: Though there aren't graphic details, this chapter contains mentions of sexual assault & violence against a minor.

Sebastian had gone into the administration office for Ricky, finding out when Olivia would be out of school. She had classes until the late afternoon, which meant he had a lot of hours to kill before he could talk to her.

Going home wasn't an option, in case his father was working from the home office. Ricky wanted to postpone that confrontation for as long as possible. Hopefully, until after he had answers and a strategy that involved his father as minimal as possible.

It still left Ricky with the immediate issue of not wearing a shirt, but at that moment, he just needed to be alone with his thoughts. Getting a shirt could wait.

He grabbed a cab downtown to a private garden, heading straight for the secluded corner he'd come to visit.

In an alcove of green foliage stood a small abstract fountain sculpture of a treble clef in white marble—the water gently spilling down from a hole at the top. Across from it was a beautiful wooden bench with its back and legs cut out in a detailed Celtic design and painted orange. Green, white, and orange. The Irish colors.

This small spot was dedicated to Ricky's mother, who passed away when he was seven years old. Her body had been buried back in Ireland beside her parents, who had been killed in a car accident when she was a teenager.

Ricky let his fingers run over the small brass plaque on the bench, silently reading it.

In memory of Elizabeth "Beth" Marigold Stark von Linden

He sat down, got out his iPod and another cigarette, popped in the earphones, and turned up the volume of the garage rock. Closing his eyes, he took a deep drag of the smoke, lifting his face to the sun. It wasn't even noon, and already he had had an exceptionally shitty day.

Stumping out the cigarette when he finished it, Ricky lowered himself onto his back, using his school bag as a pillow, and kicked his legs up on the armrest. He needed to figure out what he would do if Casini couldn't provide him with an alibi.

Ricky hadn't realized he'd dozed off when he was suddenly woken; his legs pushed off the armrest with a force that made him fall off the bench and tumbled to the ground.

"Shit. What the fuc—!" Ricky stopped mid-sentence as he got up, his body going tense when he saw his father standing right in front of him.

It was indisputable whom Ricky had gotten his handsome and chiseled features from when you saw him next to his father. The strong jawline and high cheekbones that made their cheeks appear hollow. The straight nose like a Greek sculpture. But where Ricky had brilliant icy-blue eyes, Fred's were a cool silvery-gray.

Fred had a stern look on his face as he stood dressed in a dark, pinstriped tailored suit, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. "I got a very interesting call from Father Correll earlier, telling me my son is a rapist," he said venomously, pulling Ricky's earphones out with a rough tug on the cord, making him wince and grab at his ears.

"Dad, I didn— He said that?" Ricky asked in disbelief, stopping himself while he rolled the earphones around his iPod before placing it back in his pocket. What the fuck happened to innocent until proven guilty?

"And why the hell aren't you wearing a shirt?" Fred demanded angrily, ignoring Ricky's question, pulling on the front of the school blazer.

"That goddamn chauffeur you hired to drive me to school was a fucking dick and made me ruin it. So I didn't have any to wear," Ricky snapped back, shoving his father's hand away with his arm.

"You better watch your tone when you're talking to me," Fred warned in a threatening calm, and hoarse voice, pointing at Ricky with the beautiful bouquet.

"Or what? What are you gonna do?" Ricky challenged. "We're standing in the middle of a garden." He lifted his arms out at their green surroundings. "In front of Mom's memorial." He gestured at the brass plaque with Elizabeth's name.

Fred glared at Ricky but remained silent as he stepped by him and placed the flowers in a little vase, dug into the soil at the base of the white treble clef sculpture. Rising, he harshly ordered Ricky to pick up his bag and follow him.

"Dad, I didn't do it." Ricky made no move to follow. "I'm working on a plan to sort this—" He was cut off when Fred took a quick step back and grabbed his left arm in a fierce grip, taking the school bag himself, and forced Ricky with him.

"I told you to goddamn come with." Fred tightened his grip around Ricky's bicep even more, giving him no other option but to follow unwillingly.

"Dad..." Ricky tried to get out of Fred's grip by yanking on his arm as they went. "Will you just— Dad! Let, let go of me!" Ricky wrestled his arm free but felt a snap in his ribs as he did, sending pain shooting into his side. "Fuck." He breathed with difficulty, leaning forward with a hand on his knee, holding the other over his ribcage.

"Get up," Fred ordered and grabbed Ricky's arm again, dragging him along the tiled path out of the garden. "Get in," he demanded when they got to his black limousine, waiting at the curb. The chauffeur quickly opened the door for Ricky when Fred pushed him forward with such force he had to prevent a collision with the car with his hands.

"Asshole," Ricky muttered under his breath and climbed in, sitting on the seat with his back to the chauffeur. Fred threw the school bag into the limo at Ricky, who quickly ducked behind his arms when the bag flew at his face. He kicked it away irritated as Fred got in, sitting on the seat opposite.

