Before the two women walked back to the front, Lia had her receptionist make copies of all the paperwork. Sandra hugged Lia before she left, and as she walked back to her vehicle, her mind swirled with tangled thoughts.
She’d barely entered her office when her phone buzzed with a call from Terry. "Hey, what's up?"
"I know you were coming to the middle school concert tonight, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. Patricia called to say she's coming."
"That's fine, honey. Unless you would prefer me not to come?—”
"No way. Emma wants you there."
"Then I'll be there." She chewed on her bottom lip for a few seconds. "You know, Terry... Patricia and I will be at some events at the same time as long as you and I are a couple."
"I know, babe, but I didn't want you to be blindsided."
She smiled. "It's okay, honest. If you had told me that she hated my guts, I'd be nervous. But that's not the case."
"No... I'm surprised she's coming, but for Emma's sake, I'm glad."
"That's all that matters," she said. As they disconnected, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Everything she’d said to Terry was true, but somehow her day felt as though it was becoming more and more complicated.
31
Harry's hands trembled as he pulled out his private phone. Sweat had soaked through his expensive shirt despite the air-conditioning. He loosened his tie with jerky movements, the silk suddenly feeling like a noose around his neck.
The office felt claustrophobic. He yanked at the blinds, then immediately closed them again. Paced to the window. Back to his desk. The bay view, which usually calmed him, offered no comfort.
His finger slipped twice before successfully hitting the contact. The call connected on the second ring.
"We have a problem." His voice came out higher than intended.
"What kind of problem?" The voice on the other end was calm and measured, which somehow made it more terrifying than anger.
Harry wiped his palm on his pants before gripping the phone tighter. "Legal Aid attorney. Just left my office."
Silence.
"She knows about the markups." Harry's throat felt dry. He grabbed his water bottle, hands shaking as he twisted the cap. "Had exact numbers from a couple of subcontractors."
"Name?"
"Sandra O'Neill. Attorney." Harry knocked over his pen holder while reaching for tissues to mop his forehead. Pens scattered across his desk, and he cursed under his breath. "She's not fishing around. She has specifics."
"What did you tell her?"
"Nothing. Project management bullshit." Harry's laugh came out as a nervous bark. "But she didn't buy it. Could see it on her face."
He stood abruptly and started pacing again with his phone pressed against his ear. "She said she'd be back for documentation and would call the main office. She's talked to contractors. What if?—"
"Calm down."
But Harry couldn't calm down. His free hand was pulling at his hair, expensive styling gel making it stick up at odd angles. "This is exactly what Dad always warned about. Getting sloppy. Leaving traces."
Another pause. Harry could hear his own breathing, ragged and too fast.
"We handle it."
"How?" The word came out as a squeak. Harry cleared his throat and tried again. "How do we handle it?"
"Keep me informed if she comes back. We may need to apply pressure."
