Page 19 of The Exit Strategy

I don’t. I know I don’t. But I do like that she’s still as intune with me as I am with her. I just can’t do anything with that information.

“Which is it?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I’ve known for weeks. I just didn’t have proof or the skillset to find it.

As much as it pains me to admit, I need Junie. I need her to find the proof of my innocence because I don’t trust anyone else. It’s also why I’m managing the information she gets and how quickly—it will be a curated drop so she can find and follow every single step Devin took to fuck up The Haven.

The truth is, it will kill me if she, for one second, thinks I’m the guilty party here—but I also know she can do this.

The destruction of her life might be what saves mine. Karma, it seems, is a petty bitch too.

Junie stops clicking her pen. She looks up at me for the first time today, and there’s no snark or sass in her eyes. No armor. Just the sharp, clear intelligence that’s always been her most undervalued trait.

“There’s definitely some financial manipulation happening here, but it’s too soon to know if it’s intentional. I’m following the breadcrumbs though. I’ll figure it out.”

She will. I just hope it’s the only mystery she unravels while she’s here.

Fucking Devin. My own goddamn family, running the same playbook everyone outside of my inner circle seems to default to—take what you can and leave the damage for Cole to clean up.

“There’s more,” Junie adds, softening her tone. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “I need more time, but if what I’m seeing is what I think it is?—”

“Then The Haven has a much bigger problem than a messy spreadsheet,” I finish for her.

She nods and holds my gaze a beat longer than either of us is comfortable with.

“I’ll need access to the original contracts. And the bank statements going back two years, not eighteen months.” She finally looks away.

“Done.”Please find what I haven’t been able to.

“And oat milk. Your fridge is a travesty.”

She doesn’t look at me, but I swear her eyes crinkle at the corner, and my lips tug into a grin I hate myself for.Friends, I remind myself.This is what friends do. They bring each other oat milk and pretend the room doesn’t have a pulse.

“I’ll be sure to stock it to your liking.”

Her face flushes red, then she picks up a new file and gets back to work.

I wish it were that easy for me, but the rest of the day is a parade.

Not a literal one. Not yet, anyway. Stanley’s already pitched a “Welcome the new girl” golf cart procession for Saturday, and Marley shut it down on the grounds that he hasn’t filed the proper permit.

Now Stanley’s appealing.

The revolving door of Haven residents is as close to a circus as it comes.

At 12:15, I catch Stanley pressed against the office window with binoculars, mouthing the wordwelcomeand making a heart shape with his hands. Junie, of course, doesn’t notice because she’s elbow deep in vendor files, so I physically redirect him before she looks up and calls the police.

At 1:47, Marley calls the house line. I hand the phone to Junie without warning.

“You’ve been added to three committees,” Marley says. I can hear her through the receiver even four feet away.

“I didn’t volunteer for?—”

“Noted. First meeting is Thursday.”

Click.

Junie stares at the phone in her hand like it bit her. “Did I just get conscripted?”

Muscles in my cheek twitch, but I absolutely refuse to smile. “Welcome to The Haven.”