She was ready to go up against Astoria and defend her client.
The door opened, and Miller looked up from her notes. The woman who walked in wasn’t the image she’d constructed in her mind. She was taller than the photos suggested—maybe five-ten, five-eleven with ramrod posture. Her dark hair was swept back to display her angular features. She wore a charcoal suit that fit like it had been sewn onto her body, and she moved into the room without hesitation.
Gerald Bracks followed behind her, a silver-haired man in his sixties who walked like he’d been winning cases since before Miller passed the bar. Miller had researched him, too, of course. He had an excellent reputation using old-school tactics and was protective of his clients.
But it was Astoria who held the room.
She stood at the head of the table for a moment, surveying the space the way someone might assess property they were considering acquiring, and then she sat, smooth and economical, no movement wasted.
Miller had expected ice and cold dismissal, maybe a flicker of cruelty beneath the professional mask. But what she got instead was something harder to read.
“Thank you all for being here.” Beatrice Vaughn, the mediator, was a composed woman in her fifties with a reputationfor fairness and an hourly rate that matched. “I trust everyone understands the ground rules. We’re here to explore resolution, not to relitigate grievances. I’ll ask each party to present their position, and then we’ll see if there’s common ground.”
Common ground. Miller almost smiled. They were asking for forty percent of Shepry Global and spousal support. Gerald’s counteroffer had been ten percent of liquid assets. They weren’t in the same universe, let alone on common ground.
Rachel shifted beside her, a subtle signal.Stay sharp. Watch everything.
Valerie spoke first, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. She talked about the marriage, years of partnership, contributions she’d made that had never been acknowledged. Miller had heard it all before in their prep sessions, but Valerie told it well—not overwrought or theatrical, just a woman laying out facts.
Across the table, Astoria’s expression didn’t change. Not a flinch or tightening of the jaw or the subtle clench of someone biting a response. She sat perfectly still, hands folded on the table in front of her, and listened to her ex-wife describe alleged emotional abuse like she was hearing a quarterly earnings report.
It should’ve confirmed everything Miller believed about the ice queen incapable of normal human responses. Instead, it made her wonder what it cost her to sit that still.
Gerald presented their counter-position with the smooth confidence of a man who’d done this a thousand times and would do it a thousand more. He disputed Valerie’s characterization of her role, cited employment contracts and compensation records, and painted a picture of a wife who’d been well-paid for well-defined work.
“My client built Shepry Global from nothing,” Gerald said, not looking at Valerie. “Ms. Shepry-Dane was a valued employeeand partner, but the suggestion that she’s entitled to forty percent of a company she did not found, fund, or lead is, frankly, unrealistic.”
Valerie’s hand found Miller’s under the table, squeezing briefly before releasing.
Rachel leaned forward. “The documentation tells a different story. We have emails showing Ms. Shepry-Dane’s strategic input on major acquisitions, calendar records of client meetings she led independently, performance reviews she authored for senior staff?—”
“All within the scope of her employment,” Gerald interrupted. “For which she was compensated at a rate well above market average.”
They went back and forth, Rachel and Gerald, making point and counterpoint. Miller took notes and watched for openings. The rhythm of negotiation was her favorite part and what she knew well.
But she kept finding her attention pulled across the table.
Astoria had a pen in her hand now, turning it slowly between her fingers. Her long fingers with neat nails and no rings. The wedding band was gone, Miller realized. Of course it was; she’d filed for divorce six months ago.
Why was Miller noticing her hands anyway? She dragged her focus back to her notes.
Beatrice called for a brief caucus, fifteen minutes to consult with the clients separately. The Shepry side filed out to a smaller room down the hall, and Miller exhaled.
“She’s a wall,” Rachel murmured as she gathered papers.
“I noticed.” Miller kept her voice low. “She didn’t react to anything.”
“Either she’s a sociopath or she’s very good at controlling herself under pressure.” Rachel gave her a questioning look. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’ve been watching like you said.”
“And what did you notice?”
Miller hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to articulate what she’d seen. The woman across that table matched the facts of Valerie’s story, but she didn’t match the feeling Miller had expected to have when facing her.
Miller had expected to feel righteous and ready to fight, but there was a niggle lingering in her mind, like she was missing something.
“She’s not what I expected,” Miller finally said. “I don’t know what that means yet, though.”
