The law office rose ahead — an old brick building with tall windows and gleaming brass handles polished to perfection. I parked and sat still for a moment, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. My reflection in the rearview mirror looked pale, unsettled.
“You can do this,” I murmured, though I wasn’t convinced.
When I stepped inside, the scent of polished wood and faint cologne met me. The receptionist, smiling politely but without warmth, guided me down a carpeted hallway into a conference room.
And there they were.
Lisa noticed me first. Her arms were folded, expression razor-sharp. Emily barely glanced up, thumbs flying across her phone screen, gum snapping rhythmically.
Jonathan muttered under his breath, his tone laced with contempt. I caught fragments: “unbelievable” and “her.”
The air felt heavy, suffocating.
