Chapter 17
The Daily Grind coffee shop two blocks from Hartwell & Associates had become their unofficial decompression zone.
It’d been Rachel's idea, back when Miller first started at the firm.
“Never process a hard case in the building,” Rachel had told her.
“Walls have ears, and paralegals have looser lips than they should.”
Six years later, Miller still followed that advice. She just hadn’t expected to be the hard case they were processing.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Rachel said, sliding into the booth across from here. She looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep, the kind of bone tiredness from managing difficult people. “I know you’re slammed with the Stewart evaluation.”
“It’s fine. I needed the caffeine anyway.” Miller wrapped her hands around her mug, grateful for something to hold. The July heat outside made the air conditioning feel almost aggressive, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. “What’s going on?”
Rachel didn’t answer immediately. She ordered her usual—hot black coffee—and waited until the server walked away before leaning back against the worn leather seat.
“I wanted to talk about the Shepry case.”
Miller’s stomach tightened, but she kept her expression neutral. She’d gotten good at that over the past three weeks. “Okay.”
“Valerie is…” Rachel paused, searching for the word. “Difficult doesn’t cover it. She’s been difficult since the beginning, but lately, she’s become something else.”
“Something else how?”
“Fixated.” Rachel’s mouth pressed into a thin, white line. “On you, specifically, actually.”
The coffee turned bitter on Miller’s tongue. She set the mug down carefully, buying herself a moment. “On me? I’ve been off the case for almost a month.”
“I know. That’s what makes it strange.” Rachel shook her head slowly. She keeps bringing you up. Every meeting, every phone call, every email. ‘Miller would have pushed harder on discovery.’ ‘Miller understood what I was dealing with.’ Miller wouldn’t have let them get away with that filing.’”
Miller forced a small laugh that came out wrong. “That’s… I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Oh, it gets better.” Rachel’s tone was dry, but her eyes were sharp and watchful. “She’s started implying that the case was going better when you were on it and that something changed after you left and that I’m not being aggressive enough.”
“Rachel, that’s ridiculous. You’re one of the best family law attorneys on this entire coast.”
“I know what I am.” Rachel waved off the compliment. “That’s not the point. The point is that she’s not just complaining about strategy but asking questions.”
Miller’s heart began to pound, a slow, heavy thud she could feel in her throat. “What kind of questions?”
“Why you really recused. What conflict of interest could possibly have come up mid-case to lead you to step away. Whether something happened between you and her—or between you and Astoria.”
The name landed like a stone in still water. Miller felt the ripples spread in her chest.
“She asked that directly?”
“Not directly to me, but she’s made comments and observations.
” Rachel picked up her coffee and took a slow sip.
“She mentioned that Astoria seems different lately. Lighter, she said. Less defensive in depositions. And she finds it very interesting that this shift happened right around the time you left the case.”
Miller’s mouth went dry. She thought about Astoria three nights ago, laughing at something Miller had said, her whole face transformed by it. The way she’d looked in the low light of the hotel room, softer than Miller had ever seen her, the armor finally set aside.
Of course Valerie had noticed. Valerie noticed everything, it seemed. That was how she’d controlled Astoria for so long—by watching, cataloging, storing observations for ammunition later.
“That’s a reach,” Miller said, and her voice came out steadier than she felt. “People’s demeanors change during divorce proceedings. It’s an emotional process.”
“I know that, and you know that.” Rachel set her mug down. “But Valerie is looking for something, Miller. I don’t know what exactly, but she’s looking. And she keeps circling back to you.”
The air conditioning hummed overhead, and someone’s phone buzzed at the counter. Miller became acutely aware of all the ordinary sounds of a Tuesday morning, all the people around them who had no idea that her painstakingly constructed world was developing cracks.
“I don’t know what she thinks she’s going to find,” Miller said.
Rachel was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had shifted—still professional, but with something that sounded like concern underneath. “Miller, did something happen? Between you and Valerie or between you and the opposing party?”
Miller’s stomach dropped. The question she’d been dreading for three weeks finally spoken aloud.
Miller met Rachel’s eyes. She owed this woman so much: six years of mentorship, of guidance, of being given chances she hadn't earned yet.
