Chapter 2

Emmitt Mccormick POV:

The woman on the other end of the phone had the kind of voice that sounded like it had been holding its breath for a decade. Quiet, strained, but with a steel wire running through it. Charlotte Gallegos. The name rang a bell, a faint chime from a long-forgotten society page headline. Gallegos Construction. Big money. Big scandal.

"It's after 10 PM, Ms. Gallegos," I said, swirling the last of the whiskey in my glass. The ice clinked a lonely rhythm against the side. "My rates double after sundown. Triple for family drama."

There was a pause. I expected her to hang up. Most of them did. They wanted a bargain-bin savior, not an investment.

"That's fine," she said, without a hint of hesitation. "Where is your office?"

I gave her the address to the walk-up in a part of town where the buildings, like the people, looked tired of their own history. I figured that would be the end of it. Rich girls didn't come to places like this.

The next morning, she proved me wrong.

She was sitting in the worn-out chair opposite my desk when I walked in with my coffee. She was thinner than I'd imagined, with dark eyes that held a storm of unspoken things. She wore a simple, elegant coat that probably cost more than my month's rent, but she wore it like armor, not a statement.

"You came," I said, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. It was a statement of fact, but there was surprise in it.

"I said I would," she replied, her gaze unwavering.

I sat down, the springs of my chair groaning in protest. "Alright, Ms. Gallegos. You have my undivided attention for the next five minutes. My retainer is ten thousand dollars, non-refundable. Talk."

I expected tears. I expected a rambling, emotional monologue about being misunderstood. I got neither.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a cashier's check. She slid it across the scarred surface of my desk. It was for exactly ten thousand dollars.

"Ten years ago," she began, her voice as calm and precise as an architect's blueprint, "my family's company, Gallegos Construction, lost a nine-figure bid for the city's new waterfront development project. The bid was leaked to our top competitor, Crestone Holdings. An internal investigation found that the leak originated from my computer. The payment, a sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, was traced to an offshore account opened in my name."

She recited the facts like she was reading a weather report, but I could see the tension in her knuckles, white as bone where she gripped her purse.

"I was accused of corporate espionage. I was fired from my position as a junior architect. My career was over before it began. I've been told ever since that I am lucky my family didn't press charges, that they were merciful to let me stay on as an administrative assistant as... penance."

The word "penance" hung in the air, ugly and heavy.

"Did you do it?" I asked, leaning back. It was the first, most important question.

"No."

There was no hesitation. No flicker of doubt. Just a flat, solid "no." It was the most convincing lie or the most painful truth I'd heard all year.

"Why come to me now? Ten years is a long time for the truth to stay buried."

"Because last night, I realized it was never buried," she said, her eyes finally showing a flicker of the storm inside. "It's been alive and well, living in my house, eating at my table, and smiling at me while it slowly poisons me. I'm done being poisoned."

I picked up the check, tapping its edge against my desk. I remembered the case that had made me the cynical bastard I was today. A young kid, framed for a robbery he didn't commit. I believed him. I worked my ass off. But the evidence was clean, the story was tight, and I failed. He got five years. When he got out, the world had already branded him, and he was dead from an overdose six months later. I had failed to exonerate an innocent man, and it had hollowed something out of me.

I looked at Charlotte Gallegos. At the quiet determination that seemed to radiate from her exhausted frame. I saw the inconsistencies she was too close to see. The perfect evidence. The neat 'n tidy story. Scapegoats were always convenient.

"Who do you think did it?" I asked.

"I don't know for sure," she admitted. "But I know who benefited the most."

"Your brother, Ashton. He became the hero who saved the company from his treacherous sister."

She nodded slowly. "And the woman who stood by his side through it all. His fiancée, Carmella Nichols. She was a new hire in the marketing department back then. Ambitious. Incredibly smart. She saw me as a threat."

I stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the grimy street below. This was messy. Rich families protecting their image were more dangerous than cornered animals. Taking them on meant digging up graves they'd spent a fortune to keep sealed.

"This won't be easy," I warned her. "If I take this on, I will tear your family apart. There will be no going back. You'll be lighting a match and dropping it into a warehouse full of gasoline."

I turned back to look at her. I expected to see fear, hesitation.

Instead, for the first time since she'd walked in, I saw a small, cold smile touch her lips.

"Good," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "I want to watch it all burn."

I picked up the check and folded it into my pocket. The ghost of my past failure nudged me. Maybe this time would be different.

"Alright, Ms. Gallegos," I said, grabbing my coat. "Let's go dig up a few bodies."