He was on his cell phone as they set off. "I need you to hold the Winkler meeting. Something with my son has come up." The way he said it made it sound like his son being accused of rape was just another irritating disturbance in Fred's busy schedule.

Ricky set his jaw, looking out the tinted windows as they drove further downtown to the Financial District. He wasn't stupid enough to think his father would show any sign of concern for his situation. Fred's solution was always to throw money at a problem. He'd even tried it with Ricky once, sending him off to a boarding school in Europe for two years.

"Getting suspended," Fred said when he hung up, snapping his phone shut, "after not even a month back in school. That's got to be a new record." He spoke in a condescending tone, running his finger through his dark, almost black, hair. "What the hell is wrong with you? Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Fred shouted. "I did not raise you to be a loser."

Ricky opened his mouth to protest that Fred hadn't raised him at all but didn't get a chance because Fred started yelling, making Ricky's ears ring in the limousine's small space.

"Shut up! You do not interrupt me! You shut the hell up until I tell you!"

"Yes, sir," Ricky said in a low resentful tone. He really had to control himself to not start yelling too, and looked straight ahead at where his father sat, yet refused to meet his gaze, his mouth in a hard line, biting his teeth.

"What the fuck were you thinking?! I know about the little sluts you sleep around with. But even if you weren't getting your dick wet, you do not force yourself on a girl! You got that?!"

"Yes, sir." Ricky finally looked his father directly in the eyes. "I didn't do it."

Before Ricky knew it, Fred had grabbed the collar of his school blazer, yanking him roughly forward and causing him to fall hard on his knees in the limited space between the two seats. He tried to push his father's hands away, but Fred started shaking his fists, hitting Ricky painfully on the jaw with his large gold ring in the process.

"If you didn't do it, then why the hell did Father Correll call me and informed me otherwise?! Do you not realize the kind of injuries rumors like this can cost me?! You bear my name! The name of the company your grandfather built! You better start showing some goddamn respect! You hear me?!" Fred shouted in Ricky's face before letting him go with a rough shove.

Ricky groaned, rubbing his jaw, and got back into his seat. "Yeah, loud and fucking clear." Of course, it came back to cool cash. But Ricky had never asked to be named Frederick Stark von Linden the goddamn III. "I was trying to tell you that I'm meeting someone later who can account for my whereabouts. I'll have her come to Correll's office with me and tell him she's my alibi."

"Well, let's just hope he buys it."

"Let's just hope he buys it," Ricky mocked in a low murmur, turning his head to look at the streets they passed.

The limousine stopped when they got to the tall office building where his father's main company was housed. The chauffeur opened the door, and Fred got out, his black briefcase in hand.

"Move it," he commanded.

"What?" Ricky furrowed his brows. "Why do I need to get out?"

"Am I going to let you ride around in my limo?" Fred asked with sarcasm. "Get your ass out here!"

With a sigh, Ricky grabbed his bag and climbed out.

The chauffeur gave them a short nod, taking off as Fred started toward the building's revolving doors, expecting Ricky to follow suit. But Ricky stayed where he was, pulling out a fresh cigarette and lit it in the shelter of his hands. Fred had made it through the revolving doors before realizing Ricky wasn't with him and had to go through it once more to get back out on the street.

"You think that's funny, huh?" he asked and grabbed Ricky around the arm again, this time the right. "And put that fucking shit out," Fred ordered and roughly took the cigarette from between Ricky's lips, throwing it to the ground—successfully hitting him in the eye with the heavy briefcase.

"Ow. Fuck, Dad."

"Get in there." Fred shoved Ricky forward.

Everyone in front of the tall office building was staring at the scene they created, giving them space. Ricky paid them no attention. "You didn't say you wanted me to follow you," he defended, knowing perfectly well Fred had wanted him to.

"You think you're such a fucking smartass, don't you?"

"Why do I need to come to your office?" Ricky asked, ignoring Fred's remark as they marched through the giant lobby to the elevator bank.

"I am not having my son wandering around, looking like that." Fred nodded at Ricky's bare chest.

Ricky huffed. "Fine, but will you let go of my arm?" Fred had grabbed his arm again, holding it so tight he could feel it tingle from the lack of blood circulation. Fred didn't answer; he simply tightened his grasp around Ricky's arm even more.

"I am perfectly capable of walking on my own," Ricky objected in a volume higher than his normally soft voice when they stopped in front of the elevators. One dinged immediately after pressing the button, and a pair of golden doors slid open.

Fred hauled Ricky inside. "Yeah?" He stepped in after him and turned his back to Ricky, pushing the button to his floor, facing the doors that slid closed. "Well, maybe we should test that little theory of yours by having you walk to school instead of driving with such 'dick' chauffeurs for a while," he suggested tauntingly, looking up at the floor counter as they rose higher and higher.

"Not chauffeurs," Ricky stressed the plural, putting pressure on the S, and leaned against the back of the elevator, rubbing his arm where Fred had grabbed it. "Just one. Singular. And yeah, I'd rather walk than have to ride with him ever again."

