Novels by Golden Jay

The name on the page was Constance Hale.Naomi read it a third time, as though the letters might rearrange themselves. Constance Hale chaired the federation’s board. She was the woman who had shaken Naomi’s hand after the interview, held it a moment too long, and told her she’d scored the highest marks of anyone they’d seen that cycle.“No,” Naomi said. “She’s the reason I’m here.”“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Priya said quietly.Henrik had gone very still beside her. “Constance has chaired the board since before I was hired,” he said. “She’s the one who signed off on you.”Naomi leaned against the pillar, grateful for its solidity. “Priya’s friend. Who is she to Constance?”“They sit on a charity committee together. About two months ago, Constance mentioned she knew an excellent family lawyer, in case anyone ever needed one.” Priya’s mouth tightened. “My friend passed it along to me. I passed it along to you. Neither of us thought twice.”Two months. Naomi did the math, and it came o

The federation’s counsel agreed to see her at eight the next morning. That was the only good news the day produced, and Naomi took it gratefully.She stayed late to log the camp reports, because it was easier than going home to an apartment that still smelled like someone else’s cleaning products. When she finally shut down her computer, the corridor lights had dimmed to their night setting. She took the stairs down to the staff garage, nearly empty, the concrete cool and faintly oily. She had her keys out when she heard footsteps behind her, unhurried and familiar.“You left without saying goodnight,” Henrik said.He stood a few feet away with his jacket over one arm, tired, and clearly a man who had followed her down four flights of stairs and had no intention of pretending otherwise.“I thought you’d gone home.”“I was going to. Then I watched you walk out of that office like you were carrying the entire building.” He stopped an arm’s length away. “I wanted to check that someone wa

Chapter Twenty: Everything in WritingThe airport at that hour was half asleep, fluorescent and echoing, the departure board flickering through cities Naomi had no interest in. She and Henrik had found a corner of the gate area near a dark window, the federation team scattered across the rows of seats behind them, and she had her laptop open on her knees before she let herself think about whether she wanted to see what was inside.Elena Fontaine had been true to her word. The email sat at the top of her inbox, subject line blank, a single attachment titled with nothing but a date."Do you want me to move?" Henrik asked quietly. "I can get coffee. Give you the room.""Stay," Naomi said. "Please."He stayed, one arm resting along the back of the seat, close enough to be felt but not so close that he read over her shoulder. She was grateful for that. She opened the file.It was forty-one pages, mostly email chains, and she read them the way she'd once read race footage, slowly at first,

The van ride down the mountain was quiet, most of the athletes asleep against the windows, exhausted in the particular way only a week of altitude and chaos could produce. Naomi sat near the back beside Henrik, her phone dark in her pocket, the stranger's message still sitting there unanswered."You're thinking about the text," Henrik said, not quite a question."A little." She glanced at him. "Mostly I'm thinking about you."That earned her a slight, surprised lift of his eyebrows — she so rarely said things so plainly, and they both seemed to notice it at the same moment."I wanted to say thank you," she went on, before she lost the nerve. "For the gate. I told you that you didn't have to come, and you came anyway, and you didn't try to speak for me or stand between me and him. You just stood there so I'd know I wasn't standing there alone. I don't think I've had that before. Not

Naomi stood on the gravel path with her phone in her hand for a long moment before she called the number back.Henrik had come to find her partway through loading the last van, drawn by something in her stillness, and he stood a few feet off now, not crowding her, just present, the way he always seemed to know exactly how much space a moment needed. She held up a hand — one second — and dialed.A young voice answered, clearly flustered. "This is Daniel, I work with Margaret Voss's office — thank you for calling back so fast, she's been trying to reach you—""I'm here," Naomi said. "What's the emergency.""She wanted me to tell you she's found something in your file that concerns her. She said it's time-sensitive, something about the way one of the dates is documented, and she really doesn't want you flying home without talking it through first. She asked if you could call her directly, right away."Naomi felt someth

Henrik listened without interrupting, which was, Naomi had learned, exactly what he did best.They sat at the same picnic table where he'd once asked her who Julian was to her, the camp around them already shifting into its last-day rhythm — duffel bags stacked on cabin porches, assistant coaches doing final equipment counts, the particular loose, tired energy of an ending. Naomi laid it out in order: Margaret's knowledge of training camp before anyone told her, the file called solid and then thin within three weeks, and now Julian showing up in person asking for the exact same quiet Margaret had spent that morning gently selling her."Could be nothing," Henrik said, when she'd finished. "Lawyers are naturally cautious. That's half the job.""I know. I told myself that this morning too." Naomi turned her coffee cup slowly on the table. "But caution doesn't usually know things it hasn't been told yet."