Beside him, Martina reads what’s written on the card, then says, “But…are you sure?” Something in her voice sounds disappointed. She probably hoped the first lawyer they met with would be the right one. I wish I had been.

Straightening the papers in front of me, I say, “I’m quite sure. This is what will be best for you.” Best for everyone, really. “Now, let’s discuss what options you’ll have with your attorney going forward.”

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Aaron

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

She can’t leave.

She’s spent the past hour and a half going over the possible avenues we can pursue to get some kind of compensation for what happened to my dad—as if any amount of money could ever make up for what he’s been through. And through it all, she’s been fantastic. She knows her stuff. She doesn’t look the tiniest bit uncomfortable with explaining things to a client who can’t answer back. Her voice is soft but clear, not babying. Dad’s happy about it. I can see it in his eyes. And while she’s not a particularly warm person, there’s something about her that’s comforting. Like she’s got her shit together and can handle anything life throws at her.

But now she’s getting ready to leave, and I can’t let that happen. We’re winning this case, and she’s our best shot. Everyone here knows it—except for her, maybe.

“Well,” she says as she stands and puts her notepad and computer back in her bag, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you all, and I truly wish you the best of luck going forward.”

Ma gives her a smile that is nowhere close to happy. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

Before thinking about it, I get up, my chair scraping the floor. “Ms. Lawson—”

“Wren, please,” she says.

I nod. “Wren.” The name comes out of my mouth smoothly, and I can’t help but be happy I finally know it. “Would you mind stepping outside so we can have a word?”

Please say yes.

I can feel rather than see Ma’s gaze burn a hole in the back of my head, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing, but this is my last chance to convince her, and I’m not wasting it. Maybe my mother was too polite to fight for her, but I’m not.

Wren’s eyes widen a second. They’re a dark-blue shade, almost indigo. In the dark, they could pass for black, but in the sunlight of the dining room, the color is unmistakable.

She quickly regains a neutral expression and says, “Sure.”