"Because she knows shit." Trystan smiles. "The kinky shit he's into? She'll do all of it, and she knows what she's doing."
"Oh." I try not to think about that but the images keep popping into my head. Ana is always so quiet and seems kind of boring. I never would've guessed she used to be a prostitute. "She's not still doing that, right?"
"No. With what he pays her she doesn't need to. She hasn't done that for probably three or four years, or whenever she started here."
"I still think she needs to stand up for herself with Braden."
"She's not going to risk it. She loses this job, she could end up back on the streets."
The doorbell rings.
"That's the lawyers," Trystan says. "I'm going to my room."
"It's only one. Your dad said they're coming at two."
"Good luck," Trystan says with a smirk before walking off.
I hear Brock's voice at the door, then hear the clicking of shoes on the wood floor. It sounds like a woman's high heels. Given how sexist Brock is, I assumed the lawyers would be men.
"Rumor," Brock calls out. "Come out here, please."
I reluctantly walk to the entry and find Brock there with a man and a woman, both wearing dark suits and black-rimmed glasses.
"Rumor, this is Mr. Daniels and Ms. Wietz. They'll be meeting with you regarding the Reynolds' case."
"Hello, Rumor," Ms. Wietz says, extending her hand to me.
"Hi," I mutter, shaking her cold skinny hand. I turn to Brock. "I thought Braden was meeting with them first. At two."
"Yes, well, the police are rather insistent on speaking with you so I asked Mr. Daniels and Ms. Wietz to come earlier than our original meeting time so they could go over what you need to say to the police."
"The cops were here again? When?"
"They weren't here. They contacted Mr. Daniels, asking if they could set up a meeting with you."
"But I'll actually be the one working with you," Ms. Wietz says. "I'll be the one accompanying you to any inquiries with the police or their detectives."
"I mostly deal with the behind-the-scenes work," Mr. Daniels says. He's older than Ms. Wietz, probably around fifty, with dark hair streaked with gray.
Ms. Wietz is probably in her late thirties or early forties. She's pretty, like she could be on TV. Her dark brown hair is pulled up but I'm guessing it's long when she lets it down. She's tall and thin and has bright blue eyes that caught my attention the moment I saw her.
"Where would you like to talk?" Brock asks the lawyers.
"Let's go to the back patio," Ms. Wietz says.
"Right this way." Brock leads us back there. "This should work," he says, motioning to the big round table that's next to the outdoor kitchen.
"Thank you, Brock," Ms. Wietz says, setting her leather bag down as she takes a seat.
"Would you like anything to drink?" he asks. "Ana will bring it out."
"She went to the store," I say.
"We don't need anything," Ms. Wietz says. "We'll come get you when we're done."
A nervous flutter erupts in my stomach, making me feel sick. I hate this. Meeting with lawyers. Having to defend myself. I've been in trouble before but for stupid stuff. Getting caught with Axl's joint at a concert. Skipping school. Cheating on a test. But this? Being involved in a murder?
I never in a million years thought this would happen.
