Chapter 2
Two
R uth Everhart adjusted her glasses, straightened her blazer, and took a deep breath before clicking the link to join the Zoom call. The thumbnail images flickered into view, and there they were: Beau and Elsie Warren, the assistant mayor of Pierre, South Dakota, and their son, Curtis. The Warrens’ sharp, overbearing presence dominated the virtual room, even over the slightly pixelated video feed.
Beau leaned forward, his face consuming the screen. “Ms. Everhart, you understand the stakes here, don’t you? My son’s future is at risk, and failure is not an option.”
Ruth forced a neutral expression. “Mr. Warren, I appreciate your concern. However, I must remind you this case is complicated. Curtis’s second DUI?—”
“Alleged DUI,” Elsie interjected, her voice cutting like glass. “And those injuries? Hardly ‘serious.’ That cyclist came out of nowhere.”
Curtis, a mop-haired twenty-something with the glazed look of someone perpetually coddled, sat back in his chair, disinterested. Ruth couldn’t decide if his indifference was arrogance or denial.
“I understand your perspective,” Ruth said, her voice steady. “However, the evidence is substantial. Blood alcohol levels don’t lie, and the cyclist sustained multiple fractures.”
“Enough with the excuses!” Elsie snapped. “You’re supposed to be our lawyer. Fix this!”
Beau leaned in again, his tone lowering dangerously. “If you can’t get this case dismissed, Ms. Everhart, you can kiss your career goodbye. Do I make myself clear?”
Ruth swallowed her irritation. Years of being one of five sisters had taught her how to maintain composure under fire, but this felt like persecution. “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure the best outcome for your son. That said, the court’s decision ultimately rests on the evidence.”
The conversation spiraled into further demands and veiled threats, with Ruth maintaining her professionalism by sheer force of will. Curtis remained silent throughout, offering only the occasional shrug or nod.
By the time the call ended, Ruth’s temples throbbed. She leaned back in her chair, pulling off one of her high-heeled pumps. The leather felt cool in her hand—a small, physical reminder of her restraint during the onslaught. Without thinking, she hurled it across the room. The shoe bounced off the opposite wall and landed with a dull thud just as a knock sounded at her door.
Ruth froze. The door creaked open, and in stepped one of the bosses, Blake Ellison.
Blake, founder of the firm, with his impeccably tailored suit, silver hair, and piercing blue eyes, closed the door quietly behind him. He raised an eyebrow at the scene—one shoe on Ruth’s foot, the other lying forlorn on the floor.
“Well,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “should I be worried?”
Ruth scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “Mr. Ellison, I—I’m so sorry. That wasn’t?—”
Blake held up a hand, his expression light. “Save your apologies for your shoe.”
A surprised laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. She sank back into her chair, momentarily disarmed. Blake strode over, picked up the errant shoe, and set it gently on her desk.
“Rough call?” He took the seat across from her and crossed one ankle over his knee.
“You could say that,” Ruth replied, rubbing her temples. “The Warrens are... difficult.”
“Difficult,” Blake repeated, his tone laced with dry humor. “Is it any wonder their kid gets in trouble?”
Ruth managed a wry smile. “Honestly, no. But their expectations are unrealistic. They want me to wave a magic wand and make all of this go away. What am I supposed to do?”
Blake’s gaze sharpened, though his demeanor remained calm. “Do the best you can, Ruth. That’s all anyone can expect.”
“And if I lose?”
His eyes twinkled with an unshakable confidence. “Then you won’t lose. The kid’s behavior will handle that for you.”
Ruth sat back, his words sinking in. She respected Blake’s clarity and reassurance, but the pressure of representing a high-profile case—especially with clients like the Warrens—felt immense.
“Thank you,” she said finally, her voice softer.
Blake stood, brushing imaginary lint from his suit. “Just remember, Ruth: you’re here because you’re the best. Don’t let a pair of overbearing parents make you forget that.” He left the office as quietly as he had entered, leaving Ruth to stare at her shoe, which now seemed less like an object of frustration and more like a testament to her humanity.
With a deep breath, Ruth slipped the shoe back on, straightened her blazer, and opened her case file. She had work to do.
* * *
The small diner was warm and lit by pendant lights over each booth, its ancient jukebox humming faintly in the corner. Outside, snow whipped against the frosted windows, muffling the sounds of the world beyond. Noah and Alex sat at a booth near the radiator, each nursing a cup of coffee that seemed to barely take the edge off the bone-deep chill. The sights and smells of the dump they had spent the morning combing through lingered, no matter how hard they tried to ignore them.
