In the morning, they rose, showered, and dressed, neither of them mentioning the call they would soon make. The call that would have Natalie stand before a judge and confess to a murder she couldn’t be sure she committed. A call that would send her to prison.

“Shall I get us coffees?” Allana offered.

“I’ll come with you.” Buying a coffee at the corner deli would soon be a freedom Nat could not enjoy. She was slipping into her shoes when her cell phone rang. It was her lawyer.

“I need to see you,” he said, his tone clipped and agitated. “It’s urgent.”

Forgoing the caffeine, Natalie and her mom rode the subway to Midtown. They were hustled into another conference room where they were soon joined by Hawley and his attractive team.

“Some new evidence has come to light.” The unkempt lawyer was businesslike, but his cohorts looked almost gleeful. “It changes things.”

“What is it?” Nat asked, her throat dry, voice scratchy.

“Gabe Turnmill had hired someone to kill you.”

“Oh my god!” It was her mom’s voice. Nat was mute with shock. A tornado of emotions whirled inside her: confusion, hatred, and anger—at Gabe and at herself. Gabe Turnmill had wanted her dead. He had never loved her. She had meant nothing to him. She’d been so stupid.

“Mr. Turnmill’s personal driver has come forward.” Matthew looked at his journal, “A Mr. Oleg Ryback.”

Oleg. He had liked Natalie. He had been kind to her, hadn’t judged her, understood her even.

“According to Mr. Ryback, Gabriel Turnmill asked him to arrange a hit on you.”

A professional hit. So cold, so cowardly.

“The driver set up a meeting between Mr. Turnmill and Ryback’s cousin.” The lawyer’s eyes were on his notes. “Five thousand dollars was exchanged. Ryback’s cousin had no intention of harming you, but Mr. Ryback felt he had to play along or Mr. Turnmill would hire someone else to do the job.”

Oleg had protected her.

Hawley looked up. “As I said, this changes things.”

Nat’s voice was little more than a croak. “How?”

“In light of this evidence, the DA has offered a new deal. Second-degree manslaughter. She’ll recommend two years in jail, five years probation, with mandatory psychological counseling.”

When Nat was first arrested, she’d been locked up for less than two days. It had been hell. Could she survive two years? But it was better than five.

“You’ll still have to allocute. And you’ll still have a criminal record, which could have long-lasting repercussions.”

Her mom asked, “What kind of repercussions?”

The handsome male associate elaborated. “It can make it hard to get a job, or go back to school, or qualify for housing.”

“My god,” Allana muttered.

“There is another option . . . ,” Matthew Hawley said. “We could go to trial. With this new information, we might have a chance at an acquittal on the grounds of self-defense.”

Nat felt her heart lighten in her chest. It was hope, that fleeting, ephemeral feeling.