Novels by eluxescents10

Cara’s POVWhen the office was emptied it was near the middle of the night. The copy machine had now died down to a hum and the only sounds that remained were the ticking of the wall clock and the humming low hiss of the city beyond. I had asked everybody to retire to his home hours ago, but I could do nothing until I had heard.Someone in this room had sold Thora Greenwood’s life for a few thousand dollars.The thought made my stomach twist. I’d built this firm on discretion our reputation was our shield—and now that shield was cracked.I opened my laptop and pulled up the payroll system again. Five employees, all loyal, or so I’d believed. I checked log-ins, file access, printer history. The same name kept popping up: Rita Bennett.Junior clerk. Fresh out of community college. Always early, always polite, always grateful for the job.And apparently, easily bought.Her access trail led straight to the sealed medical summary we’d used to draft Thora’s first motion for custody relief.

Thora’s POV The noise began even earlier than I was awake. Not the common reporters screaming in the street--this was more to the point. My cell-phone continued buzzing on the nightstand until it dropped on the ground. The screen was illuminated with the name of Cara: CALL ME NOW. My stomach sank. I sat up, and my heart already racing, and the heavy ache of dread crawling under my skin. Her voice was quick and monotonic, as lawyers have when they are attempting never to panic. Please do not open your email, do not check the social media. Just—listen.” “What happened?” “There’s a leak. Photos of you at an out-patient clinic last month. The story is already all around. “What narrative?” The reason you were there was a breakdown. There are stores which are claiming that it is substance based. One’s hinting self-harm.” I went silent. The image of that occasion came back, the little clinic, the 30-minute visit, the check-up of the pregnancy. I had come early so I could get

Luke’s POVThe text kept replaying in my head.Tell her the next one’s mine.It didn’t matter how many times I read it—three words, eight letters of threat—and I could hear Quentin saying them. Calm, certain, the way he used to announce a business merger.I ought to have been frank with Thora. I just had a feeling that maybe it was a mind game, a bluff. The other part knew better.I was sitting in my car, outside my office, with my hands around my steering wheel, the engine off. The wind-glass was falling down the rain in long fine hair. The whole city appeared to be on tenterhooks.My phone buzzed again—Cara’s assistant. I ignored it. I’d already learned that whoever touched Thora’s case ended up under Quentin’s microscope. I had to know the depth of that microscope.Inside, my office still smelled faintly of varnish and old coffee. The receptionist waved; I nodded without stopping. My desk light glowed over a stack of contracts I hadn’t touched in days. None of it mattered now.I to

The following morning was different. It was still the gray and weary city, yet the sounds outside my window could not be heard as sharp. Perhaps the reporters were tired, or perhaps I had lost the hearing. Anyhow, all was quietness, and it was like breathing space, the first in weeks. Before noon Mark Leland told him that he would be here. I half-expected him not to. People had made promises previously, people who had more to lose and less to care. But just before eleven I heard a knock--two quick strokes, and then one more, quiet and unmistakably certain. On opening the door, he was standing in a maintenance uniform, hat in his hands, nervous, yet firm. Late forties perhaps, the type of man you would run by every day and never pay any attention to yet there was something kind about his eyes, the kind that looked directly at you rather than to the side. “Ms. Greenwood,” he said, nodding. “Mark Leland. From Vexler. I, uh, called last night.” “I remember.” I stepped aside. “Co

Thora’s POVBy the time I got on to the steps of the courthouse the air was already buzzing. Sidestreet reporters were lined up, and the microphones looked like guns. Flashes of the camera were so brilliant that they blurred the morning into a white haze.“Ms. Greenwood, do you think you’re losing?” “Any comment on your witnesses backing out?” “ Do you fear meeting Quentin Palmer in court?Their voices mangled on one, ugly note. I kept walking. Eyes forward. Clenching my hands on the folder which contained the rest of my evidence. The courthouse was dusty and paper-smoking. My heartbeat was drowned in the humming of the fluorescent lights. At the metal detector, I was met by my lawyer, Cara, who was sharp, but kind. “You ready?” she asked. “No,” I said honestly. She smiled faintly. “Good. They claim they will never live to see the first day. We forced our way along the passage. Each door that we went through had echoes--it is the fights of other people, it is other grievi

Thora’s POVThe first call came just after breakfast.I was still helping Avis get ready for school cardigan when my phone buzzed across the counter. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was local, so I answered.“Ms. Greenwood? This is Dr. Patel’s office.”My chest lifted, hopeful. “Yes, hi, thank you for calling back. I just wanted to confirm—”“I’m sorry,” the receptionist interrupted, voice clipped and rehearsed. “The doctor has decided he can’t provide written testimony or appear in court. It’s a matter of clinic policy.”“Clinic policy?” I repeated. “He’s written a dozen statements for custody cases. I, I only need a letter confirming my daughter’s regular checkups.”“I understand,” she said, not unkindly. “But Dr. Patel won’t be able to assist further.”Click.The line went dead.I stood there holding the phone like it was something fragile I’d just dropped. Avis tugged my sleeve. “Mama? We’ll be late.”“Right,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”