Noah stared at the swirling steam rising from his cup. “This is turning into a nightmare.”
Alex shifted in his seat, watching him carefully. “When was the last time you slept through the night? Or ate something that wasn’t a sandwich?”
Noah shrugged, his expression neutral but his exhaustion betraying him.
Alex shook his head, his concern deepening. “Alright, here’s the deal: we’ve got two more case deadlines before Christmas to get the last bits of documentation to our trial attorneys. That’s going to take us right up to the holidays. After that, the courts usually quiet down because the judges all take off. During the break, I’ll go through every piece of evidence we’ve got from Hilton, okay?” He stared at Noah, eyes bloodshot from too many hours chasing leads. “You make any headway with Hilton’s info?”
Noah sighed and rubbed his temples. “I’m trying. First, I need to track down the thugs who yanked Robert Hilton out of protective custody and drugged our two officers. Then, I need to find how to sort through his accounting notes on the damn disc drive. And even if I do, I still have no idea how to decode whatever Maxim Fairchild was hiding.” He leaned back, exhaling sharply. “Hilton—he treated this like a damn game. He came to us for an out, but never once thought to actually help.”
Alex frowned. “So, we’re still in the dark.”
“Not completely,” Noah muttered. “Just enough to trip over whatever comes next.”
Alex leaned back, a question hovering on his lips. “So... what are you doing for Christmas?”
Noah shrugged again, this time with a touch of discomfort. “My folks are flying out to Seattle to spend time with my sister and brother-in-law. It’s my niece’s first Christmas, so they’ll all be together. I’ll probably grab some Chinese food and watch a movie.”
Alex frowned, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “No, you won’t. You’re coming to Charlotte’s.”
Noah raised an eyebrow, half amused. “Oh, am I?”
“Yes, you are,” Alex said firmly. “Charlotte’s been planning a big celebration since Isobel came home from the hospital. And we’ve got Molly and Ethan bringing their new baby, Wyatt. There’s going to be a ton of good food, great drinks... and you’re my family, Noah. You belong there.”
Noah couldn’t help but laugh when Alex’s lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout.
“Does that lip actually work with your mom?” he asked, shaking his head.
“Every time,” Alex replied, deadpan, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So, is it working on you?”
Noah sighed, his resolve wavering. “Fine. Ask Charlotte what I can bring.”
Alex grinned triumphantly. “That’s the spirit.”
For the first time that day, the heaviness in the air lifted slightly. As they sat there, sipping coffee and waiting for their meal in the cozy booth, the world outside felt a little less cold.
* * *
Maxim Fairchild stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office, his sharp gaze piercing through the glass as snowflakes danced erratically in the gusts of wind outside. The view from the top of Verdant Horizons World Headquarters in Pierre offered a commanding panorama of the city below, but Maxim’s thoughts were far from the picturesque scene. His reflection in the glass—a man with chiseled features and cold, calculating eyes—seemed to loom larger than life, a fitting symbol of the empire he controlled.
Verdant Horizons, his billion-dollar industrial landscaping company, had just secured the contract for the Green Horizons project—a sprawling three-billion-dollar initiative to overhaul landscaping across South Dakota's public buildings and highways. A pot of gold, Maxim thought smugly when the announcement was made. Now, with the deal inked and his competitors licking their wounds, he was savoring his triumph.
The sharp knock on his office door shattered the moment. Without turning, Maxim called, "Enter."
His executive assistant, a nervous man with a perpetually pale complexion, stepped in tentatively. His shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. "Sir," he began, clearing his throat. "I’m afraid to tell you... the state’s attorney’s office has found a body at the city dump."
Maxim turned slowly, his face inscrutable. “A body?” he repeated, his voice quiet but laced with an edge that made the assistant flinch.
“Yes, sir.” The assistant shifted from foot to foot, his gaze darting to the luxurious carpet as if it might provide sanctuary. “They say it’s, uh, dismembered. They haven’t confirmed the identity, but?—”
“This was not supposed to happen,” Maxim interrupted, his voice now a low growl. He moved to his desk, the smooth walnut surface reflecting the designer lighting. His hand curled into a fist, veins standing out like taut cords beneath his skin. “It was supposed to be mulched.”
The assistant hesitated, unsure if he should continue. “The state’s attorney’s office is leading the investigation, sir. I thought you should know.”
