Chapter 24 Amara #2
Xavier looks around the room like a trapped animal. At me, at Marisol, at Joseph with his investigator’s notepad, at Corin in the back.
“You can’t do this,” he sputters. “I have lawyers. I have connections. I’ll destroy all of you!”
“You’re welcome to try,” I say calmly. “But I’d recommend reviewing the consent form you signed first. The one that specifically waives any expectation of privacy for statements made during this proceeding.”
“Proceeding? You said it was an informal discussion!” He stares at me with pure hatred.
Yep.
There it is.
The look of a man who just realized he’s been outplayed by someone he underestimated.
“We’re done here,” Xavier snaps. He grabs his jacket and storms toward the door.
I catch movement near the entrance. Two plainclothes officers materializing from nowhere, escorting him off the property.
Thorne’s work, I assume.
The door slams behind Xavier.
For a moment, nobody moves.
Then Marisol lets out a breath. “Holy shit.”
“Language,” I say automatically, then immediately laugh. “Sorry. I have no idea why I said that.”
“You were incredible.” Joseph is already packing up his notes. “I’ve been an investigator for fifteen years. That was one of the cleanest takedowns I’ve ever witnessed.”
I suddenly realize I’m shaking. Like, literally.
Adrenaline crash.
Classic post-deposition symptoms.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
Corin crosses the room and his hand finds the small of my back again.
“I need to make a call,” he says quietly. “Manhattan.”
Noemi.
“Do it,” I say. “She needs to be gone before she can cover her tracks.”
He nods, pulls out his phone, and steps into the back office. I hear fragments of the conversation.
“Immediately.”
“Security escort.”
“Clear out her desk.”
It’s brutal.
Necessary, of course.
But still brutal.
When he returns, his jaw is tight. “It’s done.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I know you trusted her.”
“I trusted a lot of people I shouldn’t have.” He looks at me. “But I’m getting better at knowing who deserves it.”
I can’t help but beam at that. “And Xavier?”
“My legal team will be in touch with him shortly,” Corin replies. “Let’s just say, corporate espionage is a crime.”
I nod slowly. “Oh, I well know.”
I certainly don’t envy Noemi and Xavier. What’s coming for them won’t be pretty.
The recording airs on island radio that evening.
Corin and I listen from the terrace at The Westlight, watching the sun sink toward the horizon.
Xavier’s words play back, tinny through the speakers. His admissions. His arrogance. His casual reference to Noemi as his accomplice.
Corin’s phone buzzes. When he reads the message, he exhales slowly.
He shows it to me. It’s from Thorne.
Xavier departed Eleuthera 8:47 PM. Private charter to Miami. Threat level reduced to yellow.
“We did it,” I say.
He takes my hand. “You did it. I just gave you the tools.”
“We,” I insist. “The archived files. The transparency room. The accountant emails. You built the infrastructure for all of this. You made it possible.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “We’re a good team.”
I grin widely. “The best.”
He kisses my temple and I lean into him.
Exhibit D: Amara Khan and Corin Saelinger, seven weeks and six days after meeting again for the first time in five years on New Year’s Eve, stand on a terrace in Eleuthera, watching the sunset like a pair of saps.
The court finds in favor of the saps.
In the weeks that follow, things settle into something almost ordinary.
Donors return with cautious apologies. The clinic’s pilot program is extended another six months. I’m named co-director, which feels surreal. Me, the woman who was supposed to be here for six weeks and kept extending because she fell in love with an island and a man and a mission.
Corin launches the transparency measures outlined in his internal memo. We’re talking the full gamut.
External audits.
Whistleblower protections.
Public accountability reports.
It’s not performative anymore. It’s very real.
We fall into a rhythm. Breakfast on the terrace.
He makes the coffee. I burn the toast. We attend community meetings where nothing dramatic happens.
We help islanders navigate predatory contracts.
We run errands together. I sleep in his bed at the private villa and we have the most amazing sex every night.
Exhibit E: Domestic bliss. Who would have thunk it?
One morning, Corin asks me to meet him at a property on the far side of the island. I assume it’s for an islander in need of our assistance against the big guys. Maybe a fisherman who’s being forced out by a foreign resort developer.
Keon drives me along winding coastal roads. I watch the palm trees blur past the window and mentally prepare my arsenal of contract law arguments.
When we arrive, though, Corin is already there. He’s leaning against a weathered porch railing with that look he gets when he’s planning something.
What’s he up to?
I step out of the car and take in the property fully. It’s a small cottage with pale stucco walls, a sun-room that faces the ocean, and what looks like a detached studio off to one side. It’s charming really, and perfect for someone who needs a quiet workspace near the beach.
Wait a minute.
“What is this?” I ask.
He hands me a folder. Inside I find deed paperwork and a proposal for the Eleuthera Legal Access Program’s permanent director residence.
Wait. Permanent director? Not co-director?
I flip through the pages. There’s an organizational chart. A salary structure that makes my eyes widen slightly. A formal appointment letter with my name on it.
Oh.
He’s not just offering me a house.
He’s offering me the whole thing.
I stare at it. Then at him. Then back at the deed. “You bought a house for me?”
“I bought it for the clinic,” he corrects. “If you want it.”
I walk through the sun-room. Notice the bookshelves built for legal texts. The desk positioned to catch the morning light. The windows that frame the ocean like a painting.
It’s perfect.
And yet, terrifying.
“I don’t know what to tell you.” I stare at the ocean through the window. “What if I say no?” I glance at him.
He leans against the doorframe, looking devastatingly attractive in his rolled up sleeves. “Then I’ll sell it to someone who needs it, and we’ll figure out something else.”
I smile at him. “You’d really let me choose?”
He nods. “Always.”
I cross the room, cup his face in my hands, and kiss him.
When I pull back, I say, “I’ll take it. But I do have a condition.”
He looks me straight in the eye. “Anything.”
“You stay here with me,” I tell him.
His grin wrecks me. “Deal.”
Exhibit F: Amara Khan, accepting a home.
Accepting a future.
Accepting love.
The verdict?
Guilty as charged.
I throw my arms around him and press my mouth against his again.
Case closed.
“I love you, Amara,” Corin says against my mouth.
I pull back long enough to look into his eyes. “I love you, too. Always have, always will.”
Turns out the best closing argument isn’t an argument at all.
It’s just... staying.