Chapter 7 - The Counter-Strike Begins
“She sold me,” I whispered. The words tasted like ash.
“She sold you,” Drew confirmed, leaning over the table, his jaw clenched tight. “And her family is in on it. Look at the last email chain. Her father’s car dealership was five hundred thousand in debt to your father. Richard bought that debt six months ago just to use it as leverage on the Caldwells.”
I stood up, walking toward the cabin window. Outside, the wind rattled the dark pine needles against the glass.
For nine years, I had run. When my father broke my arm, I ran. When he threatened to ruin my college scholarships, I slipped away quietly in the middle of the night, working three dishwashing jobs to pay my own tuition. When Nora crossed the line today, my first instinct had been to run again. To hide in the woods, change my name, and let the storm pass over me.
Because running was what victims did.
Suddenly, a strange, burning warmth ignited deep in my solar plexus. The fear that had kept my shoulders hunched for a decade vanished.
“Drew,” I said, turning back to the table.
“Yeah?”
“Is Maya still in town?”
Maya was Drew’s older sister, an aggressive forensic accountant and corporate litigation attorney who specialized in contract fraud in Raleigh.
“She took a red-eye back from Asheville after the wedding fiasco,” Drew replied, his eyes narrowing with a dawn of realization. “She was furious at Nora’s mother for making a scene at the church.”
May you like
“Call her,” I said. “Tell her I want to hire her firm tonight. And tell her I’m not running anymore.”
***