She stepped out of her office and walked to the exit door. Once she reached the back path to the parking lot, she dialed Ronan.
"The FBI just called. They want to meet tomorrow." She kept her voice low. "The agent made it sound like I might be a suspect."
"What exactly did she say?"
"That my name appears in documents. Property records, correspondence with Warren. She asked about my involvement." Lila's hand was shaking again. "Ronan, what if the evidence makes me look guilty? I've been filing permits for years. My signature is on half the documents in that office."
"Your signature is on legitimate paperwork. The falsified records came from Webb and the county surveyor's office, not from you."
"But she didn't say I was a witness. She said that depends on what I tell her."
Silence on the other end. Then: "Caleb's reaching out to his contacts at DOJ. He'll make sure the FBI understands your role before that meeting."
"And if they don't?"
"Then I'll be in that room with you, and we'll explain it together." His voice softened. "You're not going through this alone. Whatever happens tomorrow, I'm there."
She closed her eyes. Breathed.
"Okay."
"Lila. Do you trust me?"
The question hung in the air. A week ago, she would have hesitated. A week ago, she was still half-convinced he was hiding something that could hurt her.
"Yes," she said. "I trust you."
"Then trust that I won't let them turn you into a scapegoat. Whatever it takes."
She ended the call and sat in her office, watching the afternoon light move across the wall. Through the window, Main Street was bustling—shopkeepers putting up bunting, tourists snapping photos of the historic buildings, children running toward the ice cream shop on the corner.
Her town. Her father's town.
In forty-eight hours, it would never be the same.
Mitch DeMario called just after six.
Lila was at Ronan's cottage, sitting on the porch with a glass of wine she'd barely touched, watching the sun sink toward the Gulf. Ronan was inside, on a call with Caleb, sorting out the logistics of tomorrow's meeting.
"Lila. We have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"Those vendor applications I denied. Someone broke into my office an hour ago and took the files."
She set down the wine glass. "Are you okay?"
"Wasn't there when it happened. But whoever did it knew exactly what they were looking for. In and out in under ten minutes." Mitch's voice was tight. "Same MO as your office break-in."
"Did you call Chief Fielding?"
The pause was a beat too long.
"Yeah. He took a report." Mitch exhaled. "He asked a lot of questions about why I was looking into Coastal Property Services. Who told me to? Asked what else I'd found."
Something cold moved through Lila's chest.
"What did you tell him?"
