Page 99 of Light My Fire Three Times
I almost let it go to voicemail, but something in me said toanswer.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Quinn?” The voice is crisp, professional, and it slices straight through my calm as a razor blade.
“Yes… This is Olivia.”
“This is Marcia Flynn. I’m an attorney with Dawson and Klein, representing Richard Stokes.”
My grip on the phone slips, barely, but enough to make my heart slam hard against my ribs. Richard? My old boss Richard?
“I… what?”
“I’m calling to inform you that Mr. Stokes has filed a civil suit alleging misappropriation of funds during your tenure at Stokes & Co. He is seeking damages in the amount of…”
The number doesn’t even register. Everything blurs. Words dissolve into static as my brain trips over itself. Misappropriation of funds? He’s accusing me of stealing?
“Wait… wait, what?” My voice cracks like thin glass. “That’s not… no. That’s insane! I didn’t steal anything!”
“I understand this is a shock,” the lawyer says smoothly, “but you will be served shortly. I strongly advise securing legal counsel as soon as possible. Our office is open to discussion if you’d like to avoid escalation?—”
“Discussion?” My laugh bursts out sharp, brittle. “You mean a settlement. You want me to pay for something I didn’t do.”
“Ms. Quinn?—”
“No! No, listen to me.” I grip the counter so hard my knuckles ache. “This is a lie. He’s lying. I never touched company money. Ever. Tell him that if he thinks he can pin this on me, he’s out of his mind. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to cover his own ass because?—”
“I’m simply relaying your options,” she cuts in, unmoved. “If you’d like to avoid a public case, a settlement would?—”
“Are you kidding me?!” The words rip out of me, high-pitched and raw. “I’m not paying him a cent! This is… this is defamation! He’s making this up because I wouldn’t?—”
“Ms. Quinn,” she says again, firmer now. A leash snapping taut. “Arguing with me will not change the situation. You will be served within the next seventy-two hours. Please obtain counsel immediately. For your own sake.”
“My own sake?” My words break. “This will destroy me. Do you understand that? I didn’t do this!”
There’s a beat of silence. Then: “Good luck, Ms. Quinn.”
Click.
The line goes dead.
I stand there, the phone pressed to my ear, the kettle screaming behind me. For a moment, I can’t move. Can’t breathe. The air feels too thin, and the walls are shrinking.
Richard is suing me for theft.
All because I left the business.
But what about all the good I did while I was there? Does that not count anymore? Fucking hell.
The kettle shrieks until it burns out, but I barely hear it over the blood pounding in my ears. I drop the phone onto the counter and grip the edge so hard my arms shake.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But breathing doesn’t fix this. Breathing doesn’t stop the fact that in seventy-two hours, a stranger will show up at my door and hand me a piece of paper branding me a thief.
How do you fight someone like Richard? Someone with money, with lawyers who talk with bullets, with a smile that makes people believe every word he says.
I press my fists to my eyes, hard, until I see stars. My pulse is a war drum.
