Jackson and Rosalie Teller's House - Living Room
"How was your day?" Jackson rasped and dumped his duffel bag at the front door.
Rosalie looked over her shoulder and stared back at the deep bruises and fresh cuts on his face, and she asked him, anxiously, "what happened?"
Jackson was taken hostage by a bunch of Russians and was rescued in the knick of time by the Galindo Cartel. He sat down in the armchair and ran hands through his hair, and he told her none of that. Instead, he told her, flatly, "Roosevelt trashed the clubhouse. Mom's getting a bunch of the girls together to help out tomorrow-"
"I don't have time for that," Rosalie replied, shortly.
Jackson looked up at her steely gaze, his chin balanced upon a tired fist. He shook his head a little, and told her, "I didn't ask you to do anything."
Rosalie missed a beat, and then another, and he knew that she was thinking twice, thinking better of snapping back with what she actually wanted to say. Instead, she quipped, sarcastically, "Roosevelt trash your face too?"
"No. Just a misunderstanding," Jax offered up, half-heartedly, and asked her, "you gonna tell me about your day?"
"Busy. Clay came by my office today," she informed him, with a tightness in her tone, "asked me to draw up a lease for Oswald Lumber Yard, under a dummy corporation."
Jackson sighed heavily, and flopped his head back in the chair, "shit. That's on me, babe. Didn't get into it today...with everything that happened. I didn't tell him you were pulling away."
"That story on the news this morning? Dead Russians dumped at Charming Heights," Rosalie asked, "that you?"
"How much you want to know?" He asked.
She thought about it for a moment and then simply asked him, "was it you?"
"It was retaliation for what happened to me in prison," he explained.
Jackson had three scars on his torso from being stabbed with a shiv in Stockton. This was retribution from Putlova, as Clay had promised a hearty gun trade deal, double-crossed him and then left the Russians with nothing; all a means to Jimmy O'Phelan's end. Clay smoothed over the bad blood with a generous distribution deal: the Russians would receive the lion's share of the guns and profits while the MC was inside. There were undoubtedly a few more dots in between, but Rosalie's next installment of information was the MC murdering four Russians at Opie and Lyla's wedding...and a sketchy excuse for her husband's beaten and battered appearance. Where did it end? She lost sleep that night, and many more followed, her mind stuck on exactly where.
Law Office of David Rosen - Rosalie Teller's Office
Halle James sauntered in to her boss' office without so much as a polite chap on the door; she was too absorbed in the folder she was flicking through. Rosalie twitched at the sudden intrusion and clapped a hand on to her laptop lid defensively.
"Are you for real?" Rosalie huffed out, "you don't knock anymore? That's your new thing?"
"I know your schedule. I know you're free. I know I need to talk to you," Halle declared, and asked about the pre-trial proceedings, "oh, wait, how'd it go this morning?"
"Routine. Hawkins was an ass. Ruffled a feather or two," Rosalie muttered back, and returned to her screen.
"That's really great. Really good. Here you go," Halle said, and plopped her folder down open in front of Rosalie. She took her through each colored tab in the packed file, "your compilation of references, both personal and professional, in order of impressiveness. Updated resume. A breakdown of your case stats. Your published paper. Published articles. It's all here, ready to send out to interested parties. Oh. Speaking of said interested parties, here we have information on two super amazing shit-hot firms that are interested in speaking with you already. One in Portland. And Seattle. And then, there's a super-cute start-up in the Bay Area at the back there, I just threw that in as a wild card."
Rosalie surveyed the weighty assembly of paperwork before her, stunned, and for a quiet moment, speechless. She combed through the folder and said, "uh...this is incredible. I can't believe you found my old articles. That's...thank you so much for doing this."
"Not a problem. As long as you hold up your end of the bargain," Halle reminded her.
"Like hell I'm letting you go," Rosalie scoffed back, with a genuine smile.
Halle smiled back and suggested that she order in lunch, knowing perfectly well that Rosalie would skip it without her insistence.
"Yeah. You pick. Charge it to David," Rosalie said.
"Always," Halle scoffed, and paused before she turned to leave, "you know, I tried to drop this off earlier, and...Gemma was here, in your office."
Rosalie's gaze shot straight up to hers and she squinted her eyes a little. She asked, "did she say why?"
"No, but I'm pretty certain I interrupted her looking for something," Halle said.
"Did she see this?" Rosalie asked, gesturing to Halle's work.
"No," Halle said, definitively.
Rosalie scratched the back of her neck and she shrugged, "she was probably just looking for something for Grace."
"Probably," Halle said, tightly.
"Thanks again for this," Rosalie said, quickly, and rather opaquely. She wanted to shut down any conversation relating to her family so she changed the subject back to work, "can you give me an hour-out warning tomorrow before we have to leave?"
"Sure thing," Halle said, "does uh...does Jax know you're planning to move?"
"I'm...not, just yet," Rosalie said, uncertainly.
"Ro-" Halle scorned.
"I need to be here," Rosalie hit back, but Halle had none of it.
"Two months ago, you completely broke down and ugly-cried to me about it. About everything! You did it right there!" Halle scorned, and pointed at the exact spot in the room, "you asked me-"
"I know! I know. And, look...I still feel that way, I do, but I have to let Jax lead us out, Hal. It has to be done right. It may take a little bit longer, but it's the only way I get my whole family out clean," Rosalie said.
"Longer can very easily turn into forever. You know that," Halle insisted and patted a hand on the enticing stack of opportunities sat on her desk, "please think about this."
"It's the only thing I think about," Rosalie huffed out, emotionally.
