MIRANDA“Dad, we have to get Shawn out of the police station,” I repeated for the hundredth time, my voice vibrating with sheer frustration.My father didn't even look up to acknowledge my wish. He sat in the center of our expansive living room, his legs casually crossed at the ankles, slowly turning the pages of the morning newspaper. So relaxed, like his son-in-law wasn’t the object of discussion.It was noon already. Noon! And Shawn was still rotting in that disgusting holding cell.I had visited the precinct first thing in the morning, the very second I woke up. I wanted to go last night, but my father had practically barred me from leaving the house, citing the late hour and the security risks. But when I finally reached the desk sergeant this morning, the bail amount they quoted me was absolutely mind-blowing. It was crazy really. And it was clear as day what was happening: the Vikings knew they didn't have enough concrete evidence to lock Shawn away permanently, so they had u
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