Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele

[Cordelia]

Nothing in my life had prepared me to be treated like a common criminal.

It felt like everyone at the party was watching me being dragged off by two uniformed officers. I could hear whispers as I passed asking, "Who is she? What did she do? - Did someone get hurt? Robbed? Killed?"

A few flickering faces glare at me, their eyes averted as their lips twist in cruel judgment. Nobody stops them. Not even Atlas who stands as still as a statue, his face frozen in disbelief.

"What is this all about?!" I demand as they push me against the hood of their car. "I refuse to come with you until you..."

I hiss in pain when my leg connects with the side of the car, my bruise searing in agony as they tighten the handcuffs and toss me into th ack of a police cruiser.

Once we arrive, I am escorted through the police station to be fingerprinted, photographed, and thrown into a dark cell smelling faintly of urine and dry vomit.

"I want to talk to my lawyer!" I scream as the bars crash closed behind me. "Don't I get a phone call?!"

The officer walking away feigns being hard of hearing, laughing as he closes the heavy metal door behind him.

Seeing my hesitation to touch any of the surfaces in this room with my body, an old disheveled woman in the corner begins humming the melody to a classic rock song before cackling on in a crazy-eyed rant about hotels in California.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

Eventually, my legs grew tired of standing. I sit down on the cot and shout "Oh God!" as a mouse jumps out of the mattress, scurrying away to hide in the shadows. Swallowing a scream, I pull my legs into my chest and

pray that there are no more surprises waiting for me as I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes.

"Mrs. Steele," a booted foot kicks my bed and I startle awake. He reaches forward and helps me stand by yanking me up onto my bare feet. The floor feels sticky and I lift one off the floor instinctually, wanting as little of me touching the surface as possible. "Come on, Princess," the officer growls as he pushes me towards the open jail cell. "Someone is waiting

to see you."

"Who?" I ask, worried it might be somewhere worse.

"Your lawyer."

"But I never..." I stop myself before completing my thoughts. If someone claiming to be my lawyer is enough to get me out of that hell hole, even if only for a moment or two, I will gladly take it.

The officer takes me to a well-lit room on the other side of the station. As my eyes adjust I find myself sitting across from someone I do not recognize. I wait until the officer leaves before I say anything.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mrs. Steele..."

"Grayson," I correct him.

The edge of his smile twitches in amusement. "I appreciate that you are willing to meet with me to discuss your situation." His brown hair shines under the light. "My name is John Michaels. I am a corporate attorney and based on your case, I think you will need my help." He opens up his leather briefcase and pulls out photocopies of what looks like a stack of bills. "These are copies of purchase orders made out to false companies. Do you recognize your signature?"

Reaching forward, I look at the paper at the top of the stack. "I recognize these, but my parents told me they were to cover daily expenses and secure my inheritance." I blink up at him, confused. "But now I am getting the feeling that these are something else."

He sighs. "In the future, Mrs. Steele, do not sign anything involving large amounts of money without having your lawyer look it over," he gives me a very pointed look, "or at least reading them."

Mr. Michaels then lays the paperwork out in front of me so that I can see them more clearly. "These are purchase orders

that Greyson Mills used to embezzle hundreds of thousands of dollars from Steele Industries. The company tran rred that money into an offshore account which they used as bribe

spectors, and politicians"

money for law enforcement,

My mouth drops open. "But why?? This doesn't make any sense."

"There is also evidence that this money was used to ensure these agents turned a blind eye to the egregious levels of ecological harm the company is causing. Thousands of pounds of toxic waste dumped into local waterways and..."

I stopped listening. The list of sins committed in my name is staggering.

Mr. Michaels assures me that despite the damning evidence he is certain he can get me released from jail immediately and that I might not even see the inside of a courtroom. When I ask about rates he brushes me off. "Already paid, in full, for whatever you need, Mrs. Steele." I don't even bother to correct him about my name. I am so grateful to be free of this place and hopefully

clear my name.

Within minutes of him leaving me, a kind female officer comes in and hands me warm sweats from the police department store, and a large cup of fresh coffee. Once I'm ready, she leads me outside where Mr. Michaels stands, waiting for me.

He offers me his hand. "I will be calling you sometime tomorrow to discuss your case."

He then points me in the direction of a waiting car with a uniformed gentleman in the driver's seat.

"This is where I leave you," he leads me towards the vehicle with a gentle nudge. "Try not to get into any

more trouble," he jokes in a teasing voice.

Opening the door, I bend down to take a seat when I see that it is already occupied.

Sitting inside, with his eyes closed and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, is the last person I wanted to see again tonight.

Atlas Steele.