Page 31 of Dial L for Lawyer
Caleb glances at me, and I see the conflict—protective instinct versus whatever brother drama awaits.
“I'm fine," I say, even though I'm not. "Go. I'll wait by the elevators."
He leans close, his breath warm against my ear. "Don’t open your mouth to anyone but me. Not even the plants."
The brothers disappear into an empty office, and I hear David’s opening salvo: “What the hell was that?”
I lean against the marble wall, trying to process what just happened. The evidence against me, Caleb’s demolition of Patricia, the way his hand on mine kept me from completely falling apart. I pace twice, then three times, but the hallway feels like it’s shrinking. My lungs demand actual oxygen.
The stairwell door beckons. I push through and take the steps two at a time until I burst into the ground floor courtyard like I’m escaping Alcatraz.
The bench is cold and slightly damp, but I collapse onto it anyway, gulping air like I’ve been underwater. This is worse than I thought. Much worse. Someone genuinely wants to destroy me.
“Serena?”
I jump. “Maya? What are you doing here?”
“I heard about the meeting.” She sits beside me, immaculate as always in her Theory blazer. “The whole office is talking about it. Apparently Patricia came back looking like she’d been hit by a truck.”
“Good. Though I’m sure the whole office thinks I’m guilty.”
Maya tilts her head. “Some do. But the smart ones know you’d never do something this stupid. If you were going to commit corporate espionage, you’d at least delete the breadcrumbs.”
I laugh despite everything. “Thanks for the vote of confidence in my criminal capabilities.”
She glances toward the building, then back at me. “Listen, we probably shouldn’t talk here. Too many people around, and if HR sees us together…”
She's right. The courtyard might seem private, but it's still corporate property. People walking by, windows looking down on us.
"There's a little coffee place called Grind about a block north on Michigan," Maya says, standing. "Can you meet me there in ten minutes? I'll leave first, you follow after."
I nod. "OK. But you know you could get in trouble for this. HR specifically said?—”
“Fuck HR.” The vehemence surprises me. “You’re my mentor. My friend. I’m not abandoning you because some corporate lawyers are playing politics.”
She walks away quickly, not looking back. I wait five minutes before heading in the same direction.
I pull it out my phone when I hit the street, thumb hovering over Caleb's number. I should tell him where I'm going. But he's busy with David, probably handling important legal strategy that I'd only interrupt.
“He'll just call when he realizes I'm not by the elevators,” I tell myself as I slip the phone back into my purse and head toward the coffee shop.
Grind is aggressively hipster—exposed brick, Edison bulbs, baristas who definitely have MFAs. Maya has already secured a corner table and ordered two vanilla lattes. She slides one across as I sit.
“You look exhausted,” she says gently.
“Funny, I feel like a supermodel.”
We sit quietly for a moment. Maya fidgets with her straw wrapper, and there’s something in her expression I can’t read.
“They’re not going to pin this on you,” she says finally, so softly I almost miss it. “I mean, it’s obvious to anyone who actually knows you that you wouldn’t?—”
“It’s not obvious to them, Maya.” I stir my coffee with the straw. “Someone’s working really hard to make it look like I did this.”
“How bad is it really?”
“Worse than bad. They have security footage, badge records, and some anonymous witness claiming I had lunch with Victoria Chase at Alinea. Which is insane because I can’t even afford their wine list.”
Maya grips her cup tighter. “We both know you’d never do anything like that.”
