Chapter 12
SARAH
I stare at my phone, my heel clicking against the clear, plastic mat. I’ve been sweating this for three days, but it’s time to bite the bullet.
ME: Are you moving to a new network?
I sit, waiting for the three little dots to appear. Nothing.
I jump at a knock on my office door.
“Sorry.” Griffin stands in the doorway, minus his suit coat.
“I’m checking to see if you’re interested in sitting in on the Connor case.
Since you compiled and provided a valuation for all the assets, I thought you might like to see how things are settled.
Unless you have a deadline to meet for Kat. ”
“No. I’d love to attend,” I say, snatching up the opportunity.
He checks his watch. “Ok. Great. I’ll meet you out front in fifteen.”
“Sure.”
He turns to leave, but I stop him. “Oh, wait. I don’t have my car.”
“If you’re ok with it, we can ride together, and I’ll drop you off at home after.”
I quickly contemplate it, and even though I’m not excited about him taking me home, this is too good an opportunity to refuse. “Sure. Thank you.”
He nods once and disappears .
I tap on my phone screen. Nothing. I drop it in my purse, finish an email, and shut down my computer. I grab my things and step into the hallway, jolting to a stop.
“Hey. Where are you heading so fast?”
A man holds up his hands. He’s wearing jeans, a sweater, and a wool coat. The slick smile creeping across his mouth makes my eyeballs want to take a trip to the inside of my head. It’s boyish and charming. The very kind of smile that led me exactly here.
I slide the strap of my purse higher across my body and meet his bold stare.
“I’ve heard about the girl with two different color eyes. Now, I get to see for myself.”
I drape my coat over my arm. “I wasn’t aware they were such a spectacle. Maybe I should join the circus.”
I know people talk about my eyes, but you’d think adults would have more tact than to treat them like some kind of deformity to be gawked at.
His smile grows a little wider. “Tell me. Are they real?”
If I had a dollar for every time I was asked that question, I’d be playing in the sand with Ollie and Frankie somewhere warm with the ocean as our backyard.
“No. I can pop the glass one out anytime I want.” I widen my eyes a little.
His gaze flicks between mine, trying to decide if it’s true, but then his smile returns. “You’re a sassy one. I like it.”
I want to vomit on his loafers, but I refrain.
“Junior.” Griffin appears behind me, just outside his office door. “I’ve only got five minutes.”
Junior, as I now know him, steps to the side to let me through, but drops his shoulder just before I pass. “You’ll fit in here nicely, but stay away from Kat. She bites.”
I glance at him, wondering if he’s ever been kneed in the balls. I ponder asking, but decide it wouldn’t be professional .
I smile, the fake kind. “Don’t worry. I bite back.” I leave him and his suffocating arrogance to wait for Griffin.
Marcie and Robyn peek around me and down the hall, whispering as they track Junior.
“You met Junior,” Marcie says as if I were blessed with a gift.
“I sure did.” I cross my arms over my torso, holding my coat.
“We heard him ask about your eyes. He’s such a flirt.”
I want to gag. The only thing he was stroking was his own ego.
“It’s nice that he and Seth have become friends, especially after Seth called off his engagement,” Marcie says, and it’s filled with pity.
I dig for my phone, choosing not to participate in gossip. It’s been clear from my first day that Marcie has a crush on Seth. She follows him around like a lost puppy, and he’s either oblivious or ignores it.
“It was for the best,” Marcie says as if I asked for details. “She wasn’t right for him. She worked at that garage a few blocks away.”
My ears snag on that tidbit as I tap my phone to check for messages again. I didn’t know a woman worked at Slade’s garage. I file the information away for later.
“She never spoke. It was like pulling teeth to get her to say anything. Can you even imagine?”
I hear the distaste in her tone and would bet a hundred dollars if I had it that she thinks she’s right for him.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and my heart rate spikes, anticipating Mile’s dropping the foreseen gavel with unpredictable consequences.
SLADE: Your car is all set.
My muscles relax when I see Slade’s name instead.
ME: Can I pick it up after work?
SLADE: Ye s
I hear voices as Seth and Junior come down the hall. Both Marcie and Robyn go quiet. Marcie shuffles papers while Robyn studies her inch-long, brightly painted nails.
Seth is a tall, lean, good-looking guy with a nice smile. He’s always pleasant with clients and keeps more typical office hours.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he tells Marcie. “If Clinton calls, tell him we need the document notarized.”
