Paper rustling. Voices in the background. God, how many of them are in the office now? Fuck, did someone laugh?
“There isn’t much we can do about the video and shutting this down. We can try to copyright it, prohibited it from future upload, but we can’t destroy what’s already out there, the existing downloads.”
How is it possible there’s nothing they can do to stop this?
“What the fuck is the good of paying you a ridiculous retainer every month if you can’t be useful once?” I say, weaving through traffic.
“We’ll do all we can here to shut it down, contact the hosting company, Twitter, Google directly, YouTube, anywhere else this is popping up, but, Manny, the girl is your stepdaughter, right? Do you want to press charges against her?”
My anger goes from overdrive into something catastrophic. “Are you fucking out of your mind? Press charges? Do you think I’d toss the girl in jail? She’s Chrissie’s daughter. No. Hell no.”
“I didn’t think so,” Goldman responds quickly. “Have you called a criminal attorney?”
My blood stills. “A criminal attorney. Why?”
“We’re watching the network news, Manny. Your Malibu house is surrounded by spectators, fans, and police. I’ll send Lawrence Walker to meet you there. He is our best criminal defense attorney. I need to see what I can do with the DA to prevent her from being arrested. It’s a long shot trying to keep this is a private family matter. I’ll do my best, but no promises here. I’m hanging up now so we can get to work stopping events before they go any further. Don’t do anything to inflame the situation when you get there.”
Click.
Don’t do anything to inflame?
How the fuck could I inflame this?
Heavy silence fills the car.
The highway becomes clogged again less than a quarter mile from my house. Oh fuck, have they shut down the coastal route? Barricades. Oh no. There are hundreds of people, media, and what looks like half the cops in LA spread down the road in front of my house doing crowd control. More cops in my driveway.
Oh fuck.
Kaley must have tweeted my address, and now every loon in LA is here for the party. She’s made it a happening.
“Fuck,” Len says, staring out the windshield. “We can’t leave the car here. We can’t go through that on foot. Maybe we should just hang back until the cops get everything under control.”
“Are you fucking out of your mind? Whatever is going on with Kaley I am not letting someone else take care it.”
I pull into the curb, park, and climb from the car. A few seconds later, Len springs out of the passenger seat and catches up to me.
I glare at him. You better fucking follow me, you wanker. Your boy is in there. He’s part of this nightmare.
I’m almost to the police line. People start to scream. Shit. Recognized. I block out the shouting, the voices of the police and I try to step around the sawhorse.
A uniformed sheriff stops me. “You can’t go in there, sir. It’s an active crime scene.”
Crime scene?
Is he fucking kidding?
Criminal attorney.
I get it, Goldman.
Maybe I won’t fire you, after all.
“That’s my house,” I announce, furious and anxious. “My attorney is meeting me here. That’s my stepdaughter inside. Take me to my house. You can’t prevent me from entering my own property.”
OK, that was pure bullshit since I’m pretty sure law enforcement can prevent me from entering the house, but he looks unsure. He turns away and speaks into a shoulder radio. Fuck, I can’t hear.
“What’s happening?” Len whispers.
I shrug.
Oh fuck. A line of cops in front me. Are they fucking arresting me? All I asked was to be permitted into my own house.
The sheriff moves the barricade, making a walk-through space. “The commander at the scene said to let you through.”
I’m escorted into the crowd surrounded by cops. That’s a fucking strange turn of events in my life not worth examining at present. In my driveway, I’m taken to what looks like the officer in charge, deep in conversation with another man dressed in Armani, probably Walker the attorney. How did he get here before me? They’re arguing. Yep, he’s my attorney.
Walker rushes toward me. “Don’t say a word. Not one word to anyone but me.”
I glare. “I hadn’t planned to.”
“They can’t get into the house,” Walker says softly and deliberately. “They’ve cut the power. Everything is still streaming live, though. But your house is like a vault. Bulletproof windows. Concrete two feet thick. They don’t know how to get inside. That’s the only break we’ve caught here. They don’t have a warrant yet. They don’t need one, but they’re waiting because it’s your house and every fucker with a camera on the street is filming this. They want to arrest her. I’m trying to stall them and prevent that until Goldman can do something with the district attorney. Don’t say anything. Let me do all the talking.”
“Tell them to let me into my house. Alone. Let me talk to her alone.”
Walker shakes his head. “They’re not going to do that.”
“Ask them. Beg them. I don’t give a fuck how much you have to grovel or threaten or whatever else you do. Just get me inside so I can talk to her alone before anything else happens here.”
For a moment I consider pushing past them and entering my house without their permission. Walker’s hand closes on my arm.
“No, you’re not doing that,” he warns severely. “You are not going to try to enter without their permission. They’ll arrest you, Manny. You’re not doing this.”
Oh God.
What the fuck?
How did that little prick know what I was thinking?
I’m not totally aware of my own thoughts.
I’m too consumed by what is rushing through my body. My heart is racing so quickly it feels like I’m about to have a fucking heart attack and I’m out of my mind with worry. The strongest impulse in me is to get to Kaley, in a way I’ve never felt before, nerve-racking, desperate, and uncontrollable.
“Please. Get me in there. I need to know she’s OK. Now.”
My insides freeze. The words were out of my mouth before I realized I’d spoken. Walker stares at me, and I can tell he can see I’m the furthest thing from angry.
“What’s going on?” Len asks.
I turn.
I forgot he was with me.
“Walker is trying to get me into the house. Alone.”
I rake a hand through my hair.
There’s got to be something more I can do while I wait for them to sort out what they’re going to do. I’ve never felt so fucking useless. I need to help Kaley. I grab my cell phone from my pocket. I go to my contacts. I hit the number.
Ring. Ring. Answer.
“Oh Christ, I’ve been watching the news all afternoon. Is Kaley OK?”
Jack.
Why did I call him?
I fight to focus my thoughts.
“I need your help, Jack. I’m trying to get into the house to talk to her. The police want to arrest her. You know people. You know where to pull strings. Do what you do. Call who you call. Just stop this—”
Oh fuck, I’m crying. Is this what fear and panic does?
“If they arrest her, Jack, her life is ruined and she will blame me for it forever. I don’t know why she’s doing this, but I do know she is going to hate me if I don’t stop it and I’ll never repair that.”
A pause.
“Hang in there, buddy. Focus on Kaley. I’ll take care of the rest. Remember, whatever happens you’ve got to be the one in control, calm, and managing shit.”
Click. I shove my cell into my pocket.
It takes an hour before the officers huddled around Walker look less adversarial. They are all nodding in what looks to be agreement on something.
Walker rushes back toward me.
“I don’t know what the fuck happened, but they are letting you in,” he says. “And here’s the deal, Manny. You get ten minutes alone with her. Then they’re coming in. They are not going to arrest her. They are going to talk to her and then turn her over to your custody.”