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Unfortunately, as part of breaking down under the surface, she’s letting things slip through the cracks—missing meetings with her legal counsel. Forgetting to return important documents that need to be sent back. That sort of thing.
So, I swallowed my pride and reached out to Elsa to pick up the slack. And she’s been amazing; helpful, empowering, comforting, and she didn’t say athingwhen I listed Deimos’ address instead of mine when I was filling out the paperwork for her firm to engage her for this. And she’s not one to miss a detail like that atall.
“So, things have gotten…weirder.”
Weird. That’s a word Elsa keeps using more and more the further she digs into what’s going on with Gerard and my mom. She doesn’t even know them personally, but according to her, just about every aspect of Gerard’s cases and his legal motions are bizarre.
For a start, we’re not able to pin down who his actual lead counsel is. When he files paperwork or more motions, it’s always through a different paralegal at various law firms scattered all over the place—some in the UK, others in France, still others in the US.
It’s like he’s hiding something, but we can’t tell what it is.
I frown as I sip my wine. “What do you mean?”
“Well…” She digs out a computer printout of an email that came a few days ago—a formal letter from Gerard himself, chastising my mother for dragging this out.
Asshole.
Elsa clears her throat, pointing to a line in the second paragraph. “This right here. It makes no sense.” She twists the page so that I can read where she’s pointing, where Gerard makes mention of various papers, legal forms, and contracts my mother either hasn’t signed yet or responded to.
I raise my eyes to Elsa. “I don’t get it. What’s weird about that?”
“What’s weird is that so far, your stepfather has shown a surprising adeptness in the legal process, considering he’s not a lawyer. He’s dotted every I and crossed every T properly, legally speaking. Except this is a mess. Look.”
She points to where he lists all the forms by number.
“He writes that your mother hasn’t responded to form 98-R, PREP-2, JD-982-B…” She shakes her head. “And so on and so on.”
I frown. “I’m still not sure I get it.”
“He’s talked about these forms before, in other emails. But he always mentions them in the order in which they were filed. Not here, though. These are alloutof order, and he’s also listed more legal documents that aren’t pertinent to any of this, documents that he never sent. Some of them are literally made-up forms. They don’t exist.”
My brow furrows. “What?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, it’s got me stumped.” She raises her gaze to mine. “Gerard doesn’t have dementia or early signs of Alzheimer’s or anything, does he?”
I shake my head in bewilderment. “Not that I know of.”
“Then I’m at a loss. Because this makes zero sense.”
I chew on my lip as I glance over the lengthy list of forms. But suddenly I gasp and my spine straightens sharply as something cold splashes all the way down my back.
Literally.
I whirl and then instantly freeze when I recognize the elegant blonde woman standing behind me, smiling venomously.
“Ohno,” she drawls, her lip curling. She raises her empty wine glass. “Somebody bumped me.”
I glare at…fuck, what’s her name?
“Raquel,” she says with a snippy tone, still smiling that fake, sneering smile at me.
I roll my shoulders, twisting to look over my shoulder to where she’s spilled white wine—I mean, at least it’s not red—down the back of my hoodie. Meanwhile, the bitch is in a smart black cocktail dress that looksamazingon her, her makeup and hair impeccable, and her white teeth flashing with malice.
“Soclumsy of me,” Raquel sighs.
Elsa scowls as she rises to her feet. “What the fuck? You deliberately just poured that down her back. I was sitting right here.”
“Where’s yourboyfriend, hon?” Raquel sneers at me, ignoring Elsa.
