without permission?”

I shake him a little, realizing as I do that he’s a bit heavier than he looks. I’d dearly love to let go, but I promised Amber I wouldn’t kill him. Deep down, despite my rage, I know she’s right.

He tries to curl his body, but he can’t manage it. “Let me up. Elijah, let me up. What do you want from me? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What do I want? I want to drop you, Freddie. I want to kill you for what you did. But what can I say? I promised my incredible wife I wouldn’t commit murder today. So, what you’re going to do is this: You’re going to reach out to all the women you’ve abused. Not just the ones I mentioned today, but all of them. You’re going to apologize and tell them it wasn’t their fault. You’re going to give them all, let’s see, a million bucks is a nice round number. It doesn’t make up for what happened, but it might pay for their fucking therapy, you bastard.”

We’re so high up here that the cars whizzing through the city streets look like Luke’s toys.

“A million?” he cries. “That’s too much!”

Is he actually fucking trying to negotiate right now? While he’s hanging upside down about to go splat on a busy Manhattan sidewalk? I shake my head. “The price just went up. A million each, and a new car. Bentleys are good.”

I let go of one ankle and hold the other with both hands. He screams and jerks, his free leg windmilling through the air. “Okay! Okay! Whatever you say. A million and a Bentley.”

“We have a deal then, Freddie? I sure hope so, for your sake. I keep in shape, but I spent a long time in the gym last night, and my arms are tired …” I shake him a little, just for fun, but my arms really are starting to feel the strain.

“We have a deal. Pull me up, you fucking psycho!”

I haul him back over the balcony, “accidentally” knocking him around a bit on the way, and by the time he’s sprawled on his ass, he also has a bleeding nose and scrapes all over his face. “Here,” I say, crouching down in front of him, “let me check that nose. Looks like it could be broken.”

My jab is hard and accurate, and he squeals. “Yeah. It is now,” I say. “Come on, Freddie, in we go.”

I drag him back into his office and slide the balcony door closed behind us. It seems weirdly quiet now that we’re away from the traffic and the wind. I throw him into his chair, and he slumps there, covered in piss, hair in disarray, bleeding and crying as he holds his hands over his nose. I gather up the printouts and stand over him. “Look at me, Freddie,” I command. He does as he’s told, a mix of pain and hatred in his beady eyes.

“You might be thinking about calling the cops after I leave or that you’ll find a way to screw me over financially—but forget all that. You called me a psycho out there, and you’re right. It’s a little family secret. All the James men have an inner psycho that we channel when we need it. So let me make something very clear. Are you listening to me?” I slap him across the face with an open palm, smearing blood across his cheek.

He nods and mutters, “I’m listening.”

“Good. This is what’s going to happen—I’m going to leave now. You’re going to set the wheels in motion for the compensation package we discussed. You will email me a copy of your apology first, so I can make damn sure you grovel hard enough. My suggested wording would include something along the lines of ‘I’m a fucking scum-sucking asshole who preys on the innocent, and I beg your forgiveness’—you’re a lawyer, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. You are not going to report any of this to the police or tell a single soul about it—you will explain your injuries the traditional way. You were clumsy and fell down the fucking stairs. Are you with me so far?”

More blood drips from his nose when he nods. “Good man. If you do tell a soul, then I will come back and I will kill you. I might do it myself, or I might hire someone else to do it. I have the money and the resources. You’ll never see it coming, Freddie. Also, remember that I now know everything. I will be watching you; others will be watching you. If you touch another woman or so much as look at one inappropriately, I will know. Maybe I’ll pay a spy to come work for you. Maybe I’ll have secret cameras installed. I could have you tailed. But I’ll know, Freddie, and I will end you. And while we’re at it, why don’t you stop fucking cheating on your wife.”

“I won’t do it again, Elijah,” he croaks out. “I promise I won’t. I’m sick, I’ll get help.”

“Fuck off, Freddie. You are sick, but it’s not an illness. You’re just a nasty little shit. Right. Well. That was a good chat—very productive. I’ll leave you now. You have a lot to do. And don’t forget—I’ll be watching.”

I wipe my bloody hands on his shirt and leave him crying in his office.

Yeah. I feel better now.