Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Emily
My leg bounces with nervous energy as we sit at the conference table in the registrar’s office two weeks later.
A wall-mounted county seal hangs on the wall, the same one that appeared on the forged receipts Auren gave me.
Below it sits Mr. Holt, the county registrar who was assigned to oversee this proceeding.
He’s middle-aged, his face lined with the quiet exhaustion of someone who has seen enough pack disputes to grow numb to them.
A laptop sits in front of him on the table, ready to take notes.
The window overlooks the parking lot, with the morning sun glaring off windshields. The blinds are half-closed, cutting the light into thin bars that stripe the table between my hands.
Jared sits to my left, and his knee finds mine, stopping the nervous bouncing. He wore blockers today to mute his salt-air pheromones, in deference to the number of people who would be crowded into the small room.
While I understand and had done the same, I could really use the combination of our scents to settle my anxiety. His hand covers mine, thumb sweeping over my knuckles, and it helps, but I keep my attention on the door.
Leif sits to my right, with no hint of pheromones coming from him, either, his periwinkle eyes also on the door. He sits with his spine straight, shoulders back, and hands folded in his lap. If not for his coloring, he could easily be mistaken for an Alpha.
Grady sits on Leif’s other side with his legal pad open on the table, as if preparing for an interview for one of his articles. His cane rests beside his chair, his bad knee propped at an angle.
Dominic sits at the far end of the table.
Beside him is the Wright Pack lawyer, Milo Reese.
He sets his slim briefcase on the floor rather than the table, straightens, and buttons his jacket.
His salt-and-pepper hair appears disheveled, and he wears a discount value suit, though I know he can afford so much better with how much the Wright Pack pays him.
Mr. Holt checks the clock on the wall, the door, and the clock again.
Auren is late.
Grady’s pen taps the legal pad with visible annoyance.
Finally, the door opens, and a man enters first. He carries a slim briefcase and wears a charcoal suit more expensive than our lawyer’s. He takes in everyone at the table in that practiced way of someone who’s learned to read a room.
He crosses to the far end of the table, sets his briefcase down, and offers the room a single nod. “I’m Gerald Pryce. I will be counseling Auren Dovelle today.”
I catch Auren’s crushed violets and honeyed cream pheromones before he sweeps into the room, thick and sweet, without any care for who they might affect.
My knee starts bouncing again, and Leif’s hand curls into a fist on the table.
Auren’s lavender hair is swept to one side, clipped at the temple with a silver barrette that catches the fluorescent light.
He wears an oversized plum knit sweater, the collar loose enough to reveal the delicate chain at his throat that accentuates his slender neck.
A single silver ring sits on his left ring finger, the implication clear.
His amethyst eyes widen for a fraction of a second when he realizes I’m not alone. Then he spots our lawyer, and his lip gives a little curl of disdain before he masks it and sweeps forward.
Good, let his assumptions about the quality of our representative bury him.
“Emily, I came as soon as I heard,” Auren says, all breathy warmth, his attention on Mr. Holt instead of me. “I want to help however I can.”
Mr. Holt steps forward and opens his folder. “Thank you, everyone, for joining us today. We were asked here to address an alleged discrepancy in our record.”
He turns to me. “Emily Wilson claims that her Petition for Expulsion from the Lavender Sky Pack, which bears the signature of Auren Dovelle, was never submitted to the county registry.”
He turns a page. “As of this date, Emily Wilson remains a registered member of Lavender Sky Pack under Auren Dovelle as pack head.”
He sets a copy of the county’s active record on the table. The paper is thick, with the county seal embossed at the bottom. My name appears halfway down the page. Auren’s name above it. The dates stretch back seven years.
Auren’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes flick once to me before returning to Mr. Holt, the movement so small that I almost miss it.
“There must have been a mistake,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers over the slender column of his throat. “I signed the petition when I was asked, but then Emily changed her mind about leaving the pack, and we decided on a trial separation instead.”
He gives Mr. Holt a pretty smile. “These things happen, but I’m still hoping we can reconcile.”
Reese reaches into his portfolio and pulls out a single sheet, setting it on the table between us. “Mr. Dovelle, can you confirm that this is your signature on the petition in question?”