Rosalie waited for Halle to finally leave, and then she checked on the thick packet envelope she had stashed away in her locked desk drawer, containing all of the damning evidence against Clay Morrow: the personal, intimate exchanges between Maureen Ashby and John Teller, the accident report highlighting the exact predictions of the marked man. It was all still there. She made copies of the letters, and of her findings, and on her way home, she took her time hiding the originals inside the family storage unit.
San Joaquin County Courthouse
Angel leant against the hood of Rosalie's car, and waited for her to emerge from the courthouse; he had one more task before heading back to Santo Padre: to thank Ezekiel's lawyer for the small miracle she'd worked in there. He blew into his coffee cup, and closed his eyes for a moment and reflected. It was the end of a long road in one regard, and the beginning of another: a decade without his brother.
He tilted his head and a small smile broke as he watched Rosalie thank some guy profusely for holding the door open for her. She repositioned the bundle of files she toted on her hip. The guy laughed genuinely at her remark as she sauntered away, and he disappeared back inside.
Her body tensed at finally seeing a man leant against her car, but she settled immediately when she realised who it was. Angel didn't read into it at the time. She dumped her armful of files into the back seat and he passed her over the coffee cup resting on the hood of her car.
"You didn't have to do that," she said, warmly.
"Owe you a lot more than a courthouse coffee," he said.
"You don't," she said, quietly, and took her place beside him.
"Pop had to get back. He said he'd give you a call soon...to debrief or whatever," he told her.
"That's fine. I understand. He probably wouldn't really be hearing anything I say right now, and it can all definitely wait," she said.
Angel nodded, and he rasped, "that's his baby boy, you know."
"I know," she said, ensuring he found the sincerity in her eyes.
"How was he...back there?" he asked her, and only as the question fell out did he realise he may not want to know the answer.
"He was okay," she said, neutrally, "as good as you can really expect him to be."
He eventually rasped, "right."
Rosalie didn't know what else to say so she took a step forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. He buried his face in hers.
Law Office of David Rosen - Rosalie Teller's Office
Gemma knocked on the open door and greeted her daughter-in-law, who looked deep in thought, "sorry to barge in. Interrupting something?"
"No. Just paperwork," Rosalie said, politely, "come in."
"I came by yesterday," Gemma informed her and took her seat.
"Yeah. Halle mentioned that," Rosalie replied.
"Yeah, I'm sure she did," Gemma said, curtly, veiling nothing of her opinion of the girl. She rummaged around inside her purse and produced a bit of scrap paper with something squiggled all over it. She explained, "this fell out of one of Abel's coloring books. You have any idea where he might've found it?"
Rosalie's blood ran cold, but she kept her face colder, and she asked, in confusion, "what is it?"
"A note. Talks about some letters."
"Letters to whom?"
Gemma pursed her lips together and looked the girl all over, scanning for a crack. She outright asked her, "you hiding something from me?
"Why would I do that?" Rosalie hit back.
"Same reason you keep answering my questions with questions," Gemma said.
Rosalie sat back in her chair with a small smirk, and she scoffed, "sounds like you already know the answers."
"No. I don't," Gemma admitted, "what I do know is that letters from John Teller would be very painful for my son to read."
"Why?" Rosalie asked.
"John was in love with Maureen Ashby. When we were in Belfast, I found out she had a kid with him. Stirred up all that old shit. I had already fallen in love with Clay. When Thomas died I-I didn't care anymore. I didn't even try to hide it. That was a mistake. Put Clay at risk. It was humiliating for JT," Gemma lamented, "Jax doesn't know any of that. Him finding out could set things off with Clay again. John ripped me apart. Spent months at a time in Belfast, with her. Left me here. Alone. With his son's."
"Sorry," Rosalie muttered.
"I loved him. Like you and Jax. I was 19. He was my goddamn world..." Gemma shook herself out of the donder down memory lane and she recentred, imploring, "this ain't good for anybody. You understand me?" She picked up the scribbled paper and she insisted, "wherever this leads, this is bad for our family."
Rosalie called her success prematurely, with only seconds left in the game, assuming her poker face had managed to drag her through the interaction with a grain of dignity left in tact. But, Gemma turned her attention back to her purse and this time she pulled out an envelope. She tossed it over the desk to Rosalie and glanced down at it once.
"This is also bad for our family," Gemma stated.
"What is it?" Rosalie asked, flatly.
"You tell me," Gemma replied, simply.
Rosalie picked up the envelope, and she pulled out half a dozen or so photographs; she couldn't keep her emotions hidden this time around.
"You had me followed?" Rosalie scorned, incredulously.
"Don't be dense. The VP's old lady is never alone, always has people watching her back. The club was facing Russian retaliation. Of course you had eyes on you, to protect you, and your children," Gemma said, "Rat Boy came to me with questions I couldn't answer. So, enlighten me. What the hell is this?"
This was a photograph taken in a coffee shop; Angel whispering something to her in line; and she's laughing in the next one, backhanding his chest playfully. Next was a zoomed-in image of two figures in her office window; the time stamp warrants an explanation, sure, but the pose is innocent enough; okay, he's a little too close in the next one but most damning of all was the last in the pile; Rosalie kissing Angel in a parking lot. It was dark, late at night, but the glow of the street light picked them out just fine.
"This was one stupid kiss," Rosalie lied, her eyes glued to the image.
"I wish all my kisses were that stupid," Gemma quipped with a raised brow, as though she were merely there to critique form.
"Jax was inside. And...he was there," Rosalie said.
"It's done?" Gemma asked.
Rosalie nodded.
"No one but Rat Boy knows about this. And no one else has to. You are protected by the Prison Clause, sure, but Jackson has you so high on that pedestal of yours, he adores you, and I won't break his heart by letting him see these. Some secrets don't do anyone any good by coming to light," Gemma said as she rose from her chair to leave, she added, "I don't think your friend would benefit either."