Chapter 2
“Who put the gun in your car?”
My voice came out sharper than I intended.
Jada was crying so hard that I could hear her struggling to breathe.
“I can't tell you over the phone.”
“Jada, listen carefully. Don't explain the facts of your case to anyone else until you have a lawyer present.”
She sniffled.
“Are you coming?”
I stared at my keys.
For one terrible moment, pride and love stood on opposite sides of my heart.
I remembered her screaming that I wasn't her father.
I remembered Claire agreeing.
But then another memory pushed through.
Jada at six years old.
Standing at the front door with a little pink backpack.
Asking whether I was going to leave like everybody else.
I had knelt in front of her and promised that I would stay.
That promise had never contained a condition about biology.
“Yes,” I said.
Jada gasped.
“Really?”
“I'm coming. Don't answer questions about the allegations without counsel.”
She began sobbing again.
“Thank you, Dad.”
The word hurt.
But this time, it also reminded me who I was.
I ended the call and grabbed my jacket.
Claire stood beside the door.
“I'm coming with you.”
I nodded.
Neither of us spoke during the drive.
The streets of Atlanta were nearly empty.
Rain slid down the windshield.
Claire stared straight ahead, holding her phone with both hands.
Eventually, she whispered, “I'm sorry about yesterday.”
I kept my eyes on the road.
“Now isn't the time.”
“I know.”
“Then save it.”
She turned toward the window.
I felt cruel.
But I couldn't spend that moment repairing our marriage while Jada was sitting in a police station frightened out of her mind.
We arrived shortly after midnight.
I identified myself to the officer at the front desk.
He recognized my name.
I had represented clients in that building before.
But walking through those doors as a father was different.
I knew how frightened suspects could become.
I knew how quickly innocent statements could be misunderstood.
And I knew how difficult it was to watch someone you loved face criminal charges.
A detective named Robert Ellis met us in the hallway.
He was a tall man in his fifties with tired eyes.
“Mr. Bennett.”
“Detective.”
He shook my hand.
“Your daughter is being held while we investigate a serious offense.”
“What offense?”
“Armed robbery and potential involvement in a homicide investigation.”
Claire grabbed my arm.
“Homicide?”
Ellis nodded.
“A convenience store owner was shot three nights ago. The weapon recovered from your daughter's vehicle may be connected.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Has ballistics confirmed that?”
“Not yet.”
“Then it's a potential connection, not an established one.”
He studied me.
“Correct.”
I took a breath.
“Has she requested counsel?”
“Yes.”
“I want to speak with her privately.”
Ellis nodded.
“We can arrange that.”
I glanced at Claire.
“Stay here.”
She looked ready to argue.
Then she nodded.
I followed Ellis down the hallway.
Jada sat alone in a small interview room.
Her braids were tangled.
Her eyes were swollen.
She wore the same black crop top and cargo pants she had worn during our argument.
When she saw me through the window, she stood so quickly that her chair scraped across the floor.
The officer opened the door.
“Dad!”
She rushed toward me.
I caught her before she stumbled.
She buried her face against my chest.
“I'm scared.”
I wrapped my arms around her.
For a few seconds, I forgot everything she had said the night before.
I forgot the argument.
I forgot my wounded pride.
I remembered only the little girl who had once clung to my leg because she was afraid of thunderstorms.
“I know,” I whispered.
She held me tighter.
“Please don't leave.”
I closed my eyes.
“I'm here.”
After she calmed down, I sat across from her.
I explained that although I was an attorney, I would arrange independent criminal defense counsel because I was emotionally involved and might become a witness.
She nodded.
Then I asked her what had happened.
She told me she had borrowed twelve thousand dollars from our account.
I felt anger rise.
But I remained quiet.
“Why?” I asked.
She looked down.
“Because somebody said they needed it.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“Darius.”
I frowned.
“Darius who?”
“Darius Cole.”
The name sounded familiar.
Then I remembered.
Darius Cole was Jada's biological father.
I hadn't heard his name in years.
Claire had told me he disappeared when Jada was a baby.
She claimed he had no interest in raising his daughter.
I had never questioned the story.
“Your biological father?”
Jada nodded.
I stared at her.
“How long have you been speaking to him?”
“Almost three months.”
My chest tightened.
“And you didn't tell us?”
“He said Mom wouldn't understand.”
“Did he ask you for money?”
She nodded.
“He said he was sick. He needed treatment.”
I looked at her.
“Did you verify that?”
“No.”
“Jada…”
She began crying.
“I thought if I helped him, he'd finally want me.”
The words stopped me.
I could have argued about the money.
I could have reminded her how many times I had warned her about trusting strangers.
But I saw something in her face that made my anger fade.
She was still the child who wondered why her biological father had left.
And someone had used that pain against her.
“What happened after you gave him the money?”
She wiped her cheeks.
“He started asking me to do favors.”
“What favors?”
“Delivering packages.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of packages?”
“He said they contained electronics.”
“Did you open them?”
“No.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
I leaned back.
This was becoming much worse.
Then she whispered, “Yesterday, he borrowed my car.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“He said his truck broke down.”
“When did he return it?”
“About an hour before the police stopped me.”
I closed my eyes.
The gun.
The robbery.
The money.
Everything was beginning to fit together.
But there was one question I couldn't ignore.
“Jada, why did the police stop your car?”
She looked frightened again.
“They said it matched a vehicle connected to the robbery.”
I leaned forward.
“Did Darius tell you where he was going?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Did he give you anything when he returned?”
Her lips trembled.
“A small black bag.”
My heart began pounding.
“Where is it?”
She swallowed.
“In the trunk.”
I stared at her.
“What was inside?”
She began crying.
May you like
“Dad, I didn't look.”
Then she whispered, “But when the police opened it, they found stacks of cash.”
