Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alicia
The landing creaks, and I know before I look up. Something in the sound of it—too deliberate, too careful—tells me this isn’t nothing.
Stella doesn’t notice. She’s laughing at a video on her screen, her feet tucked under her on the armchair in my office. I set my hand on her shoulder.
“Hey. Go start getting ready for bed.”
She looks up, reads my face the way she’s always been able to, and doesn’t argue. Just unfolds herself and heads up to the third floor without being told twice.
When the sound of her footsteps fades, I face Noah on the landing and gesture to the stairs—we can talk in the kitchen—but he steps past me and enters my office.
With an inhale, I follow.
He closes the door with a click that seems to echo like a gavel.
“What is it?”
“A warrant has been filed.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’re charging you with the murder of Matthew Delacroix.” He says it quietly, as if that softens the blow.
The room swims.
He catches my arm before I fold, his grip steady, grounding.
“How? Why?”
“I’m not sure, but Hudson notified Dorian Moore. He’s already contacted a law firm he has on retainer. If they show up tonight, which they might—”
“It’s after eight.”
“True. But if they want to rattle you and keep you longer, it could be a good ploy. Late arrests control optics—less press, more pressure. If they’re looking to make a scene, to ensure word gets out, they may plan on taking you at your office or somewhere more public tomorrow.”
“On what grounds?”
“They aren’t sharing everything but the prosecutor wouldn’t agree with the arrest if they didn’t feel they had a case.”
I sit down on the edge of my desk, feeling like my world is collapsing. My tongue tastes metallic.
It’s an inside view of my client’s world that I never wanted to experience. For years I’ve been the one who strategized calm for others; now I’m the crisis, and there’s no statement to spin this away.
“Okay. Well, my first priority is Stella. The thought of Stella waking to flashing lights and the sound of handcuffs—no.” She’ll never see that. “Should I turn myself in?” Control the scene. No cuffs in my doorway.
Control the story before it controls you. I’ve said it to clients a hundred times. Maybe it’s time to take my own advice.
“Dorian looped in a defense firm; they’ve been trying to reach you.”
He gestures to my desk where my phone sits. I’d left it there when Stella came in—she’d been in a mood to talk, recounting play practice in a running bloopers reel that had us both laughing. I try not to check work when I’m with her.
My eyes burn. I know why the detective thinks he has a case. Somehow he found out about an affair that occurred ten years ago, and because I didn’t admit to it, he thinks I’m guilty. But who would admit to a long-dormant affair?
“Alicia—are you okay?”
It’s Noah’s warm touch that brings me back to the present—and it’s his dark concerned eyes that tell me I owe him the truth. It’s going to come out anyway.
“We’re investigating connections to Pierce Industries. It’s possible this is how they are targeting you.”
“What?” I ask, not sure I’m following the line of reasoning.
“You’re a murder suspect. If Pierce, or anyone else involved in the Vasquez scandal, was worried about your testimony or contributions to the discovery process—they just removed you from the board. Discredit the witness.”
“Wait—” I hold up my hand, trying to understand what he’s saying. “You think Pierce, or some unnamed entity, is so afraid of my testimony that they murdered a man and framed me, to discredit my testimony?”
That’s insane.
“Alicia, someone has been tracking your whereabouts. Someone did a background check on me—and has been doing research.”
“You didn’t tell me—”
“Well, we’ve been investigating. They haven’t investigated anyone else on your security detail, which made me think Richard might have hired the PI and it wasn’t related to this situation.”
“Richard wouldn’t hire a PI. You should’ve talked to me. I could’ve saved you steps.”
“He’s not happy I exist in your house, in your life.”
“No, he’s not, but you’re the first person I’ve dated since we split—at least, that he’s known about.” I push up and return to my desk chair. “So Richard didn’t hire someone to look into you, but who would?”
Speaking of Richard, I should probably call him. He could come over tonight and get Stella to avoid a run-in with police in the morning.
What evidence could they have? My affair with Matthew ten years ago? That I found him? It’s not evidence, none of it is evidence. I’m innocent—am I being framed or is this just shoddy police work?
“All of the information we’ve gathered over the last few weeks will be shared with your legal counsel—it can be used in your arraignment and increase the possibility of pretrial release—but we need for you to select your legal counsel.”
Right. I know plenty of lawyers but from working with them on behalf of my clients. I don’t have a law firm on retainer.
