Chapter 287

The phone rang twice before a deep, guarded voice answered, "Quinton speaking."

"Hi, uh, Quinton. It's Evie," I said, attempting to sound confident despite the nerves that gnawed at me.

"Who?" His voice was gruff, unyielding.

"Evie. Evangeline," I clarified, though I was unsure if that would trigger any recognition.

There was a pause, and I could almost hear the skepticism in his silence. "What do you want?"

"I... I need to talk to you about Timothy," I said tentatively, trying to tread carefully. "He mentioned you, said he needed your help."

There was a tangible shift in Quinton's tone, a subtle hardening. "I'm not involved in his business anymore."

"He's in trouble, Quinton," I pressed on, feeling a pang of desperation. "He's been arrested for something he didn't do."

The mention of Timothy's predicament seemed to hang in the air for a moment, a palpable weight between us. "Arrested?" His voice was colder, distant.

"Yes, and he wants your help. He trusts you," I urged, hoping to strike a chord within him. "He needs you."

"I said, I'm not doing any more business," Quinton's tone was final, resolute.

"But Timothy needs you!" I exclaimed, frustration seeping into my voice. "He told me you were family, that you cared about him."

The mention of family seemed to have some effect on him. There was a brief pause before he asked, "What about Timothy?"

"He said you were his uncle," I revealed, trying to connect the dots. "He's worried about what's going to happen to me while he's in jail. He wants you to watch over me until he's released on bail."

A heavy silence hung between us, and I could almost sense the internal struggle within Quinton. "I don't know anything about what he's been up to lately," he finally muttered.

"Please, Quinton," I implored, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on me. "I don't have anyone else to turn to. Timothy trusts you, believes in you."

There was a long pause, and then Quinton let out a heavy sigh. "How did Timothy end up in jail for murder?"

"He was framed," I blurted out, the words rushing out before I could stop them. "He didn't do it, Quinton. You have to believe me."

The admission seemed to strike a chord within him. "Framed?" His voice held a hint of disbelief. "How?"

"I don't know the details, but I know he's innocent," I said earnestly, feeling a glimmer of hope. "He needs your help, Quinton. Please."

There was a prolonged silence on the other end of the line. I held my breath, hoping against hope that Quinton would agree. Finally, his voice, though still cautious, softened a fraction. "I'll look into it."

Relief flooded through me, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Thank you, Quinton. Thank you so much."

"Don't thank me yet," he replied cryptically before adding, "I'll see what I can do. I’m on my way."

The line went dead. Timothy's uncle was now part of the equation, and I could only hope that his involvement would help unravel the truth behind Timothy's predicament. I had shared my address and contact details with him, trusting Timothy's judgment despite the shadowy nature of his uncle.

If Timothy believed in him, then perhaps there was more to Quinton than met the eye.

After thinking it over, I opened my social media, hoping for a distraction from Quinton’s arrival. Instead, I was met with a barrage of notifications and alerts. The online world was buzzing with discussions about Timothy's arrest, and the tone was turning against me.

"Evie, you need to distance yourself from that criminal!" read one comment. "How can you trust someone accused of murder?" said another.

I felt my heart sink as I scrolled through the hateful messages. "Timothy is innocent," I typed, my fingers trembling slightly. "He's been framed, and I stand by him."

The responses were immediate and harsh. Accusations flew at me like arrows, questioning my judgment, my loyalty, and even my sanity. The weight of the online attacks felt suffocating, but amidst the chaos, I held onto the belief that Timothy was wrongly accused.

Hours later, there was a knock at my door. I peered through the peephole to see a figure standing outside, someone I hadn't seen in person but recognized instantly from his features alone. Quinton.

I opened the door cautiously, and my eyes met his. The resemblance to Timothy was uncanny, yet there was a sterner edge to Quinton's features, a weariness that spoke of experiences far beyond what was typical.

"Evie," he greeted me with a nod, his voice carrying a hint of reserve.

"Quinton," I replied, inviting him inside.

As he stepped into the apartment, I couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between him and Kamran. Quinton exuded an aura of authority, a silent strength that seemed worlds apart from Kamran's calculated charm.

"You look a lot like Timothy," I remarked, unable to ignore the similarity.

"That’s what most people say…or used to say," Quinton replied curtly, settling into a chair. "I was Lydia's brother."

I felt a surge of curiosity. "Were you at her funeral?" I asked, trying to gauge his relationship with Timothy's mother.

Quinton's expression darkened slightly. "Yes, but I preferred to mourn in silence. I never got along with Kamran's side of the family."

I nodded, understanding his sentiments. "Do you think your connections could help Timothy's case?" I ventured, hoping to tap into any resources he might have.

He regarded me for a moment, his gaze calculating. "I'll do what I can," he said cryptically.

I realized then that Quinton was a man of few words, guarded and cautious in his interactions. Even with my previous apprehension, his help felt like a lifeline. He’d delt with these families far longer than I had.

My phone chimed in my hand, signaling yet another notification for the responses on my post. Quinton’s eyes fell to my phone and he creased his eyebrows as I dared to look at the screen.

"Evie, how can you stand by a murderer?" one message read.

I clenched my fists in frustration. "They’re relentless. I just want to scream and shout that he’s innocent, but it seems useless.”

“Because it is,” Quinton sad coolly without missing a beat. He stepped closer. Ignore those idiots on the internet. They can speculate all day, but it’ll never be evidence," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

"I know," I sighed, feeling defeated. "But I can't let them tarnish Timothy's name."

"You're brave," Quinton acknowledged, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “I can see why he couldn’t stop talking about you for all those years.”

A blush crept up my cheeks and I turned away. I knew Timothy was pleased about running into me again after High School, but I didn’t know that it had become that serious.

The evening soon came, and I used that time to give Quinton a good summary of all that had happened. It felt necessary to let him in on everything, from Bruce’s harassment and attempted murder to Stella’s involvement.

Quinton was beside me on the couch, taking it all in. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze distant.

"Evie," he began, breaking the silence. "That’s quite a case Timothy’s got."

My heart skipped a beat. "And?"

"It's not as straightforward as it seems," Quinton replied cryptically. "There are deeper layers to this."

Hope flickered within me. "Can you do something?"

"I have a few leads," he said cautiously. "But I'll need time."

Time. It felt like both an ally and an adversary. But with Quinton's involvement, a flicker of hope ignited within me. Maybe, just maybe, Timothy would be proven innocent.