Rachel had trusted her with the Shepry case in the first place, and she had accepted her recusal without pushing for details.
Rachel deserved the truth.
But the truth would destroy everything. Not just Miller’s career, but Astoria’s reputation, the case itself, every piece of documentation that Miller had touched before recusing. Valerie would use it as proof that she’d been right all along, that Miller had been compromised from the start.
“No,” Miller lied. “I had a conflict I couldn’t disclose, that’s all.”
Rachel held her gaze for a long moment. Miller couldn’t tell if she believed her or what was happening behind those experienced eyes.
“Okay,” Rachel said finally. “I’m not going to push, but I want you to hear me clearly.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Valerie is suspicious of something. She doesn't have proof—if she did, she'd be using it—but she's suspicious. She's asking questions, and she’s watching.”
“Watching for what?”
“Anything she can use.” Rachel’s expression shifted, something darker crossing her features.
I’ve been doing this work for twenty-five years, Miller.
I’ve represented a lot of difficult clients.
Valerie is different. There’s something under the surface that I can’t quite figure out.
A kind of…relentlessness. She doesn’t let things go.
She doesn’t just move on. If she’s decided you wronged her somehow, she’ll keep digging until she finds something to justify that belief. ”
Miller thought about Astoria's voice in the dark, telling her about being told she was cold, unlovable, and broken.
The way Valerie's words had burrowed under Astoria's skin and stayed there, shaping how she saw herself.
This was what that looked like from the outside.
This was the machine that had ground Astoria down for so long.
“I understand,” Miller said quietly.
“I hope you do.” Rachel softened slightly. “Look, I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to be aware. Whatever your conflict of interest is—and I'm not asking—make sure there's nothing for her to find. Because if there is, she'll find it.”
Miller nodded. Her coffee had gone cold, but she picked it up anyway, needing something to distract her hands. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course.” Rachel glanced at her watch and sighed.
“I have to get back. Valerie’s calling at eleven to discuss trial strategy, which means an hour of her telling me everything I'm doing wrong.” She stood, fishing a few bills from her wallet for the coffee.
“Take care of yourself, Miller. I mean that.”
“I will.”
Rachel left. Miller sat in the booth and stared at the cold dregs of her coffee, the morning light slanting through the window. So, it was confirmed. Valerie was watching and asking questions. She’d noticed that Astoria had seemed light, and she’d connected it to Miller’s departure from the case.
It’d been three weeks of stolen hours in hotel rooms. Three weeks of learning Astoria’s body, her laugh, the way she looked when the walls came out. Three weeks of falling into something Miller didn’t want to stop.
And at the same time, there was Valerie, circling relentlessly, waiting for a crack to exploit.
Miller pulled out her phone. Her hands were steady as she typed, even though her pulse was not.
“Can we meet tonight?”
The response came within minutes. “Yes, is everything okay?”
Miller stared at the screen. No, nothing was okay. Everything they’d built was balanced on a knife’s edge, and Valerie was scrutinizing with predatory eyes.
“I’ll tell you when I see you,” she typed back.
Then she gathered her things and walked out into the July heat, Rachel’s warning echoing in her head with every step.
She doesn’t let things go. She doesn’t move on.
Neither did Miller, apparently. Because even knowing what she knew now, even with the fear settling cold and heavy in her stomach, she was still going to that hotel room tonight.
She was still going to Astoria, and she had no idea how to stop.
Miller couldn’t have said what she’d done all afternoon.
The Stewart file sat open on her desk, the same page she’d been staring at since after the conversation at the coffee shop still unread.
She’d answered emails and taken a call from a client whose name she couldn’t recall five minutes later.
At some point, Jasmine had knocked on her door to ask about a filing deadline, and Miller had given her an answer that must have made sense because Jasmine had nodded and left.
But the whole day had passed in a haze of Rachel's voice on a loop. She's asking questions. She's watching. If there's something to find, she'll find it.
By six o’clock, Miller had given up pretending. She shut down her computer, gathered her things, and walked out into the lingering heat, her skin prickling with more than just humidity.