At the building's entrance, Astoria paused with her hand on the glass door. She turned, just enough to catch Miller's eye.
“Ms. Scott.” She gave a nod but nothing more, and then she was through the door and gone, swallowed by the gray afternoon and the waiting town car at the curb.
Miller stood in the lobby for a moment longer than necessary, watching through the glass as the car pulled away. Then she made her way to the parking garage, found her Civic in the dim concrete structure, and sat behind the wheel without starting the engine.
The mediation had gone as expected—no resolution, positions too far apart, litigation inevitable. She’d held her own against Gerald Bracks and hadn't let Astoria Shepry intimidate her. By any reasonable measure, it had been a successful afternoon.
Miller shoved aside the feeling that she was missing something, started the car, and pulled out of the garage, merging into the late afternoon traffic. The harbor was visible for a moment between buildings, that same flat silver water, before the road curved and it disappeared from view.
By the time she reached Hartwell & Associates, Miller had convinced herself that nagging feeling she couldn’t quite pin down meant nothing at all.
4
Chapter 4: Astoria
Astoria read the same paragraph for the fourth time and still couldn’t say what it contained.
She set down her pen, pressing her fingertips against her eyelids until she saw sparks. The discovery folder lay open across her desk, documents highlighted and annotated in her precise handwriting, six months of preparation distilled into evidence. She should know every word by now. Instead, her mind kept drifting back to Tuesday’s mediation, replaying moments she’d rather forget.
“The mediation went about as expected,” Gerald Brack said from the chair across from her. His pen tapped against his legal pad, a habit she usually found ground but today it grated against her nerves. “Beatrice Vaughn will file her report, both parties will decline the settlement, and we’ll move to litigation. All standard.”
“Standard,” Astoria repeated, though nothing about Tuesday had felt standard.
She pushed back from her desk and crossed to the window, needing distance from the documents that refused to hold her attention. The harbor stretched below, gray and flat, a container ship inching toward the docks. Her coffee sat cooling on the desk, her third cup of the morning, though she'd stopped tasting it somewhere around the second.
“Rachel Hartwell is formidable,” Gerald continued. “She’s experienced and respected, so she won’t make mistakes we can exploit.”
“I’m not looking to exploit mistakes.” She turned from the window. “I’m looking to prove the truth.”
“Which we will. The documents speak for themselves.”
Did they, though? Astoria had watched Valerie perform for fifteen years and knew how convincing that performance could be—the trembling voice, the carefully timed tears, the way Valerie could make anyone in the room feel like her protector. Rachel Hartwell would see a woman fleeing an abusive marriage, exactly what Valerie wanted her to see.
“What’s your read on their team?” Astoria asked, settling back into her chair. She pulled the discovery folder toward her, forcing her eyes to focus on the financials.
“Rachel will be methodical and thorough. She’ll build a narrative and stick to it.” Gerald flipped a page in his notes. “The associate—Scott—is sharper than I expected. She caught the timeline discrepancy before Rachel did.”
Astoria’s pen stilled on the page. She remembered that moment, Miller Scott's voice cutting through the back-and-forth, confident and precise, and the way she'd held her ground when Astoria challenged her, not flinching, not backing down.
Most of Valerie’s previous attorneys had been pushovers or pitbulls, easy to predict and easier to outmaneuver. Miller Scott was neither.
“She could be a problem,” Astoria said.
“She could be an asset.” Gerald set down his pen. “She questioned Valerie’s timeline and didn’t just accept it. That’s unusual for someone on Valerie’s side.”
“She’ll fall in line. They always do once Valerie turns on the charm.”
Gerald studied her for a moment, that particular attentiveness he brought to depositions. She didn’t care for being on the receiving end of it.
“You seem tired,” he said finally. “When’s the last time you slept through the night?”
“I’m fine.”
“Astoria—”
“The deposition responses are due in two weeks.” She kept her voice brisk. “I’ll have the document production signed off by Friday. The interrogatory responses are already drafted.”
Gerald accepted the redirect, though his expression said he wasn’t fooled. He gathered his papers, tucking the file into the briefcase. “I have a courthouse appearance at two-thirty for the Murphy zoning dispute.”
