Chapter 7 #3
him, and Dell was soon standing exactly where she’d been impatiently pacing the afternoon before.
“Nice office,” Cole commented, and nodded at the view of the Bay Bridge out the yawning window.
“Yeah, well, we pay this guy like $1,500 an hour, so it better be nice,” Dell said, and followed Mr. Sterling like a shadow
as he walked to sit in his fancy leather chair.
“Heck of a lot nicer than my office . . .” Cole muttered, and gazed around at the dark paneled walls.
“You have an office?” Dell asked, keeping one eye on Mr. Sterling wiggling his mouse to bring his computer to life.
“Yes,” Cole said. “The administration is very corporate.”
Dell tried to picture what an afterlife break room might look like.
Mr. Sterling’s phone rang and cut her thoughts short. Notably, it was his cell phone buried in his pocket and not his desk phone. He pulled it out and squinted at the caller’s name. When he saw it, he instantly sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “Madam Mayor,” he answered.
Dell swapped a glance with Cole, both of them on alert.
“Yes, I’m in the office now. I—” Mr. Sterling went to say more, but Evelyn must have cut him off. He listened, and Dell felt
the sensation of a racing heart without actually feeling her nonexistent pulse quicken. “Yes, I have Mr. Moratto and Ms. Rodgers’s
prenuptial agreement right in front of me.” As he said it, he sprung from his chair and walked to one of the bookcases lining
the walls. He pulled out a leather binder and hurried back to his desk.
“Yes, I understand this is sensitive,” he said. “No, I’m the only one here, as requested.”
Dell chewed her lip and waited out whatever Evelyn was saying on the other end of the line. She wished she could snatch the
document off the desk and read it herself, but Mr. Sterling had his hand over the closed cover of the binder.
“Mm-hmm. I see,” Mr. Sterling said, and opened the binder. “Yes, I do recall the addition to section three, clause C.” He
flipped pages of the document, and Dell leaned in close enough she saw his skin break out in goose bumps. He rubbed his neck
and looked over his shoulder, as if a breeze had drifted in through the closed window.
Dell expected Cole to scold her for standing so close, but he was doing the same thing on the other side of Mr. Sterling.
They both leaned in, peering at the document as Mr. Sterling turned pages, looking for section three, clause C. When he finally
found it, he stopped and tapped his finger on the little paragraph.
Dell nearly climbed on the desk to see over his shoulder.
In the complicated tangle of legalese, she spotted the words In the event of death . . .
“Destroy it?” Mr. Sterling asked, and suddenly sat back in his chair.
Dell jerked back on reflex, as if he might bump into her and not just pass through her ghostly body.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I was just making sure I heard you correctly. You want me to destroy the prenuptial agreement?” Mr. Sterling
asked.
Dell leaned forward again, trying to get a look at the page. “Did you see it?” she asked Cole, desperate for Mr. Sterling
to remove the hand he’d placed on top of the document.
“Not enough to know what it said,” Cole answered, sounding equally as frustrated.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand,” Mr. Sterling said after listening some more. “Has the wedding been called off?” He scooted his
chair back and rolled sideways to—to Dell’s horror—turn on a paper shredder.
“No!” Dell yelped, and shot a desperate look at Cole. “He’s going to shred it. What do we do?”
“Um . . .” Cole said, and looked around as if the answer hid in the polished office.
In another life—a living one—shredding the document wouldn’t have mattered. But seeing as they couldn’t talk to anyone or
touch a computer to find a digital copy, the one on Mr. Sterling’s desk was their only shot.
“We have to stop him!” Dell burst out in a panic.
Mr. Sterling rolled back to his desk, phone still pressed to his ear and listening to instruction from Evelyn. When he reached for the document, a brazen idea struck Dell.
Her fury at Tommy had allowed her to pick up the lamp in their entryway. Maybe more strong emotion would allow her to grab
the page they needed.
She closed her eyes and thought hard about how mad she was. How utterly betrayed she felt that her own fiancé had some evil
plot—apparently with his mother—to do her harm. She let the rage boil inside her like a saucepan of caramel—the culprit behind
one of the worst burns she’d ever received in the kitchen. When the rage was ready to burst out of her, to explode like a
supernova, she channeled it into her hands and shoved the potted orchid off Mr. Sterling’s desk.
The ceramic pot hit the floor with a dull thud and cracked, drawing Mr. Sterling’s attention, and leaving an opportunity for
Dell to snatch the page off his desk.
She folded it in half and lunged for Cole, grabbing his hand. “Think of my house!” she cried.
He didn’t miss a beat despite the look of stunned wonder on his face. He gripped her hand, pulled her to his side, and in
a second, they were being sucked backward through another tunnel.