Chapter 4
Astoria read the same paragraph for the fourth time and still couldn’t say what it contained.
She set down her pen, pressing her fingertips against her eyelids until she saw sparks.
The discovery folder lay open across her desk, documents highlighted and annotated in her precise handwriting, six months of preparation distilled into evidence.
She should know every word by now. Instead, her mind kept drifting back to Tuesday’s mediation, replaying moments she’d rather forget.
“The mediation went about as expected,” Gerald Brack said from the chair across from her.
His pen tapped against his legal pad, a habit she usually found ground but today it grated against her nerves.
“Beatrice Vaughn will file her report, both parties will decline the settlement, and we’ll move to litigation. All standard.”
“Standard,” Astoria repeated, though nothing about Tuesday had felt standard.
She pushed back from her desk and crossed to the window, needing distance from the documents that refused to hold her attention.
The harbor stretched below, gray and flat, a container ship inching toward the docks.
Her coffee sat cooling on the desk, her third cup of the morning, though she'd stopped tasting it somewhere around the second.
“Rachel Hartwell is formidable,” Gerald continued. “She’s experienced and respected, so she won’t make mistakes we can exploit.”
“I’m not looking to exploit mistakes.” She turned from the window. “I’m looking to prove the truth.”
“Which we will. The documents speak for themselves.”
Did they, though? Astoria had watched Valerie perform for fifteen years and knew how convincing that performance could be—the trembling voice, the carefully timed tears, the way Valerie could make anyone in the room feel like her protector.
Rachel Hartwell would see a woman fleeing an abusive marriage, exactly what Valerie wanted her to see.
“What’s your read on their team?” Astoria asked, settling back into her chair. She pulled the discovery folder toward her, forcing her eyes to focus on the financials.
“Rachel will be methodical and thorough. She’ll build a narrative and stick to it.” Gerald flipped a page in his notes. “The associate—Scott—is sharper than I expected. She caught the timeline discrepancy before Rachel did.”
Astoria’s pen stilled on the page. She remembered that moment, Miller Scott's voice cutting through the back-and-forth, confident and precise, and the way she'd held her ground when Astoria challenged her, not flinching, not backing down.
Most of Valerie’s previous attorneys had been pushovers or pitbulls, easy to predict and easier to outmaneuver. Miller Scott was neither.
“She could be a problem,” Astoria said.
“She could be an asset.” Gerald set down his pen. “She questioned Valerie’s timeline and didn’t just accept it. That’s unusual for someone on Valerie’s side.”
“She’ll fall in line. They always do once Valerie turns on the charm.”
Gerald studied her for a moment, that particular attentiveness he brought to depositions. She didn’t care for being on the receiving end of it.
“You seem tired,” he said finally. “When’s the last time you slept through the night?”
“I’m fine.”
“Astoria—”
“The deposition responses are due in two weeks.” She kept her voice brisk. “I’ll have the document production signed off by Friday. The interrogatory responses are already drafted.”
Gerald accepted the redirect, though his expression said he wasn’t fooled. He gathered his papers, tucking the file into the briefcase. “I have a courthouse appearance at two-thirty for the Murphy zoning dispute.”
“I have a deposition there at the same time. Harmon Properties.”
“I’ll see you in the lobby then.” He paused at the door. “We just need to keep being patient.”
She nodded, the appropriate response to the appropriate reassurance. Gerald left, and the office settled into silence once more.
Astoria stared at the documents in front of her: all the financial records, employment contracts, and email chains that would prove Valerie’s claims were fabricated. It was all here, meticulously organized and ready to be weaponized in her defense.
She should feel something. Anger, maybe, or satisfaction that the truth would finally come out. But instead, she felt hollowed out, running on coffee and spite and the stubborn refusal to let Valerie win.
Gloria had left a protein bar on her desk, right where she’d left one yesterday and the day before.
Astoria couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten breakfast, much less a full meal.
Or the last time she’d slept without waking at three in the morning, her mind replaying some conversation, some conversation, some sign she should’ve seen years ago.
She tore open the wrapper and took a bite, chewing mechanically.
The mediation kept surfacing despite her efforts to focus.
Not the legal strategy or Valerie's performance; she'd expected both.
What she hadn't expected was the associate, the way Miller Scott had looked at her across that table, assessing and sharp, like she was solving a puzzle and wasn't sure she liked the picture forming.
Astoria was used to being observed. Between boardrooms, press conferences, and charity galas, she’d spent two decades being evaluated and judged. She’d built her armor specifically for those gazes, the ice queen facade that kept everyone at a professional distance.
And Miller Scott had looked at her like she could see right through it.
Ridiculous, Astoria thought, shoving the thought aside. She was exhausted. Six months of this battle had worn her down to raw nerves and made her see significance where there was none.
She finished the protein bar and threw away the wrapper. It was already two o’clock, and she needed to leave for the courthouse soon.
The Harmon deposition was routine, a dispute she could handle in her sleep that’d take an hour, maybe two, and then she’d be back at her desk building the case that would finally end this nightmare.
She packed her files and checked her reflection in the window glass.
The woman looking back at her was composed and immaculate, the ice queen ready for battle.
