“I’m so pleased I was able to secure your release with such expedience,” he said with a giddy smile. What a fool, Mo thought. This moron was patting himself on the back for his impeccable legal skills. She would bet his yearly salary that it was her father and one well- placed phone call that secured her freedom. He paused as though he were waiting for some kind of ticker tape parade. Her hatred for lawyers was reignited. Useless just like her ex-husband. She had to force herself to focus on what he was saying. “Mrs. Wilson, just a reminder your bail stipulates you must not leave the LA proper area. There is an ongoing investigation into some of the more… serious allegations.”

“I am sure they will realize those charges are completely bogus. Of course, I am at the detective’s disposal,” Mo said.

“That is good to hear. I understand your living situation is… in flux,” he said diplomatically.

“I live on the streets, Graham. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. She enjoyed the discomfort flashing across his face, the nervous way he adjusted his overpriced Rolex. Men like that didn’t think about people like her and the kids. She enjoyed providing him with a much-needed reminder.

“Yes, I am aware. You’ll be happy to hear your father has secured a suite for you at the Beverly Hills Hotel and some additional funds for necessities.” He handed over a thick envelope filled with cash. If he thought any of this situation was odd, he didn’t show it. She imagined a distasteful man like this did all sorts of unusual things for his clients.

“What about the young man I mentioned? Nate Sutton? Were you able to secure his release? The boy has suffered so much. I wanted to look after him.”

“I’m afraid he’s currently under medical supervision, which is all the information I was able to obtain,” Graham said.

Mo wanted to tell him this was bullshit. Her father was probably paying him three thousand dollars an hour; he could do his fucking job and locate Nate. She couldn’t get flustered, not when there was so much left to do. “Well, Graham, I appreciate you trying. He’s a good kid,” Mo said.

“At least he’s off the streets,” the ghoul said dismissively. Mo smiled, imagining how miserable this man’s life was, the endless obsession with billable hours, the antacids he downed when he thought he wouldn’t meet his quota, the backstabbing partners and associates, all hoping they could usurp him. Mo considered educating him on the meaningless nature of his life, but she stopped herself. It was a waste of the gifts she had been given. The sooner she got out of this place, the better. The ghoul seemed to sense it was time for good-byes.