Of Beach Houses and Executions by Ecri

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lyon's Den. I am making no money from this.

NOTE: This is an incredibly short piece inspired by the recent episode of Lyon's Den.

Jack Turner stared out his office window. He felt vulnerable here. He didn't know if that was because, to him, it was still Dan Barrington's office, or if it was something else. Perhaps it was this feeling that he was in over his head, and that all of that stemmed from this office.

Daniel Barrington was gone, and if Hal Malloy had been in the office at the time, what did that prove?

How did Allen Forrestor know all this anyway? How could a man on death row know who was standing in this very office when Dan haddied? How could he know about the Beach House? What else did he know that he had kept to himself? He'd claimed to know things about Dan, but did he really? Could Jack afford to doubt it? After all, he had known about the Beach House, about Dan's debt and about

Jack's heart constricted as thoughts of his mother flooded his mind like water through a dam. He hadn't been to see her in awhile, and, though part of him knew that was because of the hours he kept, part of him felt an overwhelming guilt over it all.

He and his father had argued more than once over his mother. They each had their own ideas about what was best for her, but Senator Turner was a man who always got his way.

Jack could still remember when he had viewed the world through his mother's eyes. His mother had been there for him when his father was too busy building his career, his reputation, his future. Jack loved her fiercely, even when she wasn't quite herself.

As a boy, he had wanted nothing more than to protect her. He had seen his father as an enemy even then. Cruel and stinging, the man's remarks to his own wife, his son was convinced, had contributed to sending her over the edge.

His mother had respected the law, but, as she put it, hated the manipulation of the law as used by the lawless. She had been appalled at her only son's desire to become a lawyer, sure that he was going to follow in his father's footsteps. Every politician, it seemed, started out as a lawyer. She had told him once that that was because they needed to know exactly which laws they were breaking themselves and just exactly how much they could expect to get away with.

It was she who had recommended that he sign up for Dan Barrington's ethics class, but he could never get either of them to admit to knowing each other. Idly, he wondered if he should have asked Forrester about that.

Jack still wasn't entirely sure why his father had been so insistent about what he referred to as his mother's retirement. Retirement? Sure, cause what she was really doing was playing canasta and bridge and signing up for water aerobics and tennis lessons from guys named Bjorn.

He wondered also, since Hal Malloy had asked after his mother, and then Forrester had mentioned his motherhe shook his head to clear the thoughts. He was beginning to see conspiracies everywhere. Maybe I should change my name to Mulder and replace those nuts with sunflower seeds. That's when he realized how tired he was.

He sighed and drew himself away from the window. He forced himself not to look at the nut shells on the table by the serving tray. If he ignored them tonight, maybe they would be gone by morning. He knew it was a lame enough thought, but he clung to it as he clung at times to the idea of his mother's restoration to him or to the idea that he would catch whoever had murdered Dan Barrington.

Murdered. Dan had been murdered. He was sure of that, and as he contemplated the fate of his mother and his mentor, he realized it was Dan who had been the lucky one.

Picking up his briefcase, he switched off the lights and left the office as dark as his thoughts.

To Be Continued