Chapter 8
Present Day
Amanda and Sam brought Genevieve home on a rainy morning in late April. Sam drove extra slow, almost dangerously beneath the speed limit, and muttered about other drivers on the road. “Be careful,” he warned them. “I have a baby on board.” Amanda was in the back seat next to the baby, smiling to herself. This was a scene of her life she’d always imagined: taking her baby home for the first time with the love of her life. It was better than she’d dreamed.
“This is your home, Genevieve,” Sam announced as they pulled into the driveway. “I hope you like it. It’s all we’ve got.”
Amanda and Audrey had spent the winter decorating the nursery. They’d painted the walls a playful blue and stenciled sailboats and sea animals all over and painted them in pastel colors. A fluffy white rug covered the center of the hardwood floor with a rocking chair gifted from Susan. As Amanda placed Genevieve in her crib for the first time, she felt overwhelmed with the privilege of being able to raise a baby in such a remarkably beautiful and safe home.
A small part of her was jealous that Audrey and Noah had gotten the Sheridan House. But it was just up the road. She could go there whenever she wanted.
And Genevieve would think of it as a second home.
Amanda set up the baby monitor and padded downstairs to make lunch. Sam was at the kitchen island with his laptop, reading about historical sites in Massachusetts and the laws that protected them. Amanda knew he was excited about the prospect of the hidden room in more ways than one. Calling the Sunrise Cove Inn a historical site would draw even more tourism. He hoped that tourism boost would allow him the funds to build a complete spa in the back half of the property, which had been his original dream anyway. She kissed his ear. He was always on the hunt for the next best thing.
“The historian can’t make it here for another two weeks,” Sam said. “He insinuated that a big historical site was just discovered outside of Boston, and he’s tied up.”
“I wish he would have told you what it was!” Amanda removed cheese, cold cuts, lettuce, and onion from the fridge and began to prepare two massive sandwiches. Gone was salad-obsessed Amanda. She sometimes couldn’t believe the extent of her hunger.
“It’s good he needs time,” Amanda said as she spread mayonnaise across a slice of wheat bread. “I won’t be able to make it till then either. I want to settle in first with Genevieve.”
Sam smiled. “That’s right. You’re our on-site legal counsel.”
“That’s me.”
Amanda set down her knife and frowned. She realized she hadn’t said anything to Sam about the email from the Massachusetts Board of Bar Overseers yet. It was one of the worst things that had ever happened to her. But it was dwarfed by so much goodness.
Amanda and Sam ate their sandwiches and recounted the craziness of the past forty-eight hours before Genevieve woke up and needed attention.
“It’s only the beginning!” Amanda said with a laugh as she sped off.
It wasn’t till the following day that Amanda returned her attention to her suspended law license. In the shadows of the nursery, she googled her ex-client Hilton Arnoult. At the sight of his face, a shiver went down her spine. She hadn’t seen him since the day she’d lost the case and he’d been sent to prison.
Hilton Arnout looked made of money. His face was peaches and cream, his hair tousled and blond, his outfits Ralph Lauren and impeccable. He was Amanda’s age or a little bit older, a Harvard graduate who’d only gotten in because his father golfed with the dean. She knew that because Hilton had told her; he’d practically bragged about it. He was one of those rich-blooded Americans who’d been given everything he wanted since birth.
When the Arnout family had reached out to the Law Offices of Harris Harris last autumn, Susan had been over the moon. “These people have real money, Amanda,” she’d said after she took the first call. “They want us to represent their son. Their precious son. It’s going to be a windfall for us.”
Amanda tiptoed down the hall, clinging to the baby monitor with one hand and her phone with her other. Her mother answered on the fourth ring.
“Hi, honey!” Susan sounded busy and happy. Amanda pictured her at the kitchen counter with a bottle of wine and Scott by her side. “How are you and Genevieve?”
“We’re wonderful,” Amanda said, rubbing her chest.
“I know you said you wanted a bit of time to nest at home,” Susan said, “but just let me know when I can come over. I can do anything. Cook. Clean. Hold her while you shower. Whatever.”
Amanda smiled. “Thanks, Mom.” She paused. “Listen, I wanted to ask you about the Arnout case.”
Susan’s tone shifted to business. “Those people have no right to do this to you. We need to take action immediately.”
“How?” Amanda asked.
Susan was moving. Amanda could hear her footfalls through the phone.
“I mean, are you really sure they had something to do with it?” Amanda asked. “Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe the state board has me on something else.”
