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Sure, he would.
Brad didn’t like the fact that David passed him over for equity partner, even though he’d worked at the firm three years longer than Emma.
“Is Brad watching you right now, Gwen, so that you don’t call me?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you’d like, I could check Ms. Morgan’s schedule and see what she has available once herflight takes off—I mean, once she returns.”
Thatsnake!
Brad was watching Gwen until Emma’s plane took off, and it’d be too late to call her back. She could only think of one reason he’d do that: he wanted to sabotage her career while proving he was worthy of being an equity partner, too.
Visions of the Gulf of Mexico, mojitos, and moonlit nights on the beach vanishing like a mirage, Emma settled into what her Army brother would have called a “range walk,” moving as briskly as possible without breaking into a run.
“Okay, Gwen, listen closely. I’m on my way to the office. Call the airport and the resort and cancel my trip. I’ve already checked my luggage, so please take care of that, too.”
“I can certainly do that, ma’am. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Watch for me. I’ll text you when I’m in the building. Oh, and don’t tell Brad I’m on my way. I want to surprise him.” Emma disconnected and immediately dialed Mary Clark, the other equity partner—and David’s wife of nearly fifteen years—but the call went straight to voicemail. “Hey, Mary. It’s Emma. I just caught a news report about David and wanted to let you know I’m on my way to the office. Please call me back. I’m worried about David.”
Forty-five minutes later, Emma stepped off the elevator and onto the thirty-ninth floor of Whitlow Tower and into the opulent foyer of Reynolds & Clark—no, Reynolds, Clark &Morgan, she reminded herself. How long would it take to get used to seeing her name etched into the opaque glass behind the reception counter?
Walking into her law office felt like walking into a luxury hotel. Hardwood floors reached out in all directions. Opaque walls and partitions gave the space definition and privacy while maintaining the open feel. The rock-work accents throughout brought a sense of sophistication and warmth. Artwork—painted, sketched, and chiseled by local artisans—beckoned new arrivals to the round desk in the center of the room, where the firm’s receptionist, Rebecca Perkins, sat shell-shocked and unseeing.
“Becca?” Emma said softly when she reached the desk.
Becca seemed to jolt back to reality and leaped to her feet. “I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan. I didn’t see you there.” Becca’s voice held none of its bubbly charm.
“It’s okay.” Emma tried for warmth in her voice, but she wasn’t sure if she managed. Seeing Becca’s expression incited the locusts in her stomach to swarm. Emma didn’t want to ask her next question, but she had to. “Have there been any updates on David’s condition?”
Becca leaned closer. “Heart attack,” she whispered. “They’re not sure he’s gonna make it.”
Emma absorbed the gut-punch, but she didn’t let the pain show. She’d learned at a young age to guard her emotions. Never show weakness to the monster; that was always when he attacked.
The click of heels on the hardwood floor drew Emma’s attention, and Gwen stepped into the foyer. Emma had long-ago dubbed Gwen’s fashion sense as “nerdy fashionista,” but by Gwen’s standards, today’s outfit was utterly tame. She wore a white, fitted top and a black miniskirt that would be unacceptable for work if not for the no-see-through black tights.
“Emma,” said Gwen, tousling her fingers through blonde hair tipped in purple this week. “I didn’t expect you in today. I guess you heard about David?”
“I did.” Playing off Gwen’s terrific acting, Emma adopted the no-nonsense tone she often used in court. “Follow me. We need to strategize.”
“Of course.” As she fell into step beside Emma, Gwen untucked her iPad, plucked its Apple Pencil from its spot, and readied herself to take notes.
“First,” Emma began, heading toward hers and Brad’s hallway, “we need to put together a care package for Mary, something like casseroles or gift cards so that she doesn’t have to even think about food.”
“Got it,” Gwen said. “I can head that up. Or would you rather I enlist Tracy? Last I saw, she was nervous and pacing. It might do her good to have somewhere to focus her energy.”
“Excellent idea.” Tracy was David’s legal secretary. “Yes, Gwen, do that.Ifshe feels up to it, and then that’ll free you up to help me.”
They passed the long glass front of Brad’s office, and Emma noted him on the phone. His ordinarily neat desk looked as if a paper mill had experienced a critical failure.
Emma rapped her knuckles on his door and stepped inside. “When you’re free, we need to talk.” Without waiting for a response, she walked right back out. She wanted this conversation to be in her office, where she had home-field advantage.
As Emma stepped through her office door, the motion-activated lights flickered on. She hadn’t wanted a traditional lawyer’s office, so she’d stayed away from oversized leather chairs and rich mahogany furniture. Instead, she’d opted for a more modern space, something that said she was elegant but without trying too hard.
“I’ll reach out to Whitlow Group,” Emma said as she sat at her desk, “and see what I can do to reassure them we are still on their side and on their case.” David might be their attorney of record, but he’d had her doing some of the legal leg work for nearly a year.
“Speaking of Whitlow Group, Mr. Whitlow stopped by the firm on his way back from court, just to see if he could do anything for us. He looked shaken.”
“WhichMr. Whitlow?” Emma asked, as the question was important. Whitlow Group was a family-run company, so four Mr. Whitlows worked there, as well as a Mrs. and a Ms. Whitlow.
