I can't reach Jane. Is she okay?
Unknown
This is Chase
Libby texted back quickly:
Libby
HR had her clean out her office. She's in Springfield.
On impulse, she added the address and her parents' old landline number.
Georgia pulled out a small notebook. "Alright, let's get down to business. The legal team needs to know everything." She clicked her pen with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before. "I know Wickham, unfortunately. But tell me about your sister Lydia."
Over the next hour, Georgia asked precise questions. Had Libby ever discussed team information with Lydia? Injury reports, lineup decisions, contract negotiations? Libby could truthfully say no to everything.
"I can speak for Jane too," Libby added. "She'd never disclose medical information. She's meticulous about HIPAA compliance."
"Good. That helps." Georgia made notes. "What about casual conversations? Anything Wickham could twist?"
"Nothing. Lydia and I barely talk about hockey. She finds it boring."
Georgia's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and smiled slightly. "The game's back on. Want to watch?"
Libby hadn't realized she wanted to until Georgia asked. They turned on Jane's TV, finding the broadcast just as the third period began. Montreal was up by one.
Liam was everywhere on the ice. Not desperate, not sloppy—the opposite. He played with a concentration and fury Libby had never seen before, each movement precise and controlled, like he was channeling everything into the game. He set up two scoring chances that his linemates couldn't convert. He blocked a shot that should have put Montreal up by two.
"He's terrifying when he's like this," Georgia murmured. "All ice."
Montreal won on a penalty shot with three minutes left. A weak call that had the Boston bench erupting in protest. Liam didn't argue. He just skated to the bench, his face unreadable.
After the final buzzer, Georgia stood and gathered her things. "I should go. The legal team will call you tomorrow to clarify any statements and go over next steps." She pulled out her phone and tapped quickly. "Oh, and if the FBI calls, give them this number." Georgia pulled on her coat. "Try to get some sleep. I know that sounds impossible, but you'll need your energy for what comes next."
"Thank you," Libby said. "For all of this. For coming here."
Georgia smiled, and for a moment she looked remarkably like her brother. "Liam asked me to help. I don't say no to Liam when he uses that voice." She paused at the door. "Besides, I owed Wickham some payback. This was deeply satisfying."
After Georgia left, Libby sat alone in Jane's apartment, the TV still showing post-game analysis. The analysts were already dissecting Boston's loss, questioning coaching decisions and missed opportunities. But Libby, watching the highlights, saw something different.
She saw Liam playing like a man with something to prove.
She didn't know what to do with that information.
A knock on the door woke Libby from a fitful sleep in Jane's spare room.
She fumbled for her phone. 3:18 a.m.
Her first thought was that Jane had decided to come home and forgotten her keys. Libby padded to the door in an oversized t-shirt, still half-asleep. She checked the peephole and saw the fuzzy silhouette of a man.
Her heart thudded. This was getting ridiculous.
"Go away, Calvin!" she yelled through the door. "I'll call the police this time."
A pause. Then a familiar voice said, irritably, "It's not Calvin."
Libby's heart nearly stopped, then started up again in a furious rhythm. She scrambled for the door locks and flung it open.