I glance at the phone screen and the stack of notifications.
Perhaps I should call Richard, but he’s not a defense attorney. I pick up the phone, finger hovering over the phone icon.
Noah stands across my desk, a loyal sentry, a silhouette against the window, all quiet threat and steadiness. Will he want anything to do with me after he learns the truth?
There’s no doubt in my mind the affair is what led the police investigator to point the finger at me. It’s coming up—possibly in the arraignment hearing.
“What is it?” Noah asks.
It’s not like me to move slowly when faced with crisis, to hesitate, or to be torn over priorities. I should tell Noah later, but I can’t risk not being the one to tell him.
“I’m going to call Dorian, but once I do, everything has the potential to move fast. I need you to know something—the reason the police suspect me.”
He crosses his arms. “Okay.”
“I had an affair with Matthew Delacroix. It happened ten years ago. Matt and I…crossed a line. Briefly. For a couple of months. I buried it, locked it away. I didn’t think anyone knew.
” I think back to Dorian’s reaction—maybe Matt and I fooled ourselves.
“I’m not a cheater. It was… It was after Stella had been born.
My marriage was in a bad place. Richard was never home. ”
“You don’t need to explain it to me.”
Noah’s firm. There’s no anger. No, he’s calm under fire. And what he’s not saying is absolutely correct. I need to focus.
“We can talk about it later. For now, call Dorian. I’m going to tell the team—”
I open my mouth to protest—the idea of my affair being shared with people I don’t even know—absolutely not.
“We need all the information.” There’s so much going on in his expression—maybe he’s thinking it, maybe I’m feeling it—but the most significant one is that I should’ve shared this information with him and the team on day one. “No surprises, Alicia. It’s the one rule in defense.”
“Right.” It’s reluctant agreement. As a crisis manager, I always tell my clients I need to know everything to formulate the best plan, and yet I didn’t share everything with my team.
He exits, closing the door behind him, and I stay very still for a moment.
I’ve built a career on the principle that secrets unmanaged become crises.
I knew about the affair. I knew it was relevant.
And I said nothing—told myself it was ancient history, that it wouldn’t surface, that I could manage the exposure if it did. I was wrong on all three counts.
I lift the phone and press Dorian’s name.
“Dorian,” I say, and the shaken uncertainty in the way that one word sounds has me blinking back tears.
“No word yet on which judge you’ll be assigned. Once we know, we’ll have more information.”
“What do you mean?”
“If it’s a judge with close ties to Pierce, then someone’s pulling strings.”
I exhale, knowing his thought process. His father—and I guess Dorian too—work like that.
Judge shopping. But this… “I think…” I stop myself.
Restart. “There’s a strong possibility the police didn’t have a good suspect.
There’s pressure on them to close out the case.
This could be nothing more than rushed police work.
Because of the affair that I didn’t admit to—”
“Maybe. We’re looking into that angle too. Are you good with my legal recommendation or are you acquiring your own?”
I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of my office chair. “I haven’t read any of your texts. Noah came to get me. I’ve been upstairs with Stella.”
“I strongly recommend Shelly Madison and Luca Corzone. They’re a high-profile defense team for Barclay Law. They’re based in DC and are prepped and ready.”
“Locked and loaded,” I say, pushing aside the swirling nausea. “Should I call Richard?”
“For legal counsel? Hell no.”
Dorian and Richard never hit it off. “Why?” He dropped everything to help me when I was called in for questioning.
“His intentions can’t be trusted. What if he sees this as an opportunity to gain custody of Stella?”
“He would never.” I twist in my seat, uncertain, but then, no: “He’ll never want this going public. He’ll see it as an embarrassment to him and his family name. He’d never in a million years want to see Stella’s mother in prison. He’d find me the best legal resources available.”
“Well, so will I—and you can be absolutely certain of my intentions.”
“I know. You’ve been a good friend, Dorian. Thank you. I’ll go with your recommendation on the condition the bills get sent to me.”
“I have them on retainer.”
“Dorian.”
“Fine. We’ll figure something out.”
“But I feel like I need to give Richard a heads up.”
“That’s your call.”
I hear the unspoken disagreement, but Dorian doesn’t comprehend how angry Richard can be if he feels slighted. And plus, it feels like responsible co-parenting.
“What are next steps? Do I need to call Shelly or Luca?”