Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Claudia
When I walk outside, I immediately recognize the vehicle and the driver.
“Hey James, I didn’t realize you had a side hustle.”
He opens the door, “A little bird told my boss you needed a ride, and I was in the area.”
“Thanks,” I say as I climb in and set Savannah’s seat in the base that’s already strapped in.
“Where are you headed?” I rattle off the address, and he pulls out of the driveway.
The drive took barely twenty minutes, though it felt longer. Anxiety about getting there on time, when now I know Koa and Nalani were absolutely stalling. But Sofie’s driver handles the traffic with more patience than any cab I’ve been in.
“Any chance you give driving lessons?” I joke, sort of.
“I do not, but if Miss Fairfax asks me to…”
“Noted,” I say as I settle back into the plush leather seat.
“You really want to drive in this?” He asks.
“I’ve always loved the freedom of knowing if I need to know if I have to go somewhere, I can. Now with a baby? I need that even more.” I tell him, and he chuckles.
When we roll into Midtown, the buildings have changed.
Glass instead of brick, money instead of noise.
It honestly feels like we’re in a different city entirely.
When the SUV pulls to a curb, I look out the window, and the buildings tower above the street, all glass, steel, and clean lines.
The buildings have no names on them in this part, giving off the vibe that if you don’t know, you have no business entering.
But to be sure, I ask, “Are you sure this is the right building?” When he opens the door.
“It is Ms. Holloway.” He nods across the street to an equally impressive building. “That’s Fairfax Media.”
“Incredible.”
I shoulder my bag and unclip Savannah’s seat. He pulls a card from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. “Call or text, I’ll be back.”
“Thank you, James.”
The doorman holds the glass door open before I can reach it, greeting me with a polite nod that makes me instinctively realize I’m dressed like… a mom who was lounging all day.
Inside, the lobby gleams—cream stone floors, a reception desk that looks more like a sculpture than furniture, a floral arrangement so perfect it could have been assembled petal by petal with tweezers and a magnifying glass.
I imagine even the silence in this place is expensive.
Thick, controlled, softened by the faint hum of hidden vents and distant elevators.
As I step toward the elevator bank, my reflection glints back at me from a dozen panels of polished brass.
I look too ordinary for this kind of place.
Yoga pants, puffy jacket, tired eyes—but I square my shoulders anyway as I glance down at Savannah, and even though she's asleep, I whisper, “The clothes don’t make the woman little one.”
Yet still, I straighten my posture.
“Let’s go meet the man who’s about to start charging me by the breath.”
Because whatever this costs, it’s less than letting someone else decide what my life or Savannah’s looks like.
That’s when the elevator dings, and the doors slide open, and it empties, all except for one man, Paul, who is grinning like the universe’s least likely welcome committee, and he’s not using his walker, he’s using a cane.
“Well,” he says, stepping back in, “if it isn’t my favorite tenant.”
“What a surprise,” I smile.
“The goalie got me in to see his lawyer; she’s drawing up your lease.” He states.
“We could have just written one up ourselves,” I say as the doors close behind me. “Shoot. Were you getting off here?”
He waves a hand. “Nah, I’ll ride with you. Places like this, you need company. Too many suits, not enough heart.”
I press the button for the twelfth floor. “It’s Midtown, Paul. Heart’s expensive up here.”
He chuckles, leaning against the mirrored wall. “You got that right. You sure about this lawyer stuff?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “I need to get this sorted for Savannah.”
He looks down at the carrier, and she’s still fast asleep, one tiny fist pressed against her cheek. “She’s worth every damn cent.”
Something in his tone makes me glance up. His eyes have softened, that quiet kind of tenderness that sneaks up on him when he thinks no one’s watching. It happens a lot more than I’m sure he’d like.
“Don’t go worrying about the lease,” he says after a beat, straightening up as the elevator hums upward. “I told the lawyer to make it solid. You’ll have it in your hands tomorrow.”
“That fast?”
He lifts his cane. “I don’t like waiting around when there are things to be done.”
“Very impressive.”
“Thought I was done with physical therapists when I retired my jersey, the Italian and the others decided I was not.”
“And?”
He rolls his eyes, “Hate this cane, but it’s better than that damn walker.”
The elevator slows, the light above the door blinking from eleven to twelve.
“Paul, the lease, thank—” I start, but he cuts me off with that easy smile.
