Chapter 37
“'Cause we want crimes of passion. Survival of the fittest, You're either with us or you can keep it" Paramore
The moment we landed in D.C., I found myself wishing a thousand times over that I could turn back and return to the Netherlands.
The American cold was sharper, drier, and far less welcoming.
As I walked toward the waiting car, I caught a glimpse of Kelsey through the jet window, waiting for me to clear the tarmac before she made her own exit.
My phone glowed the second I settled into the back seat.
K. Calama: "See you in eleven days."
I smiled at the screen and looked out the window, but the runway was already a blur in the distance. I couldn't wait that long.
Megan Woods: "How about we hit the club before our next trip?"
K. Calama: "Saturday?"
Megan Woods: "Definitely. See you in New York—I can be there by Friday."
K. Calama: "I’ll send you the address."
The next notification was a pinned location on the Upper East Side, followed by a note that the keys would be delivered to my office the next morning.
I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose when I spotted my interior designer waiting for me with a wide, expectant smile. I’d spent ten hours on a flight and had explicitly asked for no welcoming committee. The driver stepped out with my bags, and she ushered him inside.
“Just leave them in the living room, thank you,” I instructed.
“Hello, dear. I believe I mentioned in my emails that I didn't want anyone here,” I said, turning toward the designer, who remained planted in the middle of the lobby.
“But everything looks so beautiful, Mrs. Woods...” she stammered. I simply pointed toward the elevator, signaling for her to get in. The moment the doors opened on my floor, I pushed open the heavy industrial metal door. The decor was impeccable.
“It really is beautiful. Is this everything you wanted to show me?” I asked. She flicked on several switches to highlight the accent lighting.
“Your husband called us two days ago,” she noted hesitantly. “He insisted on a key, but since you hadn't authorized it, we told him he’d have to get one directly from you.”
“You did the right thing. And he's my ex-husband,” I corrected. She opened her mouth as if the pieces were finally falling into place. “Thank you for overseeing everything. Your firm was extremely competent.”
I opened my purse and pressed two hundred-dollar bills into her hand.
“There's no need for this, ma'am,” she insisted.
“I have a bit of trouble with protocols outside the courtroom,” I remarked dryly. “Don't take it the wrong way; it's a thank you for not handing a key to my ex-husband.”
By Friday, the keys to the New York apartment were already in my hand. Despite the constant stream of messages from Kelsey, the knot of anxiety in my chest was growing.
???
It was Wednesday, and the keys to the New York apartment were already in my possession. Despite the video calls, the suggestive photos, and the constant stream of messages, nothing could suppress the growing knot of anxiety in my chest.
As I left the office, I offered a quick word of thanks to the staff. Although the judicial recess didn't officially end until February, the team was working tirelessly to keep the filings and contingencies up to date.
My phone rang, an unknown number. I had a sinking feeling it was Peter. The moment I settled into the back of the private car, I steeled myself and answered.
"Hi, my love." His voice echoed like a hammer against my temples. I could practically feel my blood pressure spiking with pure resentment.
"I don't think 'love' is the right word. What do you want?" I snapped.
"To see you. To grab a coffee..." He could have just admitted he wanted to make my life miserable, but he’d never be that honest.
"I’ll be in New York on Friday. Meet me at the Plaza at 4:00 p.m."
"Afternoon tea with my wife.. sounds perfect." he mused.
"Ex-wife. Don’t test my patience, Peter. And don't even dream of trying to blackmail me without grounds."
"Never. I’ll see you there." He hung up, leaving me with a burning urge to hurl my phone against the front seat.
I immediately tried calling Sarki, but she didn't pick up. After the third attempt, I dialed Vanessa, knowing Kelsey was in a meeting and wouldn't have her phone on her. Vanessa answered, her voice soft and composed, informing me she was only two rooms away from the boardroom.
"Would you like me to ask her to call you back?" she asked, her tone almost soothing.
"Will she be much longer?" I murmured, nervously biting my fingertip.
"I don't think so. Give me a moment stay on the line."
"Vanessa, wait, you really don't need to disturb her…" I was ignored. A moment later, Kelsey’s voice came through the line, sending my heart into a frantic race. "Hi, Kels. I didn't mean to pull you out of your meeting."
"It’s just a room full of people who can afford to wait for me," she dismissed casually. "You come first."
"Even so, I didn't want to be a disruption." I pressed my fingertips against my temples, squeezing in a futile attempt to dull the budding headache.
"Vanessa said you sounded apprehensive. What happened?" Kelsey asked, her voice instantly shifting into a protective tone. I sighed, finally letting my head fall back against the seat.
"Just Peter. He called, and I agreed to meet him at the Plaza this Friday," I admitted.
