"Confess?" Jarrod leans back in the leather chair and runs his fingers through his hair. It isn't often that he is stunned into silence by the action of a man. "I don't understand, Phil. What could you possibly have to confess? Other than the rather excessive force you used on Heath yesterday you are the most law-abiding person I have ever known."

He gives Phil a smile hoping to ease the tension in the room and takes a moment to really look at his former law school colleague as this shocking turn of events begins to quell his initial anger at being summoned here. It doesn't take long for him to recognize the drawn features and the dark circles under the eyes of the man sitting in a chair propped up against the wall behind him with the doctor beside him. It's obvious to those in the room that Archer's perfectly pressed suit and expertly combed hair is simply his final attempt to present himself respectably to his peers.

"Phil, what did you do?" Jarrod's voice remains calm and even.

Archer's eyes shift from the window across from him to Jarrod and then quickly move down to his feet as the common surge of jealousy at the sight of a Barkley pulses through him. The perfect Barkleys never make mistakes or at least they never have to pay for the mistakes they do make. He shifts uncomfortably under his own insecurities and works to calm the rising tide of self-pity he feels. No, this is my fault, no one forced me into this situation. I made the decision and now it's time for me to take responsibility for it. He moves to respond but is instead afflicted with a bout of coughing to which Dr. Merar responds by raising the glass to his lips and encouraging him to take another sip of water.

"Sorry, Jarrod," he begins as the coughing begins to subside, "I haven't eaten, or slept, or had anything to drink in almost three days."

"Why, Phil?" The genuine concern Jarrod feels is clear to everyone in the room.

"Fear, Jarrod." Phil sits up a little straighter and works to keep his voice even, strong. "Simply, fear. It has been the driving force for many of my actions in the last few weeks."

"Look, Phil..." Fred leans in placing one elbow on his knee. "...if you think someone is out to get you, why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because then I would have had to tell you everything and I knew once I did that," he pauses and takes a deep breath, "I'd lose everything I have worked so hard for." He leans down and places his elbows on his knees, knowing he can't put this off any longer. Grasping his hands together he gathers his resolve and starts to tell his tale, "Almost four years ago I was approached by a judge who asked me to sign off on an order, the order was blank but he needed, well wanted, a prosecutor's signature."

He glances over at Judge Clarkson, who nods his head at the recognition of Phil's words. "So, this judge wanted it to appear that a prosecutor had recommended a particular sentence or placement so that it didn't seem like the judge was acting alone."

Archer nods in response. "At first, I refused. I was insulted that he would dare ask me to partake in something so unprincipled. When I ask him why he just said the less that I knew the better and then he apologized for asking. He went on to explain that he was trying to help a friend in a delicate situation. After, he invited me to dinner where we talked about my legal ambitions."

"I was such a FOOL," Archer yells, startling everyone. He balls his hand into a fist and slams it down on his own leg. "I was so easily played. I allowed myself to fall for his sophistry." He brings the same fist up to his lips as he works to ease his breathing. "I convinced myself it was ok because the request was coming from a judge who was known for upholding the law. So I signed it. The next week I learned how fruitful our conversation had been, Eli Browning was moved to Modesto and I found myself as the new prosecutor in Stockton."

"Alright, Phil. Let's take a break for a minute." Dr. Merar interrupts, trying to calm his patient. Judge Clarkson had called him to his office after Phil had practically collapsed. When he began to exam the man, the doctor found him to be dehydrated and extremely exhausted. Phil kept muttering about poison and it wasn't until both the doctor and the judge drank from a glass of water that he willingly took a sip.

Jarrod leans back in his chair and looks upon the man he has faced many times in the courtroom with a renewed curiosity. Phil Archer has always come across as a man unmovable in his staunch conviction of the law. A person who would never allow his morals to be swayed by personal gain as a lesser man might. A man whom Jarrod would never have imagined capable of the actions he is now describing to them.

Running his hand over his face, Jarrod takes a moment to look around the room at the others here to witness Phil's confession. It is clear from the looks of utter disbelief on the faces of the three other men sitting in the room that they share his views They all know the gravity of the situation. Not only is Phil guaranteed to be disbarred but it is likely he will serve time once convicted, not to mention face a potential civil suit if the blank order he signed wronged a person.

"It's been four years, Phil. Why tell us all of this now?" Jarrod looks over to Phil trying to keep his thoughts hidden as to not stop the man now that he has begun.

"I'm a lawyer Jarrod," he laughs at the careful tone Jarrod is using with him, "I know you are all thinking over the legal ramifications of what I am telling you and I can honestly tell you, as much as it shames me to admit, that without a recent turn of events I would have taken this secret to the grave. In fact, over the years I forgot about it, as horrible as that sounds." He rubs his palms over his knee. "Until two weeks ago."

