Kings of Linwood Academy - The Complete Box Set: A Dark High School Romance Series Callie Rose (i read a book TXT) 📖

I pull my own phone out of my back pocket and type his number in there, then connect the call. It’s the weekend, so I’m guessing he’s not in his office, but I’m also guessing this is his personal cell number.

After a few rings, a pleasantly rough voice asks, “Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Hollowell. This is Harlow Thomas. I used to work for the Black family with my mom. Penelope.”

“Oh… yes, of course.”

There’s recognition in his voice, but confusion too. He definitely knows who I am, but he’s gotta be wondering why on earth I’m calling him.

It’s not like we really know each other. I saw him at a couple of Samuel and Audrey’s cocktail parties, but we’ve never had an actual conversation or anything. In fact, I didn’t even like him all that much the first time I met him. He was one of about a dozen guys who “accidentally” brushed against me at the first party I worked, although—unlike the rest of them—he kept his hands to himself after that, so maybe his actually was an accident.

But he recognized me when I opened the door for him at the last cocktail party, and I swear there was sympathy in his voice when he said my mom’s name.

He might not know me, but he does know her. At least a little bit.

And I have to hope that’s enough.

“I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend, but I’m calling because my mom’s gotten into a little bit of legal trouble.”

“Ah. Yes. I know,” he says slowly.

“She’s been accused of murder, but she didn’t do it!” I blurt out. He saw her get arrested, so even if he doesn’t know all the particulars, there’s no reason to sugarcoat this or dance around it. “They’re holding her without bail, and her trial date is set, and her court-appointed lawyer sucks—”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Thomas.” Alexander cuts me off, and although his words are a bit abrupt, I still think I hear sympathy buried in his tone. “But what do you think I can do for you? I’m not a lawyer. I can’t represent Penelope.”

“I know.” I crane my neck to stare up at the ceiling, wishing I could articulate what I want from this man. I want you to put on a damn cape and come rescue my mother. “But you know the law. I just thought maybe you’d have some advice or be able to help her somehow.”

There’s a short beat of silence, then Judge Hollowell sighs. “I do know the law, that’s true. But that doesn’t mean I’m free to dole out legal advice to defendants or their families. I’m sure she’s in capable hands. Which public defender is representing her?”

“Scott Parsons,” I say quickly, and there’s an even longer pause on the other end of the line.

Fuck. I knew it. And Judge Hollowell obviously thinks so too. That guy is not qualified.

“I do wish I could help, Ms. Thomas.” There’s reluctance in his voice. “But I really can’t.”

Dammit. He sounds like he really means that—both the part about wanting to help and the part about not being able to. Normally, I’d respect that kind of integrity, but right now, I wish he’d fucking break the rules. Or at least bend them.

“Could I just meet with you sometime and talk to you?” I ask desperately. “Not even about her case specifically. Just about these kinds of cases in general, so I know what to expect, what to do—whether the lawyer is giving us good or bad advice.”

“It really isn’t possible. I’m sorry.”

His tone is firm and unyielding, and I can see how he got to be such a prominent judge. It’s the kind of tone that allows no argument, that cuts any pushback off at the knees.

“It’s okay. I understand,” I say, not because I actually do, but because I don’t want this call to end with him thinking I’m some kind of crazy psycho who phoned him on his day off and yelled at him. He does seem to want to help, so maybe if I give him some time to think on it, I can try again later.

“I hope everything works out.” There’s a pause so long I glance at the screen to make sure he hasn’t already hung up. Then he adds, “Tell her to make sure Parsons sticks to his defense strategy. He sometimes hops from plan to plan, and it never works out well.”

My heart leaps in my chest, excitement thrumming through my veins. That’s usable. That’s helpful. And he didn’t have to say it.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely pass that along. Thanks so much.”

“Good luck, Ms. Thomas.”

He ends the call, and I drop the phone into my suitcase, glancing up to meet River’s gaze. I was facing the couch while I spoke, so I’m guessing he picked up my end of the conversation. I grin at him, unable to contain my relieved glee.

It’s a little thing, but it’s a start.

And Alexander Hollowell might say he’s not able to help, but he just showed that there’s some wiggle room in that.

And I intend to take full advantage of it.

22

Finals week feels like a fucking marathon.

Pretty much every minute I’m not actually inside the walls of Linwood, I’ve got my face buried in one of my textbooks, cramming for whatever exam is coming up next. It’s a good thing I know winter break is almost here—and with it, access to the empty Black family mansion—or I’d have a harder time focusing on schoolwork.

My last test is on Friday, and by that point, I’ve gotten grades back for two of my other classes.

I got B’s in both, and I’m honestly thrilled. Considering what a wreck this semester has been, passing at all feels like an accomplishment. And I was still a little worried Savannah would find some way to fuck with my tests, but I don’t think she did. I earned those scores on my own.

The guys all do well. I don’t think any of