A soft chime sounded through the car as the number twenty lit up, indicating that they were now ok the floor they were going to. Again, Devon’s heart raced, slamming so hard against his rib cage. He bit his lower lip and told himself it was going to be fine, but he knew that was just a pep talk he was giving himself. Nothing was going to be okay, not when he felt like he did on the first day of his trial, for a crime he didn't even commit. Oh damn. The doors slid open and the twentieth floor greeted them with polished marble, glass walls, and the muted scent of expensive coffee and ambition. At least, the people in here had one. Once upon a time, he had one too, but now, he was just trying to meet up and do whatever fate brought upon him. This place was the nerve center of everything Henry Winyard had built; the place where decisions were made that rippled far beyond these walls. He had heard how much this place does for the community, and how great they were involved in chari

Henry’s face went cold, but it wasn't with grief or sadness. It was with a controlled rage, the kind that was precise and dangerous. He reached for his phone immediately, already standing. “Matthew,” he said, voice low and tight, “give me a moment.” Dr. Matthew nodded, his own expression darkening. Henry turned away slightly, phone already pressed to his ear. “It’s me,” he said the second the line connected. “I need a favor. No… I need a retraction. Now.” He paced once. “There’s an article circulating this morning. Front page. I want it pulled. Digital copies wiped, print halted, and a retraction issued within the hour.” Devon watched him, chest tight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Yes,” Henry continued. “I don’t care who signed off on it. Handle it.” A pause. “Good.” He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, turning to Devon at once. “I will deal with this,” Henry said firmly. “I promise you.” Devon let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “T

Devon’s phone rang, and he sighed, dropping the spanner he had in his hand, then he picked up the rag to wipe his hand before picking up his phone from the edge of the car’s bonnet. He was still working on the cars as a mechanic, like he had been initially employed to do, whether or not Henry liked it. He had tried to stop him but Devon wasn't having any of it. If Georgie was feeling like he was an intruder, then he would wait to be cleared by the stupid DNA test he wanted so much as proof, before taking anything. Devon knew quite all right that all Georgie was doing was from a place of jealousy, and the fear that Henry would no longer leave the company to him in his will. He knew that Georgie wasn't only going to come for him from that angle, but the angle that he wasn't college-educated and worth nothing. So he had decided to take an online course that could at least shut that line of attack down before it ever reached him.It was nothing flashy, nothing that screamed inher

After Dr. Matthew had gone, Henry couldn't stop smiling, like someone had given him a prize he never thought he could win. “This is great news, Devon. I'm not sure how to say this. I've never doubted that you're my grandson, but this helps cement things.” he said. Devon nodded, but he didn't care much about that. His mind was on something else for now, and it had been battling him since. “Are you okay?” Mrs. Martha asked him, and he raised his head to look at her. “You don't look particularly happy about this. It's good news, right?” she said. Devon sighed and shook his head. “That's not what's on my mind, but it truly is good news.” I agreed. At least, now, Georgie would get off my case and stop being an ass. Although, I doubted that, that he would stop I mean. He would probably find something else to cause trouble with. “Oh, so what's on your mind? Do you want to share?” Henry asked and Devon looked at him. He cleared his throat, and started. “Actually, there's just some

They ended up leaving the shelter without a dog because Devon couldn’t make his mind up about which he wanted so he made another appointment to come again. Now, they were both at the farmer’s market, Mrs. Martha and Devon, walking around the market looking for items she wanted. “You know, I’ve always wondered about how you survived that horrible place as a young boy, when you got convicted.” Mrs. Martha said as she turned to the cucumbers, checking them one after the other. Devon slowed his steps beside her, fingers hooking loosely into the strap of the canvas bag slung over his shoulder. The market was lively around them; voices calling out prices, the rustle of paper bags, the scent of herbs and ripe fruit, but her words cut through all of it. He didn’t answer right away because bile suddenly rushed to his throat. Mrs. Martha glanced at him, then back to the cucumbers, selecting two and placing them into her basket as if she hadn’t just asked something heavy. She had a