‘Is Rohan all right?’
‘We’ll see,’ Gerard said grimly, and Jemma got the impression he wasn’t in the least concerned for his nephew’s health. ‘You said you’ve already completed the assessment of regional needs?’
She allowed herself a second of preening. ‘I flicked you an email with the data last night. I’ve included statistics on how many cases statewide emanated from country areas and which court jurisdiction they were referred to, along with mock-ups of what our fees could have been for the representation—although obviously those are an educated guess. In short, though, I say opening a rural branch is a go.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I found a location and an office. And I want to head up the regional division, Gerard.’
Gerard shook his head. ‘The partnership here is yours, Jemma. Rohan may need to relocate.’
Her lungs squeezed.The partnership. It should have felt like a triumph, the career high she’d spent years working toward. But Gerard’s flat tone, the lack of fanfare and accolades, lent an ominous air to his pronouncement.
She recognised that part of her disappointment came from the realisation that this meant telling Hamish the Settlers Bridge office was off the cards. As always, her career was in Gerard’s hands.
‘I doubt Rohan will be keen on a country posting,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s a very different market out there, Gerard. We need to ensure we have genuine rapport with the locals, because no amount of advertising will match the power of word of mouth.’
‘It’s not about what Rohan wants.’ His attention on the computer screen, presumably as he brought up the figures she’d sent through, Gerard pointed to the door. While he was always businesslike, it was unlike him to be dismissive. Normally a promotion would come with an expensive dinner and expansive promises. Nothing about this felt good.
If Tien was to work under her on the Wilkins divorce, she’d need to not only clear the air with him but also make certain she was on top of the true facts. Rohan had shown a predilection for keeping notes in hard copy rather than entering them on the system, so she let herself into his office. His desk was mounded with paper, and she started sifting through the pages, scanning for anything that was related to the Wilkins case. She had no idea how Rohan could work in such a mess—or, in fact, how he’d managed to create such chaos in his few months with GB&A.
An hour later, she logged into the main system on Rohan’s computer and spent some time jotting notes on a pad she pulled across the desk. There was nothing particularly interesting in the file, although she was astounded at the dollarvalue of the funds Wilkins had already transferred to his soon-to-be ex-wife. Jemma shook her head; the haemorrhaging stopped now. Celine wouldn’t get another cent until the assets had been officially split.
As she leaned forward to turn off the screen, Jemma noticed she’d pushed one of Rohan’s notes beneath the monitor. She speared the corner of the paper with a pen, drawing it out of the crack before realising it was a photo.
Rohan—a few years younger than now—stood behind a woman, his arms draped around her neck like a preppy college sweater. A child of maybe ten or twelve years—Jemma wasn’t good with kids, or their ages—stood in front of the couple. Jemma squinted; the woman looked familiar, and it took her a moment to realise it was the same woman she’d seen with Rohan on that weekend. At the beach he swore he hadn’t been to.
She shook her head. He was odd, but entitled to his private life. If he didn’t want to admit to having a wife and child, that was his business. She pushed the photo back under the computer. The page had almost disappeared back into the narrow slot when she froze. There was another reason the woman looked familiar. Jemma turned the computer back on and reopened the Wilkins file. Rohan’s law clerk had done a thorough research job and included copies of numerous newspaper clippings of the then-happily-married Wilkins couple at various high-profile events. Jemma zoomed in on one image. Held the printed photo against the screen.
There was no doubt about it. Celine Wilkins was the woman in Rohan’s happy family snap.
Jemma carefully replaced everything on Rohan’s desk and closed the door to his office on her way out. Deep in thought, she made her way along the corridor to her own office.
‘There you are, Jemma!’
‘Tien!’ she gasped, slapping a hand to her chest. ‘You scared the life out of me.’
Holding a cup of coffee toward her, Tien looked puzzled. Both hands full, he wrinkled his nose and tipped his head back, trying to force his glasses into place. ‘I know, I’m a bit late this morning. Sorry.’ He pressed the cup toward her again. ‘Apparently the electricity was out on your block for a while, so I had to wait for the machine in the cafe to warm up.’
She took the coffee, peering at it dubiously.
Tien jigged excitedly. ‘You’ve been in to see Gerard? Is it all official?’
‘Is what official?’
‘The partnership.’ He couldn’t have looked happier if he’d been offered the position himself.
‘How do you always know what’s going on around here when no one else does?’
‘I’m exceedingly unnoticeable—in case you hadn’t noticed,’ he added with a grin. ‘Either I hear things or people straight up tell me, I guess because they figure I have no one else to tell.’
Jemma had been guilty of doing exactly that, using Tien as a sounding board. ‘And how long have you known where I live?’
‘Since you said you loved the coffee from the cafe under your apartment,’ he replied without hesitation but shifted his gaze to his shoes.
‘Why did you pretend that you didn’t know where I lived, then?’
Tien glanced up at her, his forehead creased. ‘I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. And it might have seemed like I was trying to push my point about you needing to have your entry on the electoral roll changed to private.’
Her heart sank. ‘You didn’t send the threatening notes, did you, Tien?’
His mouth fell open. ‘Me? Of course not!’
