Shaw's hand finds the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the tension there. "Take your time. Do it right."
I settle in, fingers flying across the keyboard while Shaw reviews paper files beside me. The rhythm feels natural—me digital, him analog, both of us hunting the same truth from different angles. Corporate registries, secretary of state filings, business licenses. Layer after layer of deliberate obfuscation.
An hour later, Will brings lunch without being asked—sandwiches and fries that smell incredible.
"Brothers look after family," Will says, setting plates in front of us.
"I'm not family," I point out.
"Shaw's claimed you. Close enough." Will heads back to the bar before I can respond.
Shaw doesn't contradict him. He just hands me a sandwich and returns to vendor contracts like Will didn't just casually declare me part of the Brotherhood.
We eat in companionable silence, and I'm hyperaware of every small gesture. Shaw makes sure I have napkins. How he trades me the better half of his sandwich when mine falls apart. Small acts of care that Todd never bothered with because control was more important than consideration.
"Tell me about your worst case," Shaw says suddenly. "Before this one."
I swallow a bite of sandwich, considering. "Tech startup founder. He burned his company's warehouse three months after a failed funding round. Had everything lined up perfectly—moved inventory the week before, increased insurance coverage the month before, created an elaborate story about a disgruntled employee."
"What gave him away?"
"He got greedy. He filed for lost inventory that never existed. I cross-referenced his purchase orders with manufacturing records and found thirty percent of claimed losses were fabricated." I take a sip of coffee. "He thought he was clever. They always do."
"You enjoy it." Not a question.
"Catching fraud?" I meet his eyes. "Yeah. There's satisfaction in proving someone's lying, in protecting honest people from increased premiums because some asshole thinks insurance companies are bottomless pits of money."
"Ruthless."
"It's necessary. You can't be soft in fraud investigation or people walk all over you." I pause. "That's probably why Todd and I didn't work. He wanted someone soft. Compliant. I'm neither of those things when it comes to my work."
Shaw leans back, studying me. "But you wanted to be compliant with him. In other contexts."
Heat creeps up my neck. "That's different."
"Is it?"
"Choosing to submit to someone who respects boundaries is different from being forced into compliance by someone who doesn't." I hold his gaze. "You know the difference."
"I do. The question is whether you trust that you know it too."
Fair point. That's exactly what I've been struggling with—trusting my own judgment about what I want versus what I was conditioned to accept.
"I'm trying," I say quietly.
"I know." His hand finds mine again, and this time he threads our fingers together. "That's why I'm willing to try too."
The weight lifts from my chest. Not completely—days of guilt don't evaporate in one conversation—but enough that breathing feels easier.
We work through the afternoon, building the case piece by piece. By the time we finish, we have a timeline, financial analysis, and a list of facts to check over that should finally give us the evidence we need.
Shaw walks me outside when the sun starts dropping toward the horizon. Coast fog rolling in makes the air taste like salt and cold. We stand in the parking lot, neither quite ready to separate yet.
"Thank you," I say. "For giving me another chance."
"You gave yourself another chance. I'm just here to catch you if you stumble." He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and the gesture is so gentle it makes my chest ache. "You're stronger than you think, Mira. Braver too. You just need to trust that."
"I'm working on it."
