He looks at me with the particular look of a person deciding whether I'm relevant. "And you are?"
"Ross Lindstrom." I don't offer my hand. "What's the issue?"
"The issue," he says, with the ease of someone who thinks he's holding the cards, "is thatsheis using client relationships and research developed under our joint business to launch an independent consultancy. That's a breach of their non-compete agreement."
"That's not accurate," Celeste says. Her voice is level. "The non-compete applied to the firm we dissolved. This research was developed independently, after dissolution, using no client relationships from the prior business. I haven't contacted a single shared client."
"Our attorneys see it differently."
"Your attorneys sent a letter," she says. "Which my attorney responded to. Which is where this should be happening."
He looks at her the way certain men look at women who won't be managed. "I'm giving you an opportunity to resolve this without it becoming a larger issue, Celeste. You might want to—"
"She said no." I keep my voice even. "She has counsel. You have counsel. That's how this works." I hold his gaze. "You drove a long way to deliver a message she's already received in writing."
He reassesses me, scanning for the soft spot, the place to apply pressure. He's good at it. He doesn't find anything.
"This isn't your business," he says.
"She's my partner." Not qualified in any way. Just partner. "Her business is mine."
The door of Garrett's truck opens. He walks across the yard with his hands in his jacket pockets, Lenny a few steps behind. From the road, Erik's truck pulls over. Erik gets out and stands with his hands in his pockets, not moving toward us, not saying anything. The power of small town bonds.
Darren looks at the quiet assembly of mountain men and something recalculates behind his eyes.
Celeste steps forward off the porch. "I've kept documentation of every professional action I've taken since our firm dissolved," she says. "Every contact, every email, every piece of research. Dated, timestamped, backed up in three locations. My attorney has copies." She looks at him steadily. "I also have the complete access log from the project management account you've been using to read my files for the past four months. Forty-three unauthorized logins. The IP trace isn't complicated."
His lawyer shifts awkwardly, not looking at anyone.
"And I know what you did with what you found," Celeste continues. "The call to the foundation. The methodology concerns you planted. The IP flag." Her voice doesn't change register. "My attorney is very interested in what unauthorized access to a former business partner's files looks like to a judge, and even more interested in what tortious interference looks like when you have a timestamp on every piece of it." She pauses. "The foundation reconsidered, by the way. Once I sent them documentation of what you'd done and when."
The lawyer says something quietly to Darren. He listens. Something crosses his face.
"We'll be in touch through counsel," he says.
They get in the Range Rover and leave.
I watch the vehicle disappear around the bend.
Celeste exhales. She holds the composure until the car is out of sight and then her shoulders drop about two inches and she looks like a person again instead of a wall.
I don't say anything. I stand beside her.
Garrett comes over. He does that thing he does — not many words, just present, solid. Lenny gives Celeste a nod that somehow contains an entire paragraph of respect.
Autumn's voice from Garrett's truck window. She's been in there the whole time. "Come to dinner. Not a thing. Just dinner. Garrett's making that thing with the potatoes."
Celeste looks at me.
I look at her.
"Yes," she says. "We'd like that."
seven
Celeste
TheLightsFestivalismy idea, technically.
