Chapter 33: Precinct Purgatory The female officer led me through the maze of the precinct, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The air hung thick with the smells of stale coffee, cheap cleaning fluid, and desperation. Every face I passed seemed to carry a story etched in lines of weariness or regret. We reached a small, nondescript room. “Wait here,” the officer instructed, her voice devoid of emotion. She didn’t bother to elaborate, just gestured towards a metal chair bolted to the floor and exited, the door clicking shut behind her. I was alone again. The room was a study in bleakness. Grey walls, a single flickering lightbulb, and the aforementioned chair. No windows, no distractions, just the crushing weight of my own thoughts. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to organize the chaos in my head. What a mess. A complete and utter disaster. Everything was falling apart, and I was watching it happen in slow motion. Duke. The NBA. My family. Demitra. All of it, potentially gone. The thought of Demitra sent a sharp pang of guilt through me. I’d dragged her into this mess, even if indirectly. She’d been nothing but supportive, and how did I repay her? By getting arrested… again. I imagined her reaction, the disappointment in her eyes. The faint hope that had been flickering between us… probably extinguished now. And my family? I could picture Lenny’s face, the weary disappointment mixed with a stubborn refusal to give up on me. Roxanne, her usual fiery spirit subdued by concern. Greg, trying to act tough but clearly worried. Keithie, probably scared shitless. And Becky… God, I didn’t even want to think about Becky. I stood up and paced the small room, the metal chair scraping against the floor. I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit here and let my life crumble around me. But what could I do? I was trapped, powerless. My basketball career… that was probably over, too. A commitment to Duke meant nothing when you’re facing assault charges and a history of reckless behavior. NBA scouts weren’t exactly lining up to draft a walking PR nightmare. My hands clenched into fists. All that hard work, all those sacrifices, all those years of dedication… gone. Wasted. I punched the wall, a surge of anger coursing through me. The pain in my knuckles was a welcome distraction, a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging inside. What a fucking idiot I’d been. The door creaked open, and Ms. Hanover entered, her face a mixture of disappointment and concern, just as I’d pictured. “Jim,” she said softly, her voice barely audible above the hum of the fluorescent light. “I’m so sorry.” “Sorry?” I scoffed, forcing a sardonic grin. “What for? It’s not like you’re the one sitting in a jail cell.” Ms. Hanover sighed, ignoring my sarcasm. She knew me too well to take the bait. “Rich Paul is on his way. He’s… not happy.” “No shit,” I muttered. “He’s bringing a lawyer. I want you to cooperate fully, Jim. Do you understand? This is serious. Your future is on the line.” I nodded, the fight draining out of me. “Yeah, I get it.” “Good. Just… try to stay calm. Don’t say anything until the lawyer arrives. And Jim… please, think about what you’ve done.” She turned to leave, then hesitated. “Your father… he’s worried about you. We all are.” And with that, she was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I sank back into the metal chair, the cold seeping into my bones. Think about what I’ve done… as if I could think about anything else. The minutes crawled by, each one a painful reminder of my impending doom. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the noise and the anxiety, but it was no use. My mind was a runaway train, careening towards disaster. The door opened again, and this time it was Rich Paul, his face a thundercloud of fury. Behind him stood a woman in a sharp business suit, her expression professional and unreadable. “Jim,” Rich said, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. “What the *hell* were you thinking?” I didn’t answer, just stared at the floor, shame burning in my chest. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you realize the damage you’ve caused?” “Rich, I—” “No, Jim, you listen to me,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “I’ve spent years building your reputation, fighting for your future, and you throw it all away with one stupid act of violence? One stupid punch?” I finally looked up, meeting his gaze. “I know, Rich. I messed up. I’m sorry.” “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Jim. Sorry doesn’t undo the damage. Sorry doesn’t erase the police report.” He gestured towards the woman in the suit. “This is Ms. Klein. She’s one of the best lawyers in the city. She’s going to do everything she can to get you out of this mess, but you need to cooperate. Do you understand?” I nodded again. “Yeah. I’ll do whatever she says.” Rich took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “Okay. First things first, we need to get your story straight. Ms. Klein needs to know exactly what happened, from your perspective. Don’t leave anything out. And for God’s sake, Jim, tell the truth.” Ms. Klein stepped forward, her eyes assessing me. “Mr. Feder,” she said, her voice calm and professional. “Let’s start from the beginning…” Hours blurred into a haze of questions and answers, legal jargon and grim realities. Ms. Klein