could pay for their Napa vacation.
The judge immediately revoked their bond and sent them straight into a holding cell.
Late that night, my parents showed up outside my hotel room, holding a fresh peach cobbler like some insulting peace offering.
My father, Otis, calmly demanded that I accept the blame, lie to the police, and say the entire thing had been a misunderstanding so Marcus could avoid a felony record.
When I explained that committing perjury would destroy my fifteen-year financial career instantly, my mother, Viola, sneered at me with ice in her voice.
“So what? It’s just a job, Kendra. You have no husband, no kids, and you go home to an empty apartment anyway. Marcus is a man, the pillar who carries the Williams family name. He cannot have a record.”
That cruel sentence cut the last emotional thread between us.
Without a word, I pressed stop
