#22
"She was scared of it all, watching from far away. She was given a role. Never knew just when to play" - Demi Lovato
The next day, I’m already pushing through my third remote meeting. I’m so hungry I settle for a ricotta and apricot sandwich from room service. It’s not usually my first choice, but my mouth waters the second the doorbell rings and I’m presented with the silver dome.
I check my watch; it’s nearly time for afternoon tea. My mind is a chaotic buzz, partly from the high of a productive day spent analyzing cases and partly from the small doses of endorphins the food provides.
I’m typing up reports on old legal precedents when a message from Sarki flashes on my screen. She needs to talk to me urgently.
“What’s the crisis?” I ask as soon as her image fills the screen. She’s in her office, looking every bit the high-powered lawyer in her suit.
“Where have you been? You’ve ignored me for an entire day,” Sarki said.
“Meetings... I’ve just been swamped.”
“Well, I’m about to add to the pile. Your ex-husband came to see me. He says he needs to talk to you. I probed as much as I could, but you know how insufferable Peter gets when he wants something,” she explained.
“He’s always been spoiled. What did you find out?”
“He’s running for office in Jacksonville. You know the local crowd there—conservative, traditional... judgmental.”
“I’d love to say I have nothing to do with his political ambitions, but your face tells me otherwise,” I remarked.
“He wants a reconciliation, Megan.”
“IMPOSSIBLE.” I press my fingers to my forehead, digging into my scalp as if I could massage the stress away.
“I know. Take a breath. He claims he needs you by his side to get elected. And it gets worse, I found out he forged your signature on his recommendation letter to the party,” Sarki warned.
I roll my eyes, resting my head in my hands. “Will this nightmare ever end?” Her voice continues in the background, but I’ve drifted. I realize I've missed her last few words. “Sorry, I didn't hear your last few sentences.”
“He wants to meet in person. But he told me to 'inform' you that he has evidence you allowed him to use your electronic signature to favor his own clients. Megan, holy shit. This is bad. We need to figure out how to get you out of this unscathed,” Sarki added.
“I'll have to meet with him to think about it, right? Find out what that angel wants from me and what he has. I’ll handle it. I was... naive. That’s all,” I noted.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. But you were reckless to let him find out your password.”
“Thanks for the honesty.”
“Oh, and you were slow to realize he was forging your physical signature, too. He’s a world-class con artist. We should pitch his life to Netflix,” Sarki joked.
“Maybe I just preferred the illusion that everything was fine,” I admitted quietly.
“Well, now that Sleeping Beauty just hit the floor, let’s see what we can do. I have two associates looking into the legalities. We need to think calmly.”
“Right. I’ll try not to panic about the prospect of being dragged back to North Carolina.”
“You’re not letting him blackmail you, Megan. Not even if I have to call in favors from your billionaire and your senator friend.”
“We’ll talk later, Sarki. I need wine, or a sedative... something to help me think clearly before I see my mother.”
“No outbursts. We stay cold where Peter is concerned. And with your mother? Keep it surface-level.”
As night falls, I’m forced to turn on the bedside lamp to see my keyboard. My shoulders are knots of tension. A knock at the door startles me. Through the peephole, I see Vanessa holding a bottle of wine. I let out a heavy sigh of relief and open the door.
“The living room is a disaster, let's head to the bedroom,” I suggested as she entered. She handed me the bottle with a smile.
“Someone’s been working hard. Shouldn't you have a team for this?” Vanessa asked.
