Four Letter Word (Completed)

-50-

"Hello, sweetheart." He looks over at me as I put my seatbelt on. "I was hoping you would wear something more revealing," my father says bluntly looking me up and down.

I look down at my dress. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing? I'm not trying to seduce the judge. Are you crazy?"

"I'm not saying you have to sleep with him. Just flirt. Give him something to look at. A little cleavage could help. What happened to those breast implants you spent all that money on?"

"The ones you gave me a lecture on despite me being grown and paying for them myself? The ones you said made me look like a 'cheap playboy pinup whore'?" I say using his words. "I had them removed a couple years ago," I say with a scoff closing my gold clutch after putting my phone in it.

"Those weren't my better days. Well, I hope your mouth can help you out of this situation." I look at him sideways. "That came out wrong. Your mouth as in talking. You're a smart woman, so use that brain to convince the judge you're innocent."

"I am innocent," she breathes out harshly as her father puts the car in drive and pulls off.

"Not completely. You still killed a man." Desmond Garnet has always been a very straightforward, blunt, and no nonsense type of man. It's something I always hated because he never has a filter. He doesn't care who you are even his daughter. This mentality made him a successful entrepreneur worth billions, but outside of that many people don't like him.

"Self defense," I argue.

"That's debatable to the judges and the public at this current time."

"What's debatable? It was caught on camera that they were trying to kidnap me."

"Everything's debatable when you're involved in a trial where it's either guilty or innocent. You don't control that. The judge and jury does, so it is debatable. You've now been informed of the New York City laws when it comes to self-defense, so it's not a black and white situation. At this dinner you need to play up the victim side. Make them sympathize with you. Your half white, it's somewhere in there."

"What?" I ask looking at my Dad sideways.

"All White women have the ability to make black people look like the aggressor and play victim. Use that tonight," he says with a laugh. He's such a serious and intense person, I can never tell when he's joking or dead serious.

"Dad..."

"You know I'm telling the truth. I was married to a white woman for thirty plus years. Use your privilege to your advantage. Make them out to be the thugs and gangsters they really were, especially the one you killed."

"You do realize when I walk in that room with you, my father, they're going to see a Black woman."

My father immediately laughs. "Hardly. You have a lot of things working in your favor. Your skin tone, hair, features, upbringing, education, last name, and financial status. You're Desdemona Garnet. You had privilege and an advantage the minute I became the first black man in my industry and the minute I made my first eight and nine figures. If you didn't would we be going to dinner with the judge on your case in the first place?" He asks looking over at her. "You wouldn't even get the opportunity. The only place you would be seeing him is in the courtroom behind that bench."

"If I'm so privileged why do we even have to go to this dinner and convince him of my innocence? He should drop the case off our last name alone. On GP."

Desmond laughs. "They're trying to get as much press off this as they can. They might even be trying to make an example out of you simply because they never wanted to see my Black ass from the hood of Detroit make it." He pauses. "And GP? Do you even know what that means? Since when did you start talking like that?"