"I received this telegram." Phil reaches into his pocket and hands the telegram directly to Jarrod, who immediately opens it and reads it. "I arranged for the snake to be let loose that day."

"How?" Jarrod jumps up from his chair and begins pacing around the room as his fear for this new brother courses through him, Use Thomson the telegraph had read. He hands the telegram to Fred who reads it and passes to the Judge. "He could have been killed," He yells at Archer, doing nothing to hide the anger in his voice.

"Now, I never intended for Nick to shoot him. I was just hoping you might throw him off the ranch, and please don't be too hard on Billy."

"Billy? He was in on this?" Jarrod can feel his anger rising and walks over to the window across from Phil. He turns his back to them as he works to control his rage before looking back to confront them.

"Please Jarrod, I used him. He was just trying to save his own brother from hanging." Phil looks up at Jarrod and for the first time, the animosity he normally feels at his privilege is absent. He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out another telegram and hands it over to Jarrod. "Somebody is out to get that boy Heath, Jarrod."

Jarrod takes a moment to read the second telegram. His face pales as he reads over the words, Get Thomson alone. He sinks back into his chair, his anxiety rising, he starts to look toward the door. As soon as they were done here he needed to get home and have a talk with Heath. "Is this what led to that scene yesterday?"

"Yes, Jarrod." Phil keeps his eyes on Jarrod wanting to look him in the eye to make sure he can see the impact his actions yesterday had on him. Allowing Jarrod to see the confusion, the loss of self, the anguish he feels over what he did and how he acted, he continues, "I've never hurt someone like that and when I saw that boy on the floor, in pain, I realized how perverted my position has become. I had to put an end to it."

"How did these telegrams lead to you confessing?" Fred asks, interrupting Phil's admission to Jarrod in order to satisfy his need for clarity, "They're not signed and they don't mention anything about the order you say you signed."

Phil slowly moves his eyes from Jarrod to Fred and hauls in another deep breath and his readies himself for his final confession. "No, you're right they don't mention the order but I had a visitor show up at my house three weeks ago, letting me know he expected my help with this or else word would get out about what I did." He runs his hands over his face as he tries to calm his pounding heart. He knows that as soon as he gives them the name of the judge he will be signing his own death certificate. "I want all of you to know how ashamed I am of the actions that led me here. I let my ambitions and my jealousy cloud my judgment and for that, I am truly sorry." His eyes plead with Jarrod, who despite his anger nods in acceptance.

"The judge was the visitor?" Jarrod probes.

"Yes." Archer can feel the sweat forming on his forehead.

"You are going to have to tell us his name." Judge Clarkson places his elbow on his desk and leans forward.

Archer nods to the judge and again straightens his shoulders before clearing his throat, "It was Judge T…"

The sound of breaking glass did not register to anyone in the room until the crimson flood began to pour out of Archer's chest. The words lost in the gurgle of the red liquid as it rises to fill his mouth and flow over the edges of his lips. Confusion glazes Archer's eyes as the other men in the room jump into action. Dr. Merar, with Jarrod's help, quickly lays Archer down and rips open the man's shirt working to stem the stream of blood flowing from the wound. Fred crawls to the now broken window trying to locate the owner of the deadly bullet, while the judge bends down and begins to crawl toward the three men on the floor.

Grabbing a lantern off the shelf closest to the cellar door, Matt adjusts the wick just enough so it gives off a dim light as he carefully makes his way down the steep staircase. He hates this house but it will serve its purpose as they complete what should have been done twenty years ago. Finally, he will be able to right the wrong that has been cast upon his name and rid the world of that cursed child who unjustly was allowed to grow into a man.

Coming to the last step, he holds the lantern out and slightly above his head as he waves it slowly in front of him trying to see in the darkened corners of the small room. As his eyes continue to adjust it takes a moment for him to spot the person he is looking for. Curled tightly in a small ball in the far corner is his wife. She is staring absently towards him. He notices that dangling beside her are the newly installed shackles that will hold their prisoner in place.

"Martha, darling," he calls to her, hoping not to startle her. He watches as her head turns toward his voice though her eyes continue to look past him at something he can not see.

"When will our guest be arriving"? She sits up and moves her knees towards the wall as she gingerly starts to finger the anchored chains. "I have everything ready for him."

"Should be soon, dear." He dares to move closer to her. "Jed is working on the ranch and found some men who know the boy is an abomination."

Her eyes shoot up toward him as her smile widens and her joy overtakes her eyes. For a second he is reminded of when they first met and his heart yearns for those carefree days when they were happy and in love. The days before Strawberry, the days before that bastard was born.