was thorough, probing every detail of the bodega incident, the argument with Marco, the phone call from Lenny, the discovery of Miguel’s involvement. She asked about Valeria, about Demitra, about my history with anger management. It was exhausting, humiliating, and utterly necessary. Rich paced the room, his anxiety palpable. He’d occasionally interject with questions of his own, his frustration evident in every word. As the session wore on, the weight of my situation became increasingly clear. The assault charge was serious. My previous run-ins with the law didn’t help. And the media… the media was going to have a field day with this. “So, what are my chances?” I finally asked, the question hanging heavy in the air. Ms. Klein hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “It’s… complicated, Mr. Feder. Your past record is a significant obstacle. The media attention will make things even more difficult. And the fact that you violated the terms of your community service… it’s not good.” “But there’s still a chance, right?” She nodded slowly. “There are options. We can try to negotiate a plea bargain, minimize the charges, avoid jail time. But it will require… cooperation. From you.” “What kind of cooperation?” “You need to stay out of trouble, Mr. Feder. No more outbursts, no more incidents. You need to show the court that you’re taking this seriously, that you’re committed to changing your behavior. And you need to trust me. Let me handle this.” I looked at Rich, seeking reassurance. He nodded grimly. “She’s right, Jim. You need to listen to her. This is your last chance.” My last chance… the words echoed in my head. Was this it? Was this the end of the line? The possibility loomed, a dark cloud threatening to engulf my dreams. The NBA, Duke, everything I had worked for… all of it hanging by a thread. I closed my eyes, a wave of despair washing over me. I had screwed up. Royally. But even in the depths of my despair, a flicker of hope remained. I had support. I had people who believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. Lenny. Roxanne. Ms. Hanover. Rich. And maybe, just maybe, Demitra. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. It wasn’t over yet. I still had a fight left in me. “Okay,” I said, my voice stronger now. “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever it takes.” Ms. Klein nodded, her expression softening slightly. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, let’s talk about your options…” The legal discussion continued, delving into the complexities of the justice system, the potential charges, the possible outcomes. It was overwhelming, confusing, and frankly, terrifying. But I clung to the hope that Ms. Klein knew what she was doing, that she could somehow navigate me through this minefield. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the session came to an end. Ms. Klein gathered her things, preparing to leave. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Feder,” she said, handing me her card. “In the meantime, remember what I said. Stay out of trouble.” “I will,” I promised, my voice sincere. Rich walked her to the door, then returned, his face still etched with worry. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, the anger finally subsiding. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m scared, Rich. I don’t want to lose everything.” He put a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. “You’re not going to lose everything, Jim. I won’t let you. We’re going to get through this, together. Just… trust me. And trust Ms. Klein. She knows what she’s doing.” I nodded, grateful for his unwavering support. “Thanks, Rich. I appreciate it.” “Don’t mention it,” he said. “Now, let’s get you out of here.” He led me out of the interview room and back into the bustling precinct. As we walked, I spotted Lenny standing near the front desk, his face a mask of concern. He saw me and rushed over, pulling me into a hug. “You okay, son?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m okay, Dad,” I said, trying to reassure him, even though I didn’t feel okay. “We’ll get through this, Jim,” he said, his grip tightening. “We always do.” I nodded, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. I was so lucky to have him, to have a family that loved me unconditionally, even when I screwed up royally. We walked out of the precinct and into the cool night air. The city lights seemed to blur around me, a kaleidoscope of colors reflecting my tumultuous emotions. As we walked he said, "So what's going to happen to you now?" "I don't know dad", I responded, "I guess I'll be staying at the house again until further notice". He nodded, then proceeded to say, "You know you almost threw away the chance of going to Duke because of all this? Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?". "I know dad, I know". I responded, "I just, sometimes I just don't think". As we kept walking I got more and more distraught. The only thought that went through my mind, what was gonna happen now... Rich put a hand on my shoulder, “He’s right, Jim. We’re going to get through this, together.” He repeated. My dad’s words echoed in my head. “Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?” He wasn’t wrong, and I knew it. As Ms. Hanover and my Dad followed us out, she seemed to be in some sort of trance. I asked, "Ms. Hanover, you alright?"