The elevator doors slid open with another ding when they reached their floor. Fred placed a hand on it to keep it from sliding shut and looked at Ricky. Making a gesture with his head, he told him to go first, wanting to make sure Ricky came along this time and didn't just ride down with the elevator again.

Ricky rolled his eyes and pushed off the handlebar, ignoring the pain the movement sent through his ribs, walking ahead of his father past the reception area. They headed down the maze-like carpeted corridors of glass-walled offices, going to his father's large corner office.

"The way things are looking right now, I don't think it's a question of you walking or driving to school. It's a question of if you'll ever go back to school," Fred said once they entered the luxurious office, closing the door behind them.

The room was modern and light, with plenty of space between the small conference table on the left, the leather sofa group on the right, and the large desk in the middle. Several giant screens hung on one wall, displaying the stock market's development as it happened—jumping bright-colored lines of stock shares continually rising or falling on a black background next to charts and tables of numbers.

"I promise, I'll fix it," Ricky tried to assure.

"You better fix it," Fred snapped and put his briefcase down on his desk. He took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his office chair, revealing the dark suspenders sitting on top of his light-blue button-down shirt. Running a hand down the length of his tie, Fred looked through the messages left on his desk during his lunch break.

"You hear me?!" he demanded, looking at Ricky with angry eyes when he remained silent.

"Yes, sir."

"I will not have the talk around this city being that my son is a goddamn rapist." Fred threw the notes down on the desk aggressively, going over to a pair of double doors next to a display of Yankees memorabilia. Signed bats, gloves, and baseballs in glass display cases. An old Yankees shirt and rare baseball cards in frames.

Fred opened the doors to a small walk-in closet where he kept spare clothes and suits, looking for a new shirt. "I will get rid of you so fast it'll make your head spin," he warned, coming back out and propelling a flat box with a fresh shirt at Ricky.

He reacted quickly as he caught it flying through the air. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Get out of my sight."

Ricky didn't need to be told twice. He hurried out the door, going back to the elevators.

Riding down, Ricky dropped his messenger bag onto the floor along with the box and the tissue paper wrapping the crisp new shirt. He hung it over the handlebar, taking off his school blazer and let it fall on top of everything else. He looked at his arms as he stood bare-chested in the small space. There were bruises already forming on both his biceps from his father's firm grip.

He cursed forcefully just as the elevator slid open with a ding, taking a blonde woman in her early twenties by surprise. She looked Ricky up and down with raised eyebrows as she stepped in with her arms full of paperwork, slowly turning to push the button to her floor.

Ricky quickly grabbed the fresh white shirt and tried to cover himself while he undid all the tiny buttons, noticing how she kept looking at him via the reflection of the polished walls as he hastily put it on.

Down at street level, he checked his watch. There was time for a bite to eat if he ate on the way, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. He got a pizza slice from a food truck and then hailed a cab, heading back to St. Aquinas. But traffic was awful going uptown, and Ricky could do nothing but sit impatiently and watch as time ticked away. When he finally reached the school, he only just saw Olivia getting into a town car farther down the sidewalk. Cursing, he spun around for his cab, but it had already gone into the stream of cars going down Park Avenue.

"Fuck!" He quickly pulled his cell phone from his pocket, calling Sebastian.

"What?"

"I need your help."

Sebastian sighed into his phone. "What did you do now? I'm tutoring; can't it wait?"

"I didn't do anything, Ricky said with irritation, "I just missed Casini as she got in a fucking car. You think your pixie's got her home address?"

"Her name's Roxie. I'll ask."

A moment later, Ricky's phone vibrated with a text with Olivia's address.

He got out of another cab lower on the Upper East Side, standing in front of a hotel building on Lexington Avenue. He cast a glance up at the tall red sandstone building. The private residents were on the top floors and had their own entry left of the hotel's wide entrance. Ricky moved toward the private lobby, but one look at the concierge sitting behind the desk in the small foyer changed his mind. It was clear to see he wasn't about to let just anybody up to the private floors, and Ricky was not in the mood for another argument. He'd had more than enough for one day.

Going through the hotel lobby, he walked to the elevator bank, picking up his pace to catch the elevator an elderly couple stepped into. He got off on the hotel's top floor, managing to locate the stairwell going to the upper levels behind a door at the end of a hallway. Climbing the stairs two at a time, he finally reached the penthouse level.

He came out into a great spacious marble hall with two private elevators at the opposite end. Along the walls were several thick white marble columns, and a round mahogany table with a large flower arrangement stood in the center under an impressive crystal chandelier. To his left and right were two broad double glass doors with beautiful decorative grills in black wrought iron, leading to each of the two penthouses. Checking the address on his phone, Ricky stepped over to the one on the left, flanked by a pair of potted cone topiaries on ornamented pedestals, and rang the doorbell.