wrong?” I ask instantly.
“Do you really need to ask?” Dad’s expression is dark and menacing. “I got a phone call from the headmaster earlier. He told me all about your little temper tantrum in the locker room.”
I bristle. “It wasn’t a temper tantrum. Richmond was saying shit about Mom.”
For once, the mention of my mother doesn’t cause my dad to soften. “I don’t care if he was insulting Jesus Christ himself—you can’t fight at school, Reed! Not anymore, and especially not when you’re facing a second-degree murder charge!”
Equal parts shame and anger weigh on my gut. My dad’s face is red, his fists clenched together at his sides, but through the haze of anger in his eyes, I catch a glimpse of something even worse—disappointment.
I can’t remember the last time I cared whether or not my father was disappointed in me. But…I kind of care right now.
“Sit down, Reed.” The request comes from Grier, who has his trusty gold pen poised over his legal pad. “There are a few things we need to go over.”
Reluctantly, I walk over to one of the padded chairs and sit down. My dad stiffly lowers himself into the other chair.
“We’ll discuss the fighting in a moment,” Grier says. “First, you need to tell me why your DNA was found under Brooke’s fingernails.”
Shock slams into me. “What?”
“I spoke to the assistant district attorney today, as well the detectives in charge of the investigation. They were waiting for DNA testing to be conducted before they divulged any details to us. But the results are back, and believe me, they were eager to share them.” Grier’s face becomes grave. “Skin cells were found in the fingernail scrapings they took from Brooke. DNA matches yours.”
“How did they get my DNA?” I demand. “I didn’t provide a sample.”
“They have it from the last arrest.”
I wince. Last arrest. That sounds bad. “They can do that?”
“Once you’re in the system, you’re there forever.” Grier shuffles a few papers while Dad looks on grimly. “We’re going to go over your night, step by step, second by second. Don’t leave anything out. If you passed gas, I want to know about it. What did you do after you went to see Brooke?”
“I came home.”
“Right after?”
“Yes.”
Grier’s features sharpen. “Are you sure about that?”
I furrow my brow. “I…think so?”
“Wrong answer. The security footage has you arriving an hour later.”
“Arriving where?”
“Here,” he snaps, looking annoyed. “Your home has video surveillance, Reed, or have you forgotten?”
I glance at my father, who nods grimly. “We checked the tapes when you were at school,” he tells me. “The cameras show you coming home at ten p.m.”
“A full hour after you left the O’Halloran penthouse,” Grier points out.
I scan my brain again, trying to remember that night. “I drove around the city a bit,” I say slowly. “I was still pissed about that whole conversation with Brooke. I wanted to calm myself down before I—”
“No,” my dad interrupts.
“No what?” I’m so fucking confused right now.
“You don’t say stuff like that, you hear me? You cannot insinuate, even between us, that you were in a state that required ‘calming down’ that night. You fought with Brooke, but it was no big deal,” Dad says firmly. “You were calm when you went there and calm when you left.”
Frustration knots inside me. “What does it matter if I drove around for an hour or three or ten?” I burst out. “ Their tapes show me leaving the penthouse twenty minutes after I got there. So what if I didn’t get home until an hour later?”
“They’re going to subpoena your security footage,” Grier tells my father, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“Again, what does it matter?” I press.
Grier points the pen at me. “It matters because you lied. If you lie once on the stand, they will crucify you
“Do you really need to ask?” Dad’s expression is dark and menacing. “I got a phone call from the headmaster earlier. He told me all about your little temper tantrum in the locker room.”
I bristle. “It wasn’t a temper tantrum. Richmond was saying shit about Mom.”
For once, the mention of my mother doesn’t cause my dad to soften. “I don’t care if he was insulting Jesus Christ himself—you can’t fight at school, Reed! Not anymore, and especially not when you’re facing a second-degree murder charge!”
Equal parts shame and anger weigh on my gut. My dad’s face is red, his fists clenched together at his sides, but through the haze of anger in his eyes, I catch a glimpse of something even worse—disappointment.
I can’t remember the last time I cared whether or not my father was disappointed in me. But…I kind of care right now.
“Sit down, Reed.” The request comes from Grier, who has his trusty gold pen poised over his legal pad. “There are a few things we need to go over.”
Reluctantly, I walk over to one of the padded chairs and sit down. My dad stiffly lowers himself into the other chair.
“We’ll discuss the fighting in a moment,” Grier says. “First, you need to tell me why your DNA was found under Brooke’s fingernails.”
Shock slams into me. “What?”
“I spoke to the assistant district attorney today, as well the detectives in charge of the investigation. They were waiting for DNA testing to be conducted before they divulged any details to us. But the results are back, and believe me, they were eager to share them.” Grier’s face becomes grave. “Skin cells were found in the fingernail scrapings they took from Brooke. DNA matches yours.”
“How did they get my DNA?” I demand. “I didn’t provide a sample.”
“They have it from the last arrest.”
I wince. Last arrest. That sounds bad. “They can do that?”
“Once you’re in the system, you’re there forever.” Grier shuffles a few papers while Dad looks on grimly. “We’re going to go over your night, step by step, second by second. Don’t leave anything out. If you passed gas, I want to know about it. What did you do after you went to see Brooke?”
“I came home.”
“Right after?”
“Yes.”
Grier’s features sharpen. “Are you sure about that?”
I furrow my brow. “I…think so?”
“Wrong answer. The security footage has you arriving an hour later.”
“Arriving where?”
“Here,” he snaps, looking annoyed. “Your home has video surveillance, Reed, or have you forgotten?”
I glance at my father, who nods grimly. “We checked the tapes when you were at school,” he tells me. “The cameras show you coming home at ten p.m.”
“A full hour after you left the O’Halloran penthouse,” Grier points out.
I scan my brain again, trying to remember that night. “I drove around the city a bit,” I say slowly. “I was still pissed about that whole conversation with Brooke. I wanted to calm myself down before I—”
“No,” my dad interrupts.
“No what?” I’m so fucking confused right now.
“You don’t say stuff like that, you hear me? You cannot insinuate, even between us, that you were in a state that required ‘calming down’ that night. You fought with Brooke, but it was no big deal,” Dad says firmly. “You were calm when you went there and calm when you left.”
Frustration knots inside me. “What does it matter if I drove around for an hour or three or ten?” I burst out. “ Their tapes show me leaving the penthouse twenty minutes after I got there. So what if I didn’t get home until an hour later?”
“They’re going to subpoena your security footage,” Grier tells my father, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“Again, what does it matter?” I press.
Grier points the pen at me. “It matters because you lied. If you lie once on the stand, they will crucify you
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