“Yes, that’s mine,” he says without hesitation before he turns to me with equal parts fondness and exasperation. “Didn’t you say you’d shred that thing? It was just a fight. Not something to break up our pack over.”
He stares at me with that particular warmth he uses when he wants me to feel seen. Special. The center of a room he’s gracious enough to share.
I set my jaw and refuse to be swayed.
Reese places a second document beside the petition. Then a third.
The removal fee. The carbon copy of my check with the memo line typed in clear block letters, stating what it was intended for.
“Mr. Dovelle,” Reese says. “Can you confirm that you received both of these payments?”
Auren’s hands twitch on the table. “I received payments as part of our trial separation, yes. But those payments covered a number of things. I’d need to review the full accounting before I could confirm what each one was for.”
Reese pulls a fourth document from his portfolio and places it on the table. The cottage settlement agreement, opened to the relevant clause, the text highlighted in yellow.
Auren leans forward to read the highlighted section. The language is unambiguous, stating that the removal fee and filing fee were paid as part of the separation agreement in exchange for Auren Dovelle completing the expulsion filing with the county registry by the specified deadline.
“To jog your memory, this is a record of the payments and their subsequent deposits into your personal account, Mr. Dovelle.” Reese slides another piece of paper onto the table and passes Mr. Holt a copy of everything.
Auren doesn’t touch the paper as the muscle along his cheekbone jumps.
Mr. Pryce leans toward him, his mouth close to Auren’s ear, words too quiet to catch, and his hand rests on Auren’s forearm.
Auren ignores him, his attention fixed on the documents spread across the table as calculations flicker across his face.
He adjusts his sleeves, the plum knit sliding over his wrists, and when he speaks again, the softness remains, but the warmth has drained away, replaced by hurt.
“Em, we talked about this,” he says, and tears well up. “When you changed your mind, you told me to keep the money to pay for my new place to live while we worked out our issues. I can’t believe you would be so underhanded as to drag other people into our personal matter.”
He turns those tears on Mr. Holt. “If Emily had simply reached out instead of going around me, we could have resolved this between ourselves. The way we used to resolve things.”
Reese places more documents on the table.
The approval for my removal from the Lavender Pack. The receipt from the registrar’s office to confirm it, with the number from my check noted beneath the official embossed seal. All forged.
The paperwork from the bank when I removed Auren from the cottage, which also states the reason for it being an expulsion from the Lavender Sky Pack, with Auren’s signature that matches his signature on everything else.
Mr. Holt leans forward to snatch up the paperwork and pulls a scanner from his pack pocket. He reads the barcode at the top of the form and frowns. “These aren’t ours.”
The blood drains from Auren’s cheeks, leaving the lavender of his hair stark beside the sudden pallor of his skin. “I think we should pause and allow me to consult with my lawyer before continuing.”
“That’s your right.” Reese motions toward the door. “As soon as you leave the room, the county sheriff will be taking you in for questioning. What you have committed is extortion and fraud, Mr. Dovelle. This is a very serious matter.”
He turns to Mr. Holt. “They would appreciate your cooperation in their investigation to find out who has been abusing the registrar’s seal of office.”
“Every seal is unique to the employee it’s assigned to.” Mr. Holt gives Auren a hard stare. “It won’t take long to uncover the culprit. I’m sure they’ll cooperate with the investigation in exchange for a lighter sentence.”
Mr. Pryce leans closer to Auren again, but he shoves his lawyer away, lunging to his feet.
He leans across the table toward me. “After everything I did for you, this is how you treat me? After I gave you everything? Took you in when no one else wanted you?”
“There’s also the matter of defrauding Ms. Wilson of sponsorship fees for additional pack members that you never registered,” Reese cuts in, drawing Auren’s ire. “We will be reaching out to them.”
“Did you get them to pay their fees, as well?” Grady asks. “And forge the paperwork adding them to the pack? How much did you embezzle from them in the name of more fake expulsions?”
With a screech, Auren lunges toward him, his fingers hooked into claws.
Reese catches the Omega before he reaches me, and the county sheriff comes rushing into the room. He’s older and gray at the temples, with the alert bearing of a man who misses very little.
