Chapter 3
The mediator’s conference room was aggressively neutral with its beige walls, abstract art that no one would remember, and chairs that probably cost more than Miller’s monthly rent.
She’d been in dozens of rooms like this, built to feel impartial and above the fray.
But this one had harbor views through floor-to-ceiling windows and a polish to everything that whispered money even while trying to say nothing at all.
She’d noticed Rachel noticing, too, when they’d arrived thirty minutes early to set up, a slight raise of the eyebrows, nothing more. Hartwell she’d filed for divorce six months ago.
Why was Miller noticing her hands anyway? She dragged her focus back to her notes.
Beatrice called for a brief caucus, fifteen minutes to consult with the clients separately. The Shepry side filed out to a smaller room down the hall, and Miller exhaled.
“She’s a wall,” Rachel murmured as she gathered papers.
“I noticed.” Miller kept her voice low. “She didn’t react to anything.”
“Either she’s a sociopath or she’s very good at controlling herself under pressure.” Rachel gave her a questioning look. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’ve been watching like you said.”
“And what did you notice?”
Miller hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to articulate what she’d seen. The woman across that table matched the facts of Valerie’s story, but she didn’t match the feeling Miller had expected to have when facing her.
Miller had expected to feel righteous and ready to fight, but there was a niggle lingering in her mind, like she was missing something.
“She’s not what I expected,” Miller finally said. “I don’t know what that means yet, though.”
Rachel nodded approvingly. “Keep watching.”
When they reconvened, the gap hadn’t narrowed. Beatrice guided them through another round of proposals, and Miller could see the frustration bunching up in Valerie’s shoulders and the evenness hardening in Gerald’s voice.
And next to Gerald, Astoria remained unchanged, her face still unreadable.
Then, Gerald made a mistake.
It was small, a reference to a timeline that didn’t match the documents she’d memorized. Gerald placed Valerie’s departure from the acquisition team in early March, but the internal memos Valerie had given them had shown her leading the Harbor Point negotiations well into April.
Miller glanced at Rachel, who gave a tiny nod.
“If I may,” Miller said, her voice cutting into the exchange.
Astoria’s gaze shifted to her. It was the first time those gray-blue eyes had focused on Miller specifically, and the weight of that attention was heavier than she’d anticipated.
Miller didn’t flinch. “Mr. Bracks, you referenced early March as when Ms. Shepry-Dane stepped back from the acquisition team, but the internal memos we received in discovery show her leading the Harbor Point negotiations through mid-April.” She flipped to the relevant page and slid it across the table.
“That's six weeks of documented strategic involvement after the date you cited.”
Gerald didn’t fluster. He reached into his own folder, produced a document, and slid it beside hers.
"The company's project management records show Ms. Shepry-Dane's last logged involvement with Harbor Point as March third.
She attended no meetings after that date and was copied on no correspondence. "
Miller looked at the two documents side by side. The dates didn’t match, neither did the signatures, which meant one of these records was wrong.
“It seems,” Beatrice said slowly, “that there’s a discrepancy in the documentation.”
“So it seems,” Gerald agreed, his tone mild.
Miller kept her face neutral, but something cold slid through her stomach.
She’d reviewed Valerie’s files thoroughly and had taken them as fact, but looking at the document Gerald had produced—the clean formatting, the systematic dating, the project management stamps—it didn’t look fabricated.
On the contrary, it looked like exactly the kind of meticulous record-keeping a company like Shepry Global would maintain.
Which meant either Gerald’s side had doctored evidence, or—
She didn’t finish the thought.
Astoria picked up both documents and studied them as if she were dismantling the text word by word.
When she looked up, she met Miller’s gaze directly.
“Ms. Scott.” Her voice was lower than Miller had expected.
“I’d be very interested to know the provenance of your version. Who provided it and when?”
It was a direct challenge for Miller, as if Rachel or the mediator weren’t even in the room.