Focus.
Emotion is a complication. Complications are threats to control. And I don’t lose control. Not anymore.
Not since her.
I take a step closer.
Her breath catches.
Good.
She should be afraid.
“Tessa,” I say quietly, “do you know how many people would kill to avoid an ethics violation on their record?”
She doesn’t answer.
I glance down at the phone in my hand. Screen off now. Recording saved.
“What would the Bar committee think of this, hmm? Breaking and entering. Theft of city property. Obstruction of euthanasia protocol.” I tap my chin, mock thoughtful. “At minimum, you’re looking at expulsion. More likely, a character-and-fitness denial and a very fun hearing you won’t win.”
Her mouth opens, but whatever defense she’s about to mount dies on her tongue.
She knows I’m right.
She’s smart enough to see the path.
I wait.
Watch her breathe. Watch her sway just slightly under the weight of what she’s carrying. Dog, hoodie, guilt, me. All too much.
And still, she doesn’t beg.
Interesting.
“I’m not going to the police,” I say again, just to see what that does to her.
A flicker of hope.
Foolish.
“I’m going to do something worse.”
Her head snaps up.
I smile.
“I’m going to keep this. All of it.” I tap my pocket. “And I’m going to hold on to it until I decide what you owe me.”
“You—” Her voice cracks. “You want me to take a card?”
I nod once. “Exactly.”
“No.”
It’s automatic. Instantaneous.
And so very naïve.
