“You’re just the woman I was looking for,” she continues brusquely. “Shall we head back to my office?”
Inside, behind closed doors, she leans on her desk, facing me, arms crossed. “I wanted to provide you with a quick procedural update.”
“Oh,” I sigh, stomach tightening.
“Our legal team has officially signed on as emergency counsel, and Edwin Crowe has been barred from direct contact with you. Your financial access remains restricted but under review. More importantly, so does Mr. Crowe’s.”
I almost can’t believe my ears. Fear and apprehension pulse through me. I press my lips tightly together.
“What’s that look for?” Mrs. Everley asks, rounding her desk to take a seat.
I swallow hard. “Just can’t believe this is really happening. That I may stand a chance of gaining control of my life again.”
She smiles warmly.
I add, “I know it’s no fantasy or promise of instant freedom. But it feels tangible, like I could have a say in my future.”
She nods firmly. “This is a lot to go through, psychologically and emotionally. Do you have an outlet for your thoughts and feelings? Maybe journaling?”
“Yes, I’ve always kept a detailed journal, documenting everything.”
A lightbulb goes on in Mrs. Everley’s head. “Does our legal team know about your journal? Could it be used to corroborate your allegations against Crowe?”
I don’t have to think. “Yes, I wrote everything down, sometimes in great detail. And I have other proof, too.”
The corners of her mouth tip up. “Let’s get an appointment scheduled with the legal team. I’m certain they would like to know more.”
Once, such a request would have terrified me. Certain Edwin’s punishment would far outweigh any good I could gain from reporting on him. But everything feels different now…
I twirl the end of my braid between my fingers.
…because of Maverick.
“I would also like you to speak with our forensics contact when you have a moment. Our legal team needs clarification about some finance-related patterns that they’ve noticed and also activity regarding life insurance policies.”
My stomach knots. “I know nothing about my finances or insurance. Those decisions were made without me.”
“I see,” she says, knitting her forehead. “All the more reason to call him.” She pushes a business card across the table toward me; I pocket it.
Outside, a slight breeze makes early afternoon bearable. I walk to my building slowly, staring up at the immense periwinkle sky punctuated by a handful of fluffy white clouds. My mind races. Forensics. Finances. Legal advocacy.
Up ahead, I hear a lonely sound. Like a hooting owl, only softer, more gentle. A lone mourning dove perched on the fence. It doesn’t fly off when I sit nearby, leaning back against the fence on the cool manicured grass.
It sees me without being afraid. The silent witness to my choosing.
I dig the card out of my pocket and make the call. A gruff voice answers after I’m patched through by the receptionist.
“This is Mia Lowell, and I’m calling with one question. Can you help me understand where my money went?”
By the end of the call, I have no assurances, and my hands shake. But I do have a mounting case against Edwin. The kind that might finally bring his house of cards to the ground.
In my room, I sit at the table listening to music and crocheting. I eye my cell phone atop the kitchen counter, longing burgeoning.
The braids are gone. I could almost convince myself Lone Star and Maverick were a dream. Except soft wool threads around my fingers. I rise to make another cup of tea, the cozy comfort of blueberries and lavender snaking through the air.
I check my cell phone as I walk past, heart jumping into my throat for one moment. Until I see Maverick hasn’t called.
But Grayson has texted.
