Valerie’s composure finally cracked, a slight crumbling around the edges of a well-maintained facade that was finallyshowing its seams. She reached for the tissue box on the table and pressed a tissue to the corner of her eye.
“The Phoenix Ridge Pride Gala last June.” Her voice thickened. “Someone asked us when we were planning to have children. It was an innocent question, normal small talk at these types of events. But Astoria…” She inhaled, her breath shaky. “She laughed and said, ‘Valerie can barely manage her own department. Can you imagine her trying to manage a child?’”
Miller felt something hot and tight in her chest, that familiar protective anger that surfaced whenever she heard stories like this.
“Everyone laughed,” Valerie whispered. “Because Astoria said it like a joke, as if it was charming, and I just stood there smiling, because what else could I do? Make a scene? I’d only be proving her right by being oversensitive.”
“I’m so sorry,” Miller said. “That’s humiliating.”
Valerie looked up from her crumpled tissue to meet her eyes, and Miller saw the exhaustion underneath the meticulous makeup, the bone-deep weariness of someone who’d spent years being told that her reality wasn’t real.
“You understand,” Valerie said softly. “Don’t you? What it’s like to be made invisible by someone who’s supposed to love you?”
Miller thought of every client who’d sat in that same chair, every story of slow erosion and confidence stripped away in increments so small they barely registered what was happening until it was too late and there was nothing left.
“I understand,” she said. “And we’re going to fight for you.”
Rachel walked Valerie through the next steps: discovery requests, documentation they’d need, and the timeline for mediation. Miller listened, but part of her attention stayed fixed on the woman across the table, on the way Valerie hadstraightened in her chair at Miller’s words of reassurance, like someone who’d been given water after a long drought.
After the meeting wrapped up, Valerie paused before leaving and touched her arm. “Miller, thank you for taking the case and for”—her voice cracked and she cleared her throat—”and for believing me.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
Valerie smiled, a tired but genuine expression, and walked toward the elevator, her heels clicking on the polished tile.
Rachel appeared at Miller’s side, watching her go. “Thoughts?”
“She’s credible,” Miller said immediately. “You’re right. She was consistent and specific with her story. She’s clearly just exhausted.”
Rachel made a small sound, neither agreement or disagreement. “She’s compelling, certainly. Let’s see what the documentation tells us.” Rachel met her eyeline. “Good work in there. She connected with you. That’s what we want.”
Miller nodded, still watching as the elevator doors closed behind Valerie Shepry-Dane.Good, she thought.Because that woman deserves someone rooting for her.She turned back toward her office to start the research process.
Miller’s office was half the size of Rachel’s. No harbor view, just a slice of the brick building across the street and a persistent draft from the old windows. But it washers. There was organized chaos on the desk, a collection of mismatched coffee mugs on the bookshelf, and a framed photo of her moms taken last Christmas that she’d propped against the desk lamp.
She set down a fresh cup of coffee and opened her laptop. She typed “Astoria Shepry” into the search bar, and the results came fast. She found business profiles, industry awards, and conference keynotes. There was aForbesfeature from three years ago: “The Architect of Sustainable Luxury,” and aPhoenixRidge Business Journalpiece on Shepry Global’s expansion into eco-infrastructure. On page two of the search results, she saw press releases announcing hotel openings, developmental projects, and charitable donations.
There was no shortage of information. Miller clicked through each link methodically, building a mental picture.
Astoria Shepry had founded her company at twenty-nine with a single distressed property and a vision. Seventeen years later, Shepry Global Holdings employed over two thousand people and operated high-end developments across the Pacific Northwest. The company’s reputation was spotless: LEED certifications, fair labor practices, and aggressive sustainability targets. As hard as Miller searched, she couldn’t find any lawsuits or scandals. Not even a disgruntled former employee who’d gone public.
Professionally, Astoria Shepry was untouchable.
But personally? The woman was a ghost. She had no social media presence or interviews about her private life. The rare quotes in articles were crisp, revealing nothing. When journalists asked about her marriage, she deflected: “I prefer to keep my personal life personal.”
Miller pulled up the images tab and scrolled through photos: Astoria at a groundbreaking ceremony, shovel in hand and face neutral; Astoria accepting an award, a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes; Astoria at a charity gala—the same one from the case file—standing beside Valerie, who was beaming while Astoria looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
She scrolled more. In every photo, she was immaculate in her tailored suits with perfect posture, not a wisp of hair out of place.
Miller studied one image longer than the others: a candid shot from an industry event where Astoria was caught mid-conversation, her attention fixed somewhere off-camera. Herexpression was different here, less guarded and softer around the eyes.
It didn’t match. The ice queen who publicly humiliated her wife shouldn’t have a face that looked like that, even for a moment.
Miller closed the tab. It didn’t matter. People were complicated, and abusers could be charming when they wanted to be. It was half of how they got away with it.
In eight days, she’d meet Astoria Shepry face to face. She expected cold efficiency and calculated dismissal, maybe even an attempt at intimidation. And she was ready for all of it.
Miller closed her laptop and reached for her coat. She’d done her research and knew exactly who Astoria Shepry was.
