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Back Legacy of Lies Save as PDF
Chapters (88)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PART ONE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. PART TWO
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. PART THREE
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. 55
  63. 56
  64. 57
  65. 58
  66. 59
  67. PART FOUR
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. 73
  82. 74
  83. 75
  84. 76
  85. 77
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  88. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“No matter what happens tomorrow, I don’t want you to feel any guilt about it. I know you’ve done your best for me.” She shook her head. “For whatever reason, the deck seems stacked. From the minute I was arrested, I’ve never stood a chance. It’s like someone’s been out there playing me like a violin from the word go.”

Bo didn’t know what to say. Regardless of the General’s words, if he lost this case, he was going to feel guilty for the rest of his life.

67

67

When he arrived at the office, Bo set his briefcase down and grabbed a beer out of the minifridge. It wasn’t until after he’d taken his first sip that he saw the Post-it note stuck to the monitor of Lona’s computer. He got up and snatched the note, reading it out loud.

“Bo, if you want to win this case, meet me at your father’s grave at 9:30 p.m.”

He read and reread the note, not recognizing the handwriting. Then he took his phone out and checked the time: 8:00 p.m. Lona had sent him a text at 7:00 p.m. saying she was heading home and asking if he needed anything for the morning. Bo had responded back, No.

The note must have been left between 7:00 and 8:00.

He didn’t want to go, but he knew he had no choice. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He drained the rest of his beer in one gulp and headed for the door. He’d grab a bite to eat at Legends and then head to the cemetery.

It was against the law to visit a graveyard at night, but that had never stopped Bo before.

68

68

Ennis Petrie was waiting on him when he reached the headstone.

“This better be good,” Bo said, peering at the grave and taking a beer out of the six-pack he’d bought at Walmart on West College Street. He took a long sip. In the light from the three-quarters moon above, he could barely make out the name: Andrew Davis Walton. The last time he’d been here was a few weeks after Jazz’s death. He’d poured gasoline on himself and lit a match, coming inches from setting himself on fire. After a few tense seconds, he’d decided against suicide, realizing that he couldn’t quit on his children.

“It is,” Ennis said.

“Why here?” Bo asked, gazing with contempt at his biological father’s name.

“I didn’t want to be seen out in public or with you in your office. Especially if Michael Zannick has one of his goons following you. And . . .” He looked at the headstone. “. . . I’ve always been a big fan of irony. It’s fitting that I do my good deed in front of the grave of the man who ruined my life and yours.”