Astoria grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
At the courthouse, security waved Astoria through before she reached the metal detector.
“Ms. Shepry, right this way.” The officer gestured toward the side entrance, already lifting the rope for her. In front of her, a dozen people waited in line with their bags and briefcases, watching as she bypassed the queue entirely.
She hadn’t asked for special treatment—she never did—but the Shepry name carried weight in Phoenix Ridge, and courthouse security apparently kept track of which faces belonged to billionaires embroiled in high-profile cases.
Astoria murmured her thanks and walked through, acutely aware of the eyes following her.
Gerald fell into step beside her as they entered the main corridor. “The Murphy hearing went long. I’ll need to review the judge’s notes before the next filing.”
“Send them to me tonight. I’ll look them over after the Harmon deposition.”
The courthouse bustled with the usual afternoon traffic: attorneys in sharp suits, clerks hauling file boxes, and a few civilians looking lost among the marble and wood paneling.
Astoria moved through it all with practiced efficiency, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she and Gerald discussed discovery timelines and deposition strategy.
She saw Miller Scott before her brain fully registered who she was looking at.
Miller stood near the end of the corridor, alone outside one of the smaller courtrooms, scrolling through her phone.
She wore a navy blazer over a cream blouse, her hair pulled back in a low twist that left her neck exposed.
She was professional, put-together, and utterly unremarkable, except that Astoria’s stride faltered for a half-step before she caught herself.
Gerald was still talking about document production deadlines, and Astoria made an appropriate noise of agreement while her mind calculated distances and angles. Only fifty feet between them, maybe less. She could keep walking, offer a polite nod in passing, and maintain—
Miller looked up from her phone, and their eyes met across the corridor. Astoria watched recognition flicker across Miller’s face, a slight widening of the eyes and a tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there a moment ago, before she offered a small nod.
Astoria should have returned it and kept moving.
That would have been the smart thing to do.
She waited for the familiar detachment to set in that made interactions like this effortless, but it didn’t come.
Instead, there was something else, something unsettled and nameless that made her feet slow before her mind caught up.
“Gerald, give me a minute.”
He followed her gaze to Miller and raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Astoria crossed the remaining distance before she could think better of it.
“Ms. Scott.” She kept her voice even. “Waiting on a hearing?”
Miller tucked her phone into her pocket. “A procedural matter for another client, should be quick.” She paused, something cautious in her expression. “The Harmon deposition?”
“The same.” Astoria wasn't sure why she'd stopped or what she should say now that she had. The silence between them stretched a beat too long. “The discovery deadline is in two weeks. I trust your team is prepared.”
“We’re on schedule.” Miller’s tone matched hers, polite and guarded, giving nothing away. “I’m sure yours is as well.”
“Always.”
The courthouse noise filled the space around them: footsteps, murmured conversations, the distant sound of a door closing.
Astoria became aware that she was standing closer to Miller than necessary and that she’d positioned herself as if they were having a real conversation rather than exchanging pleasantries.
She should walk away. She had a deposition to attend and absolutely no reason to be making small talk with opposing counsel in a courthouse hallway.
The courtroom door swung open behind Miller, and a young woman stepped out with an armful of precariously stacked files. “Miller, Judge Dawson’s ready for— Oh.” She stopped short, taking in the scene. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
“Not at all.” Miller turned toward her colleague, her shoulders softening and the tight line of her mouth easing into something almost relaxed. “Sienna, this is Astoria Shepry. Ms. Shepry, Sienna Ross, our paralegal.”
Sienna’s eyes widened with recognition, but she recovered quickly, extending her free hand with a warm smile. “Ms. Shepry, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve read a lot about Shepry Global’s sustainability initiatives. The green infrastructure work you’re doing is really impressive.”
“Thank you.” Astoria shook her hand, caught off-guard by the genuine enthusiasm. “It’s a passion project.”
“It shows.” Sienna glanced at Miller. “We should head in. Judge Dawson hates when people are late.”
Miller nodded, but her attention lingered on Astoria for a moment longer. “Good luck with your deposition, Ms. Shepry.”
“And with your hearing, Ms. Scott.”
Miller turned to follow Sienna into the courtroom, and Astoria caught the tail-end of their exchange, Sienna saying something in a low voice and Miller letting out a quiet huff of laughter.
The sound was unexpectedly warm, nothing like the measured professional who’d sat across the mediation table two days ago.
Then the courtroom door closed behind them, and Astoria was left in the corridor with an odd tightness in her chest.
“Making friends?” Gerald had appeared at her elbow, his expression suggesting he found the situation more amusing than he was letting on.
“Just professional courtesy.” Astoria turned and started walking toward the deposition room. “The case will go more smoothly if we’re civil.”
“Of course.” Gerald matched her pace. “Though I don’t recall you ever stopping to chat with opposing counsel before in twenty years of knowing you.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
She could feel Gerald’s gaze heating the side of her face, but she ignored it. They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Astoria forced her attention to the Harmon deposition and the questions she needed to ask.
She did not think about Miller Scott’s laugh or the way her face had transformed when she was performing for an adversary.
She didn’t think about it at all.