“Well, I’m not just here for a job.”
She blinks. “Okaaaay. So you’re here for the experience? The money? Because as paralegals, we don’t make much.”
I shake my head.
“No, I mean yes. I’m not just here to pay off my loans. I’m investigating something. About my family.”
A long pause. “The Williams thing?” she asks, cautious.
I jerk back. “Wait, you know?”
Eliza shrugs.
“The Stanley Williams case was the biggest thing at the firm a couple years back. I remember working dawn to dusk for months on that case, and Marnie … you look just like him.”
I swallow hard, staring at my clasped fists.
“My dad. Yeah, I’m Stanley’s daughter.” The air goes hollow, like the room just got vacuumed clean.
Eliza sets her drink down with trembling fingers. “Shit, Marnie. I’m sorry about the loss of your dad. We all think he should have been spared the death penalty. That’s why we worked so hard.”
I swallow, staring down at the table.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t talk it about it a lot, and thank you for your dedication. I know everyone at Gibson Grant slaved away, trying to save his life.”
My new friend takes another sip of her drink. “So do you want to talk about it? I assume that’s why we’re here, right?”
I stare out the window, watching rain bead down the glass in streaks. “Yes, and no. Sometimes, it’s easier not to discuss the execution. When people find out, they treat me like a bomb or a sob story. I didn’t want you to treat me any different.”
The pretty brunette reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Never. That’s not—” she cuts herself off, voice thickening. “You think I’d give a shit if you were the daughter of Godzilla?”
I look up, blinking fast to clear the burn from my eyes. “I just… I needed someone to know. Because I’m in too deep, even though I just started here, and I can’t tell if I’m losing my mind or if I’m actually onto something.”
The other paralegal sits back, crossing her arms. “Okay, but what do you mean? Why would you lose your mind now? Is there something new?”
I lower my voice while nodding. “The trial. I think there was a cover-up. Evidence, missing or faked. Brent and James—they were my dad’s lawyers, and now I work for them. I’m trying to get to the truth.”
Eliza whistles. “Jesus, Marnie.”
“I found files,” I say, softer. “Stuff that doesn’t match the public record. I got caught with them yesterday by Brent Gibson himself.”
Eliza’s silent, chewing her lip. “Did he fire you?”
“No. He threatened me. Then told me to be honest. Then… he, well, did something else.”
Eliza’s eyes go wide, her cheeks flushing. “Oh my god. He fucked you, didn’t he? OMG, OMG!”
I feel my cheeks go molten. “Not exactly, but it was intense.”
She gives me a look—half amused, half rueful. “So it wasn’t sex?”
I shrug, sheepish. “Sort of. We didn’t get to home base, but he did something else. And I went along with it because what am I supposed to do? He’s huge. And intense. And hot.”
Now my new friend leans in, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re sleeping with the enemy, you need a plan, girlfriend. Like, a safe word or a dead man’s switch. Have you told anyone else at the firm yet?”
“No. Just you.”
She nods, solemn. “That’s smart. Because if there’s a cover-up, you don’t know who’s dirty.”
