Beyond the Family Ties

Part 9

The next day, Becky went to Albany City Hospital to see James, wracked with guilt and shifting nervously as she made her way up to the ward he was staying on. Freen was beside her, having been given the day off, pushing Laurel in her pushchair, quietly assuring Becky that everything was okay. Hesitating outside the private room he was in, she let Freen quietly knock and poke her head in first, checking to make sure he was awake. She was ushered inside a moment later, her face drawn with worry as she clutched a bouquet of daisies in her hand. Lucy was there, having flown in from Metropolis at the news, and James was resting against a pile of thin hospital pillows, the scratchy blankets pulled up over his gown. He waved Becky's guilty apologies aside, cracking smiles and jokes, letting Laurel sit on the bed as he shared a piece of the chocolate he'd been brought by a visitor with her. He didn't blame Becky once.

It didn't stop her from feeling awful about it though, and not everyone was on her side. They all met up for pizza a few days later, minus James, and Angel brought along Maggie, whose accusing eyes let her know that she blamed her. She had good reason to; she was a cop, and she had to deal with the fact that she couldn't bring down the man who was untouchable. Lionel had the whole city in his pocket, bribing and blackmailing lawyers, judges, cops, and killing any rival mob members who got it in their head to try and undermine him. Sunny had taken over, and no matter how many murders he got himself wrapped up in, he was just as untouchable. Becky knew that Maggie hated that more than anything. She hated it herself too.

Becky had realised early on that the cops wouldn't be any help. If she wanted to protect herself, she'd have to do it herself, and after James got shot, she took matters into her own hands. Dressing up in the few clothes she kept for special occasions, where she needed to channel the heiress mob daughter, she brought Angel with her to the bank, where she withdrew all of her jewelry from her safety deposit box. They went to a jewellers on the high street, wedged in between Prada and Armani, the store dimly lit and smelling of old velvet and expensive wood. The place smelled like bergamot and Becky shifted impatiently as she was forced to wait, perching on one of the deep leather sofas as she glanced around at the mahogany wooden panels and display cabinets. Rare diamonds sparkled behind thick glass windows and security guards lurked in dark corners, keeping a watchful eye on her.

She'd been a frequent visitor to the store before, and most of the items she had with her had been bought in that very shop, the owner a well known associate of her father's. By the end of her visit, she'd sold them all for a modest profit, using Angel 's argumentative skills to aid her in her knowledge of jewels. Becky knew what they were worth, and Angel , ever the stubborn lawyer, viciously played the game of bartering. Afterwards, Becky treated her to a meal at Boucherie, a French restaurant the next block over, the quiet hum of jazz music keeping them company as they enjoyed escargot and tarte tatin.

With her bank account holding sufficient funds, Becky spent the following weeks investing in safe businesses she knew her family already had holding in. She bought up any shares available, she bought investment properties and flipped them, the cash in her account slowly ticking up. Business was something she knew, something she'd grown up on. A lot of her family's business happened to be in smuggling, but that didn't change the principle of it, and she'd been allowed to accompany her mother on a few business meetings upon occasion - usually when she was misbehaving and Lillian didn't want to let her out of her sight - listening in as they talked. Becky thought that in another life she would've made a good businesswoman.

In a few short months, she had accumulated and even larger sum. Enough to move somewhere safer. Freen fought her on it at first, insisting that their apartment now was fine. It was clean, in a safe neighbourhood, and had enough space for them. For now. But with a toddler crammed into her room with her, Becky knew that she was going to need more space anyway. And even though James' gunshot wound healed up quickly, her friend back to his usual good natured self, and back in his ambulance with his partner, she couldn't help but feel like it had been meant for Freen. There was no proof to assume that it had been, and James hadn't thrown himself in front of her. It had hit him plainly, but Becky wasn't sure if that had just been bad luck on his and the shooter's part. It could just as easily have been Freen. She wanted somewhere safer for them, and that meant tighter security, better neighbourhoods and an expensive apartment.