“No,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”
The room went silent.
Eleanor looked back down at the papers.
There were old Charleston articles in the file. Archived clips. Printouts from a tiny YouTube channel with grainy thumbnails and headlines she hadn’t seen in years.
Defense Attorney Lets Killer Walk.
Who Is Eleanor Harper Really?
Charleston’s Ice Queen Lawyer.
She felt sick.
“My God.”
Deck reached over and turned one page toward her.
A photograph sat clipped to the article.
Two young women at a Christmas party, smiling at the camera.
One was Lila.
The other was the missing woman from Charleston.
Eleanor stared.
“Cousins?”
“More like sisters, from everything I found.”
For a second, the room seemed to tilt.
The case that had blown her life apart.
Charlie leaving.
Her father’s firm.
The reporters outside the courthouse.
The threats.
The calls.
The way strangers had looked at her in grocery stores like they knew her.
And through all of it, somewhere in the background, had been this woman.
Lila Allen.
Later, Lila Grant.
Watching.
Talking.