“Don’t thank me yet. Wait ‘til you read the fine print.”
The doors slide open, and the scent of expensive cologne and floor polish rushes in. He gestures toward the hallway with mock formality. “Let’s go get ‘em.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Maybe I do.”
I didn't think that I wanted anyone with me through this, but right now, yeah, it'll be good to have Paul.
When we enter the lobby, I glance down to make sure Savannah is still asleep, and she is, soundly. Her little hand curled under her chin, while Paul and I approach the reception desk.
The woman behind it offers a polite, crisp, practiced smile. “Ms. Holloway, you’re a few minutes early. He’ll appreciate that. Come right this way.”
Paul gives me a mocking look, like we’re about to meet royalty, and I grin. Then we follow her down a long hallway lined with framed photos of courthouses and law awards, everything perfectly symmetrical, perfectly serious.
When she opens the double doors, I almost gasp. The office is enormous—polished floors, dark wood, and an entire wall of glass overlooking the city. Every piece of furniture is expensive but not loud, the kind of wealth that whispers because it knows it doesn’t need to shout.
And behind that desk is Hugo Vale.
He stands as we enter, and I blink because he’s younger than I expected.
Mid-thirties, maybe. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, just enough scruff to make the man in the suit look real and not staged.
His tie is loose, his sleeves rolled once at the cuffs, and his expression—sharp but not cold—suggests he’s already read everything about me that he needs to know.
He steps forward, extending a hand. “Ms. Holloway. Hugo Vale. It’s good to meet you.”
His handshake is firm, his voice low and smooth, the kind that I imagine could quiet a courtroom or dismantle an opponent without raising its volume.
“This is Paul Bronski,” I say.
Hugo nods like he’s already familiar. “Mr. Bronski. We’ve crossed paths.”
“Lucky you,” Paul says with a grin that earns a flicker of amusement from Hugo.
“Please,” Hugo gestures toward a seating area by the window, “make yourselves comfortable.”
Paul sits back with the ease of someone who’s never been intimidated in his life. I settle beside Savannah’s carrier, feeling small against the scale of the room.
Hugo takes the seat opposite us, elbows resting on his knees. “First things first—this consultation is free and so is this case. But I’m going to ask that it’s not broadcast. I don't want people to think that makes me weak. I am far from it. It’s my one charitable act of the year.”
I raise a brow. “Are you sure?”
He gives a faint shrug. “Every day I go to court and watch parents use their children as bargaining chips, pawns. Custody becomes punishment. Love becomes leverage. It’s exhausting, but it is what I do.”
Paul makes a quiet sound of agreement, but Hugo keeps his eyes on me.
“So once a year,” he continues, “I take on one case that reminds me why I became a lawyer. Something that settles the conscience.” He leans back slightly. “Your case fits that bill.”
I blink, not sure I heard him right. “You’re taking it on?”
“Yes.” His mouth curves in something that isn’t quite a smile. “I read through your file, Ms. Holloway. You’ve been calm. You’ve been fair. Meanwhile, everything he’s done reads like a cautionary tale for narcissism. It might be good for him to learn what losing feels like.”
Paul chuckles under his breath. “I like this guy.”
I exhale slowly, tension loosening just enough to let air back into my lungs. “So, what happens next?”
“Next,” Hugo says, folding his hands, “You sign a paper accepting me as counsel, and then I will send his LA lawyers a letter telling them that he is no longer able to contact you; everything should be done through me.
They will either piss themselves because they know they're up against me, or it will be a game to see if they can take me down in court.
Either way, they'll show their hand. And after that,” amusement dances in his eyes, and a smirk almost plays on his lips, but not quite.
“I will either receive a letter saying that you're not settled here, so it should not be a problem for you to move to LA. In this case, I will waste no time in replying that you earned a doctorate degree and have gainful employment in your field of study, and you have a lease,” he looks at Paul. “How long are the terms?”
“You can answer that kid; my lawyer can change it to whatever you need,” Paul answers.
Hugo Vale looks back at me. “If you have any text messages or proof at the exchange from the day you told him you were pregnant and he told you he wanted nothing to do with the child, that would be great. If there are no text messages, we can look at the call logs to see when you contacted him, the length of the call, and the time between then and when he contacted you again. I’d also ask that you write out that conversation word for word or to the best of your recollection. ”
He looks down at Savannah. “Is she breastfed?”