After speaking with Reese that first day, when I hadn’t been able to join the Wright Pack, Dominic had hand-delivered all our evidence to the sheriff’s office. They’ve been building their case for the last two weeks while we waited for Auren to agree to the meeting date.
Auren turns to the sheriff before swinging back to me. “You can’t do this to me! I’m the head of our pack. It’s up to me how our finances are run!”
“No, it’s not.” The sheriff steps forward, taking Auren gently but firmly by the arm. “Mr. Dovelle, you’re coming with me.”
Auren tries to jerk free, but he can’t escape. “Get your hands off me.”
“You can either walk with me,” the sheriff says, “or I’ll remove you by force.”
“You don’t understand.” Auren searches the room, desperation creeping in. His attention catches on Mr. Holt before returning to me. “Em, tell them this is all a misunderstanding.”
For years, that pleading, helpless look unraveled my resolve, and I’d give in to his demands. But never again.
Auren searches me for hesitation, for guilt, for the instinct to smooth everything over for him as I’ve always done. When he finds nothing, the last of his composure breaks loose.
“You ungrateful bitch!” He strains to break free of the sheriff’s grip. “Everything I did was for you! I made you who you are!”
The sheriff twists him toward the door. “That’s enough.”
Auren digs his heels into the carpet. “You’ll regret this, Emily!”
The sheriff doesn’t so much as glance back as he forces Auren through the doorway.
“I’ll be in touch,” Mr. Pryce tells Reese before gathering his briefcase and following them into the hallway.
The door closes behind them.
Silence crashes over the room.
Jared’s hand covers mine beneath the table, and only after he stills the tremble do I realize I’m shaking. “Alpha?”
I turn toward Jared.
His green eyes search my face, all traces of anger replaced by worry. “Are you okay?”
The question catches me off guard. For so many years, no one had asked. Not after Auren lost his temper. Not after another argument. Not after another compromise that somehow always seemed to be mine.
I let out a shaky laugh that catches on the start of tears before I swallow them down. “I...” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I think so.”
Jared’s shoulders loosen, and he leans over to nuzzle me. “Good.”
Leif’s hand settles between my shoulder blades. “You did well, Alpha.”
Grady slides the tissue box across the table. “We’re here.”
Mr. Holt clears his throat. “If everyone is finished...”
Every head turns back toward him.
The registrar straightens the file in front of him before turning to me.
“Based on the documentation provided today, including the signed Petition for Expulsion, proof of payment, bank records, and evidence that the agreed filing was never submitted, I find that Ms. Wilson fulfilled her obligations under the separation agreement.”
He reaches for his keyboard. “The dispute is resolved in Ms. Wilson’s favor.”
The quiet tapping of keys fills the room. For two weeks, those keystrokes had haunted me, but now they sound like freedom.
Mr. Holt feeds a sheet of paper into the printer beneath the table, and the machine hums, then whines as it prints.
He pulls it still hot from the printer and stamps the bottom with his county seal, brings the embosser down on the corner with a solid clunk, and signs his name.
With a sympathetic smile, he slides the paperwork across the table toward me. “Effective immediately, Emily Wilson is no longer a registered member of Lavender Sky Pack.”
I stare at the page, reach out, and draw it closer. I trace the raised county seal with my thumb.
Finally, I’m free.
My head lifts. “Can you register me with the Wright Pack now?”
I waited two weeks. I don’t want to wait a second more than I have to.
“Of course.” He turns to Dominic. “Do you have the paperwork?”
Dominic pulls it out of his portfolio and passes it over.
Fifteen minutes later, we leave the conference room together. Leif’s shoulder brushes mine, and Jared weaves our fingers together. Grady’s cane taps across the linoleum behind us, while Dominic and Reese walk ahead, already discussing next steps.
I don’t look back at the conference room door. Everything that happened can stay behind us, and whatever comes next walks with me through the lobby, out into the April morning, toward the dock where the water taxi waits.
Beyond it is the island, filled with a pack full of people who measure what they can give instead of what they’re owed.
Jared’s hand squeezes mine, and I hold on tight.