The Love That Came Too Late

The day Celia Hartwell walked out of prison, a cold rain poured down mercilessly. Icy wind whipped through the rain as reporters descended on the prison gates like vultures. "Ms. Hartwell, your client lost the Clearwater Manor case and committed suicide six months ago. Her mother's out for blood. Any response?" "Ms. Hartwell, with your license revoked and mentor forced into retirement, any comments?" Celia kept her head down, shoulders hunched as she shoved through the clamoring crowd. A sleek black G-Wagon idled at the curb. Xavier Landry leaned against it, cigarette dangling from his lips. When Iris Hartwell tugged his sleeve, he finally glanced toward the prison entrance. They blocked Celia's path. Iris's eyes locked onto the jagged scar on her sister's forehead, her face twisting in exaggerated horror. "Gross, Celia. What is that on your forehead? Looks like a prison brawl souvenir." Celia's fingers brushed her bangs, but the scar, a parting gift from her cellmates, was too large to hide. Xavier remained silent. His stare was ice cold. Grinning, Iris thrust forward a gaudy box. "Xavier and I got you these. New shoes. Think of them as a not-so-subtle hint to stay on the straight and narrow. " 'Stay on the straight and narrow.' The irony tasted like bile. These two knew exactly why she had spent a year behind bars. Once, Celia had been a legal powerhouse, five years undefeated, a star lawyer with a flawless record. Iris was the illegitimate daughter Henry Hartwell suddenly acknowledged two years back. She was a lawyer who could not win a case even with the deck stacked in her favor. Everything changed with the Clearwater Manor trial. Celia had represented the victim, a girl accusing tycoon Zachary Stone of assault. Iris defended Zachary. It should have been open and shut, until every scrap of evidence vanished from Celia's computer the night before trial. The case collapsed. The media dragged the victim's name through the mud. Celia got disbarred for fabricating evidence and sentenced to a year. Meanwhile, Iris's star rose. The truth clicked when Celia found a private chat between Xavier, Iris, and their father, Henry. Iris wrote, "She has the fame, the rep, and she still embarrassed me in court." Henry replied, "Celia was out of line. I'm on your side, Iris." Iris asked, "Xavier, thoughts?" Xavier responded, "Just tell me which evidence needs to disappear." The black SUV raced toward the Hartwell family mansion, the cityscape blurring past the rain-streaked window as Celia stared numbly. A year was not forever, but it was long enough for her entire world to come crashing down. Every loss and every betrayal was packed into those twelve brutal months. When the renovated villa came into view, the air froze in her lungs. The beloved peach tree by the gate was gone. She bolted to a servant, her voice cracking with desperation. "Where is my mother's peach tree?" The maid's smirk was glacial. "Ms. Iris Hartwell prefers homegrown jasmine for her coffee. Mr. Hartwell had it chopped down." Celia's chest caved as if punched. That tree had stood for two decades, planted by her late mother. It was her last tangible connection to warmth and to love. It had been ripped from the earth for nothing but jasmine coffee. For her. She whirled toward the house, blood roaring in her ears, only for a disheveled, wild-eyed woman to lunge at her. The slap split the air. The woman's palm connected with bone as Celia's face burned. "Look at her," the woman shrieked, her nails biting into Celia's wrist. Tears and rage spilled over as bystanders gasped. "This monster of a lawyer is responsible for my daughter's death."