I shake my head.
Her bottom lip quivers. “They’re money grubbers. That’s all they are. They don’t care about me. Don’t care about what I’ve done with my life—my achievements. They just want to rob me blind.”
I straighten, placing my palms on my knees. “Those words don’t sound like they came from you.”
Her eyes flash with anger. But then, something deeper, sadder overtakes them. “Because that’s what Edwin would say.”
“Have you ever thought about why Crowe says those things?” I ask.
Grayson’s eyes dart between us. “I can step out?” he offers.
“No,” Mia and I say at the same moment, then look away from each other awkwardly.
Silence.
Finally, Grayson asks, “Do you have any other questions for me, Ms. Lowell?” Mia shifts uneasily but shakes her head. “In that case, we should probably wrap this up.”
We stand.
But then, Grayson adds, “Holt, I need to speak to you privately for a moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mia, there’s a conference room at the end of the main hallway with drinks and lunch. Please make yourself at home.”
Her eyes flick to the door. Calculating. Bracing. Alone again.
Then, she glares at me for one breathless moment, like she can’t make sense of any of this.
I step back, open the office door, and she passes through, body language stiff, silence brutal. I close it behind her and wheel back around, crossing my arms.
“Crowe’s pulling out all the stops now.”
“What else is there besides a psych eval?” I ask, head churning.
“He’s floating a temporary injunction and a guardianship compliance review.”
My hands fist at my sides.
“Her parents and their legal counsel might be able to buy her a few more days…”
I stare at the wooden desktop as if it holds the answers to the universe.
“But if she posts again—or speaks publicly—we may have to withdraw protection. If this becomes adversarial, Lone Star can’t legally remain neutral.”
“Understood.”
He scrutinizes me, mouth twitching. “Anything else you need to tell me?”
Guilt washes over me like a tidal wave. Her journal entries. The communications she keeps getting. The statement I proofread and encouraged her to post. I should tell Grayson everything.
“No, sir.”
“Alright.” His face is dark, conflicted.
I remain silent—not because the details are unimportant, but because they are not mine to give.
Mia hungers for agency. Freedom to make her own choices. How can I take that away from her without losing pieces of myself?