"It’s a good thing I’ll be in the city with you. I’ll stay close enough to hear everything and ready to send security to restrain him if he oversteps," she stated firmly. My laughter felt lighter, more centered.
"Do you think he actually has proof of anything?" I questioned, the doubt still lingering.
"About us? I highly doubt it. If he had anything real, a man like him would have played that card immediately. Stay as calm as possible, Kitty. Everything will be fine," she reassured me.
"And the meetings? Did your deputy screw up again?"
"As always. It’s been tedious," she sighed, but then her tone brightened. I could hear the change in her voice through the line and could practically visualize her smile. "But I have some good news: I’ve already made an appointment with Charlie. No one will disturb us on Saturday."
"I truly hope so. Goodnight, Kels," I whispered.
I spent the better part of the night buried in work, reviewing cases and drafting opinions. I drank my wine slowly, and by the time I looked at the clock, it was past three in the morning.
The next morning, I arrived at the courthouse late. I summoned my assistant, gesturing for him to take the seat across from my desk.
“Ms. Woods, everything has been quiet while you were away,” he reported. “The court won't be back in full session until February.”
“I’m aware, but I need to review some files in person. Pull several records for me,” I asked, my voice carrying its usual authority.
He scribbled down the case numbers. These were files from investigations into Peter's clients. During my late-night research, I’d stumbled upon a suspicious correlation between one of them and a judge I currently sit with on the bench.
“You have a visitor, Your Honor,” my assistant interrupted, looking uncharacteristically rattled.
“I don’t have anything on the schedule.”
“You've never been one for strict schedules, Your Honor,” a voice echoed from the doorway.
A tall woman stepped into the room. She wore a sharply tailored pantsuit and Louboutin heels. Her sky-blue eyes conveyed a blend of hardness and gravitas. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
“Forgive my haste, Judge Woods, but I decided to stop by.” She gestured toward the empty chair. I offered a silent nod, and she sat down. “Giorgia Fognini.”
The biggest businesswoman in the ESG field in Latin America and Canada.
“I see. And what, exactly, brings you here?” I asked, my voice holding a professional neutrality. She handed me a sleek folder. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“I heard that your ex-husband attempted to use your name to close deals with certain organizations that happen to be rivals of mine,” she stated, her tone ice-cold.
“Excuse me?”
“I know you recognize me as the CEO of GStorm,” she continued, leaning back with a sharp presence. “But I am also the Sottocapo of the 'Ndrangheta and its primary representative in the Americas.”
My legal mind momentarily failed to process the scale of that confession.
“It's a formidable cover, isn't it?” she added with a ghost of a smile.
“Without a doubt. I never would have suspected,” I managed to say. “But what is the purpose of these documents?”
“Your ex-husband was brokering deals far beyond his station with Matteo Pagano. Inside, you’ll find logs, dates, and clandestine port arrivals for their shipments.”
“And why are you handing this to me?” I asked, my internal judge taking over.
“Because this is your ticket to the Supreme Court,” she stated. “The authorities believe we are blind to the human trafficking operations. It’s a practice strictly prohibited among organizations linked with the triad.”
“And what, exactly, am I expected to do?”
“Act,” she replied simply. “Ensure that Matteo is found in these locations. Once he is neutralized, we will proceed.”
“And what will your 'organization' want from me after that?”
She offered a small, rigid smile. She was undeniably dangerous—a predator in a high-end shell.
“The same as always,” Giorgia continued. “We want that same invisibility in major tax cases. Beyond that, we play by the rules to make life easier for everyone.”
“It was a pleasure, Ms. Fognini,” I replied, extending my hand.
She offered a slow smile before taking my hand and bringing it to her lips.
“The pleasure was mine, Ms. Woods,” she murmured. “Kelsey was very lucky. I wouldn't have let you get away either, even if it took her so many years.”
“Me and her? I don't understand what you mean,” I stammered, my composure finally cracking.
“Of course you do,” Giorgia countered, her eyes gleaming. “And rest assured, that is a secret, not something to be used for blackmail.”
I simply nodded, waiting for her to exit so I could finally unravel. The moment the door closed, I poured myself two fingers of whiskey. Then two more.
I returned home with my head pounding. As I combed through the documents Giorgia left behind, the horror set in: Peter had forged my signature to authorize a ship to dock outside the official port and had filed a legal pardon for one of his most dubious clients.
“Hell!” I roared, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles.
I remained in a self-imposed silence until the next morning. Before boarding my flight to New York, I sent a brief message to Kels letting her know I was en route. She replied instantly: she was already on her jet, ready for our reunion.
Even if it took her so many years.
That phrase was etched into my brain—a riddle that demanded a face-to-face answer.