“Will do,” Marcie beams, her long black lashes fluttering.
“Just hold all my calls,” Junior says, and they giggle.
“Hey, Sarah,” Seth says, pushing out the door, but Junior stops.
“We should grab drinks sometime. I want to hear more about this biting problem.”
If this weren’t my place of employment, I’d inform him that spending just five minutes with him would require a level of intoxication that mimicked a coma.
“Yeah, no,” I say simply, and I can feel Marcie and Robyn’s jaws fall open.
“Let’s go, Macavoy,” Seth hollers from the other side of the glass door. Junior only grins, the kind that tells me this isn’t the end.
Griffin enters with his briefcase and pulls on a long wool coat. “I’ll be at the courthouse the rest of the afternoon,” he tells Robyn as Marcie stares out the window, watching the men climb into Junior’s sports car.
“Don’t forget you’re meeting with Carla Danvers first thing in the morning.” Robyn’s tone has returned to complete professionalism.
He nods, and I slip on my coat and follow him out the door to his black Lincoln SUV.
We make small talk on the way to the courthouse about my kids and settling into a new city, keeping everything light and away from anything deeply personal.
Inside the courthouse, he introduces me to Arlene Connor. She’s a pretty woman in her late forties. I’ve only spoken with her on the phone while collecting information about the contested assets, but she appears sophisticated and poised .
Steve Connor, her ex, started a real estate company prior to their marriage.
His attorney is arguing that all business investments and retirement assets should remain in his name.
After twenty years together, this would leave Arlene, who supported his business ventures and stayed home to raise their kids, with nothing.
My stomach squeezes tight, reliving losing every financial resource while my dignity was stripped from me right before my eyes.
But it’s why I’m here. I want to help those who are taken advantage of. Those who spend their days in the background, supporting their spouse as they achieve their professional dreams, only to find out it was a mistake to trust and rely on a life built entirely around them.
Court proceedings begin, and I listen intently as Griffin argues that the assets acquired during the marriage and their increase in value should be divided equally between the parties.
It’s supported by outlining Arlene’s involvement in the business, which has been instrumental in the growth achieved over the years.
Griffin summarizes the assets and their value, explicitly pointing out the rental properties I discovered were recently purchased by Mr. Connor in conjunction with his brother, with Mr. Connor listed as the primary owner.
I watch as the surprise hits the opposing attorney and his client.
I want to smile, but I hold it back. It doesn’t pay off to try to be sneaky.
The afternoon wraps up with the judge dismissing us, directing that he’ll review all the information presented and make a ruling. Arlene smiles in relief as she shakes Griffin’s hand and then mine.
As Mr. Connor exits the courtroom, he stops beside Arlene. “Sleeping with my best friend wasn’t enough. Now, you want half of everything I built.” He huffs a defeated laugh, shaking his head as he turns and walks away.
Arlene inhales sharply, but I watch the man dragging behind his attorney, shoulders slumped under the weight of the blow.
My eyes fall to the floor, searching for sense in what just happened. My gut coils with the shock of injustice—the one I assisted with .
A pit forms in my belly as we exit the courthouse. I don’t know the details of this couple’s marriage or what caused the destruction, but I can’t help feeling blindsided by the realization that fighting for what is right might not be as clear-cut as I want it to be.
“My office will be in touch once I receive the ruling,” Griffin states, and we part ways with Arlene in the parking deck and climb into his SUV.
“You did good finding those hidden rental properties. She’ll be able to afford health insurance and retire comfortably.”
Did I. . .do good? I’m not naive enough to think everything is as it appears. I know first-hand that things can vary drastically from a one-dimensional perspective. I’ve lived it many times over, and I’m currently hiding the true state of my situation.
In this case, I’m questioning the definition of doing good when it’s clear there’s so much more to be considered to determine if that’s true.
My mind swirls, and I’m ready to go home. “Could you drop me off at the mechanic shop? It’s about three blocks from the firm. My car is ready.”
Griffin glances at me. “Cal’s?” There’s a slight intonation in his question that sounds skeptical or surprised, maybe.
I toss it aside. My brain is unable to dissect anything else at the moment. “Yes.”
“Sure.” He exits the parking deck. “So, it was your first day in court. What did you think?”
I stare out the windshield and ask the question floating on the surface. “Did you know Arlene had an affair?”