Page 110 of Every Shattered Note
“That’s risky,” Harris says, watching me too carefully.“You’re emotional.And understandably so.”
“Good,” I fire back.“Let it sound like I actually wrote it—not a conference room full of lawyers on my payroll trying to sanitize the truth.Let it sound like someone who’s done being gutted for soundbites.”
Eddie gives me a look.It’s not disapproval—not exactly.It’s closer to fatigue.Like he’s already counted the ways this could blow up and knows he won’t stop me either way.Like he’s already halfway through the clean-up, and we haven’t even lit the match yet.
“You write your version,” he says after a beat.“But you don’t send it without me seeing it first.”
I roll my eyes and lean back in the chair.“Fine.”
But that’s only one part of this mess.I still have to go through the lawsuits.I pick up the first file and skim the page.The words melt into one another—allegations, damages, exhibits, breach of contract.Legalese that flattens a life into something clinical.A past reduced to black ink and bullet points.My pain, filed in triplicate.
“Fuck.Why is he always selling me out?”It’s obviously a rhetorical question.The name feels thick in my throat.“Malcolm.”
The word tastes like metal.Like betrayal that should’ve come with warning signs but never did.
Eddie doesn’t look up.“Why do you sound surprised?He always does.”
“Sure,” I say, shaking my head slowly.“I thought he’d at least pretend family meant something after you paid him off the last time.”
Eddie lets out a humorless laugh.“Let’s get real here.Malcolm is not family.You know who your real family is.”
He’s right.My real, very crazy, chaotic family includes him and is made up of my best friends.The ones who I fight with sometimes because we disagree.I have four brothers, two sisters, and a nephew who I don’t share blood with, but they love me and support me.
Someone slides a pen across the table.Gold.Too shiny.Probably engraved.I don’t reach for it.
I just stare at it.
The light hits the barrel, and I’m seventeen again, sitting at the edge of my grandfather’s studio, listening to him explain how loyalty could be negotiated if the price was right.That contracts were the real love language in this business.If you didn’t want to be burned, you kept your name out of the ink unless you were prepared to bleed.
The pen catches the light, winking like it already knows what it’s about to force me into.
I lean in.“What are we doing about him?”
Eddie doesn’t flinch.“We named him in the suit.We’re filing for an injunction because of a breach of NDA and slander.If the court grants it, we can block him from pushing anything else out—interviews, more clips, even backdoor leaks.”
“And you think that’s going to be enough?”I ask.“That this actually stops it?”
Harris clears his throat.“We’ve also filed for a cease and desist.If the judge agrees with our interpretation of the NDA terms, he won’t be able to speak publicly about you or your father again—not in print, not online, not even under pseudonyms.”
“And if he does?”
Eddie answers, his tone flat.“He loses everything.Any residual payouts, royalties your father arranged, even the trust access.The clause is airtight.We just have to enforce it.”
Malcolm’s face flashes in my mind—smug, calm, always acting like he was the victim while twisting the knife with a smile.
“Good,” I say, voice low.“Let him lose something for once.”
No one disagrees.
The folder is still open in front of me.The words haven’t changed, but I finally pick up the pen.Not to sign.Just to hold it.Just to remember I still can.I run my thumb along the barrel.My initials are etched near the clip.A gift from someone who thought I’d one day be the man they needed.
“I’ll write the statement tonight,” I say.
Eddie nods once.“Make it smart,” he warns me.“Make it sting without drawing blood you can’t take back.I have to approve it.”
“I know exactly what I want to say.”
The legal team begins to rise, murmuring to one another in quiet tones as they gather their binders and briefcases.I don’t move.