“What? Amanda, no.”
“Tell me, Mom. Did I mess up the Arnout case?” Amanda asked, her head throbbing. Suddenly, she desperately wanted to dive back through time and redo that case. To look at it from every angle again. To flip it over and turn it inside out. “I mean, would you have done it any differently?”
“If you remember, I worked with you on the Arnout case,” Susan said. “You ran everything past me.”
Amanda’s heart thudded.
“The Arnouts refuse to admit that their perfect boy did anything wrong,” Susan said, “and you’re paying for it right now. But it won’t be forever, okay? We’re going to figure this out.”
The baby monitor chirped and crackled. A second later came Genevieve’s now familiar wails.
“I have to go,” Amanda said.
“Good luck, honey. Don’t think about the Arnouts too much. Remember, I love you. And this is a precious time.”
“I love you, too.”
Amanda hurried back down the hall to find Sam in the nursery. He sat in the rocking chair with their baby in his arms and rocked her gently back to sleep. Amanda took a moment to instill this image in her mind forever: her handsome husband with her adorable baby.
“Why don’t you go rest?” Sam whispered. “I got it from here.”
Amanda pressed her hand over her chest. “I’m going to lie down and relax.”
Amanda made her way to her room. She lay down and listened to the thunderous quiet of the house.
But a moment later, she sat up, grabbed her phone, and searched online for an image of Hedwig and Clarice Arnout, Hilton’s half-French, half-German father and French mother. Her heart pounded so much that she swore it would burst through her chest. The photograph showed them at a gala event for the governor of Massachusetts—no surprise there. Clarice was a beauty with a mean-spirited expression on her face and a waist she could probably fit her hands around. Hedwig was overweight but regal, like an English king from an older century. Amanda had met them several times as she’d prepared Hilton’s case. They’d spoken to her very sweetly, their words like honey. They’d been so sure she was the one to get them out of “Hilton’s silly situation.” Were they really trying to destroy her career? She was only twenty-six years old! She’d just gotten started!
Maybe it was madness after childbirth or just the bravery that comes with being a mother, but Amanda wanted to handle this head-on, so she wrote an email to Hedwig.
Dear Hedwig Arnout,
I hope this email finds you well. The Massachusetts Board of Bar Overseers recently contacted me to announce that my license to practice law has been suspended. I am not the sort of person to make accusations, but I am the sort of lawyer to take responsibility for my actions. That said, if you have any specific queries regarding my work representing your son in his recent case, please let me know. May I remind you that I negotiated your son’s prison sentence down from five years to one.
If it’s all the same to you, I’d like my career back. I worked my entire life to build it.
Best,
Amanda Harris
Before she could stop herself, she sent it, then fell asleep. She came to with a start fifteen minutes later when she heard Sam knock on the door.
“Are you okay?”
Amanda sat upright. “I’m fine! I’m fine.” But was she? A second later, reality thudded into her gut. She’d sent a horrible email to a very powerful man. She’d called his bluff.
“I was thinking about making popcorn,” Sam said. “Would you like some?”
“Um?” Amanda’s thoughts raced. She reached for her phone, praying that the email hadn’t actually sent. Perhaps it lingered in the Drafts folder and could be easily deleted.
But no. There it was in Sent.
Hedwig had already replied.
“Amanda? Popcorn?”
“Sure!” Amanda called. “Thank you.” Her finger paused before clicking on the email. “She’s asleep?”
“Sleeping like a baby,” Sam joked.
“Ha. Ha.” Amanda’s smile erupted at the memory of her baby, fast asleep in that soft and pastel-painted nursery, but she bit her lower lip to tame herself. She had to deal with a professional emergency. For whatever reason, she’d decided to wrangle the beast from the comforts of her bath.
Perhaps the pregnancy and new mother hormones really had made her insane.
Dear Amanda,
So nice to hear from you. Thank you for this cordial message.
You know very well I wasn’t pleased with your representation of my son. Just now, I sit with my wife one island away from yours and watch the sunset and imagine the horrors our boy is going through in that prison in Upstate New York. Nothing sways me from my belief that this is entirely your fault. Your mistake. And mistakes have consequences.
I know you are a trained lawyer. That you studied diligently and know the intricacies of the law. For this reason, I truly believe you can dig into that brilliant head of yours and come up with a solution that will work for all of us. You will craft a new defense strategy for my son. You will bring him home to me.
Cheers,
Hedwig Arnout