Thud.
The sharp impact of my forehead against the open kitchen cabinet drowns out Sarah’s voice. I clamp my mouth shut, swallowing the painedouchbefore it escapes. Because, sure, let’s add minor head trauma to my financial crisis.
“I understand that,” I say, rubbing my forehead with one hand and shoving a plate aside with the other. “But Elite hasn’t processed the Rodriguez or Henderson closings yet. That’s nearlyten grandin commissions they’re sitting on.”
“Ms. Marquez, I’m afraid we can’t proceed until the outstanding balance is cleared. Twelve thousand, four hundred and eighty-six dollars, to be exact.”
I press the phone harder against my ear, like I can squeeze the stupidity out of this conversation. “That can’t be right. I sent over five grand last month.”
The lawyer’s assistant, a woman with the pleasant but robotic tone of someone who’s rehearsed this conversation a hundred times today, doesn’t hesitate. “That was for previous expenses. This is the remaining balance for filing fees, document processing, and continued litigation. We can’t move forward until it’s resolved.”
I press my fingers into my temples. “I don’t have twelve grand just lying around, Sarah.”
“I understand, Ms. Marquez, but without the payment, we’ll have to suspend—”
“Suspend what exactly?” My laugh comes out harder than intended. “The lawsuit that’s already dragging? The one where my aunt and uncle are trying to force-sell the only home my siblings have ever known?” The wooden spoon in my hand trembles as I stir the carbonara, watching the cream sauce splatter against the sides of the pot with my aggressive circles. “Tell Cindy, your boss—I’ll…. I’ll have half the payment by Thursday.”
“Ms. Marquez—”
“Thursday, Sarah. That’s the best I can do.”
There’s a pause. A pause I hate. A pause that means she’s thinking about how to phrase the next part so I don’t explode.
“Ms. Marquez,” Sarah starts again, slower this time, like I’m some overworked single mom in a courtroom drama, “I strongly suggest resolving this before the countersuit hearing. If you can’t, we may need to discuss alternative strategies.”
Alternative strategies. Like giving up. Like letting Mike and Peggy win.
I tighten my grip on the phone. “I’ll figure it out.”
Another pause. Then, “Would you like me to send over a detailed invoice?”
God, I hate her. “Sure, Sarah. Why not? Let’s make my inbox a little more depressing.”
I hang up before she can say anything else.
The email comes through before I’ve even put my phone down.Lexicon Law Partners: Outstanding Balance Notification.The subject line alone makes my stomach turn. I don’t open it. I already know what it says:Pay us now or kiss your childhood home goodbye.
I shift toward the sink, grabbing a dish towel to wipe my hands, when movement outside catches my attention. My kitchen window faces the street, and through the smudged glass, I see it.
A dark SUV.
Rolling past my house. Slow enough that it shouldn’t feel like anything—just another car on a residential street.
But my stomach tightens.
It’s the same make, the same size as the one I saw parked outside of Zen Garden Yoga & Juice Barearlier this morning. The one with the two men in black suits standing outside.
My grip on the towel tightens, my pulse picking up. It’s probably nothing. Probably someone just driving through. But something about the speed, the way it moves—not fast, not slow, just deliberate—makes the back of my neck prickle.
I step closer to the window, just enough to see past the glare of the afternoon sun. The SUV doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate. But as it reaches the corner, I swear I see a shift in the shadow behind the driver’s side window.
Someone inside.
Watching.
And then it turns, disappearing from view.
I exhale sharply.