Maxim let the silence stretch uncomfortably before speaking. “Find out who is in charge of this investigation,” he said, each word precise and clipped. “I want to know what they know, how much they’ve seen, and how much they suspect. I want names, timelines, and details.”
The assistant nodded rapidly. “Yes, sir. Right away.”
Maxim dismissed him with a slight wave of his hand, already turning back to the window. He listened to the assistant’s retreating footsteps, the door closing softly behind him.
Alone again, Maxim’s mind churned, the gears of his formidable intellect clicking into place. A dismembered body at the dump. The words reverberated in his head, an ominous refrain. His empire was built on precision and control, but this... this was chaos. Loose ends. Questions that could spiral into unwelcome scrutiny. The Green Horizons project was too important, too lucrative to be jeopardized by... this .
His jaw tightened, his reflection in the window growing darker, sharper. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel the flicker of something close to anger—though Maxim Fairchild rarely indulged in emotions as petty and uncontrolled as rage. No, he thrived on clarity and focus, turning every obstacle into an advantage.
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Whoever was in charge of this investigation would soon learn the cost of meddling with Verdant Horizons and its ambitions. Maxim had dealt with problems before, always swiftly and decisively. This would be no different.
He reached for his phone, his fingers gliding over the screen with practiced precision. “Get me on a call with Dylan Grant,” he said into the receiver, his tone commanding.
Dylan Grant, a man whose influence extended into shadowed corners of the legal system, owed Maxim favors. Big ones. If anyone could bury a problem—or a body—it was Grant.
As he waited for the connection, Maxim turned back to the snowstorm outside, the white flakes swirling like ghosts in the wind. Somewhere in a dump outside Pierre, a dismembered body had been unearthed, threatening to unravel the careful web he had spun. But as far as he was concerned, it was nothing more than another piece of debris in his path—something to be swept aside without hesitation. Because Maxim Fairchild didn’t lose. Not to competitors. Not to accidents. And certainly not to the dead.
* * *
The restaurant was cozy, tucked into a narrow side street a few blocks from the office, its dim lighting and the scent of simmering garlic and fresh basil creating a sense of warmth. Ruth sat across from Melanie, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her wine glass as she exhaled, letting the tension of the day slip away sip by sip.
"You know," Melanie said, twirling a strand of spaghetti around her fork, "Matt Brandt is a sleaze."
Ruth raised an eyebrow but didn’t look surprised. "You think so?"
Melanie shrugged, her eyes flickering with something Ruth didn’t quite catch. "Let’s just say you’re not the first young attorney he’s taken a special interest in." She took a slow sip of her Chianti, watching Ruth carefully.
Ruth frowned but dismissed it with a shake of her head. "I figured as much. Are any still part of the firm?"
“No, they all were terminated. Supposedly, they made legal mistakes. I think it was about unemployment and payouts, but it all came through Mr. Grant’s office. His secretary would never give anything up.” Melanie waved a breadstick.
Ruth frowned. “Well, I guess I need to figure out a way to deal with him.”
"Of course you can," Melanie said smoothly as she leaned in. "But you shouldn’t have to. He’s gross."
Ruth smiled wryly and changed the subject. "So, are you bringing anyone to the end-of-the-year party?"
Melanie's lips curled into a smirk. "Actually, yeah. I started seeing this really nice guy named Luke."
Ruth looked genuinely interested. "Oh? Tell me more."
"He works private security for some bigwig,” Melanie said, seeming to watch for Ruth’s reaction.
Ruth blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Doesn’t that make you nervous? It’s like being a police officer with one big target. His job is to step in front of a bullet."
Melanie let out a low chuckle and speared another bite of pasta. "As long as he keeps buying expensive dinners and is good in the sack, nah." She winked.
Ruth laughed, shaking her head. "That’s one way to look at it. But you should be at least a little afraid.”
Melanie shifted uncomfortably. “But he’s just doing security work. It’s mostly crowd control.”
Ruth realized Melanie wasn’t getting it. She also realized she was putting her own fears on the conversation. She didn’t remember her father. He was murdered when she was two. She opened her palms then picked up her wine glass.
They settled into an easy rhythm after that, enjoying their dinner, their laughter spilling into the small space as they gossiped about people at the firm. Melanie kept steering the conversation back toward Ruth’s personal life, asking about her dating situation, her plans for the holidays, little things that seemed casual but carried a quiet persistence.
Ruth enjoyed the moment, the wine softening the edges of her long day as she let herself relax in Melanie’s company.