Page 68 of The Kat Bunglar

Khatira Kar

Khatira let out a low whistle as the elevator ascended. Sverdloff Law & Associates was fancy, schmancy. As she walked through the eighteenth floor, she took in the sharply dressed workers wandering through the open-concept coffee shop area and zipping through the various offices with clear glass walls. She wondered if people would ever pay to have their cases returned to them—just a thought. Nothing she planned to action... for now.

She made her way over to a rosacea-ridden human chowing down on a salad miserably. The nameplate read Carol Mueller. “Hi, Carol, I’m looking for Laila Malik,” she said sweetly.

“Who are you?” Carol muttered, her voice muffled by a mouthful of lettuce.

“Her niece,” Khatira replied with practiced ease.

“Laila never mentioned a niece.” Carol said, a drop of salad dressing dripped down her chin.

Khatira wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Long-lost niece, flown in straight from Bangladesh. Is there somewhere I can wait for her?”

Carol shrugged, unconcerned. “Her office is back there, to the left. She’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Khatira smiled and floated away from the odious garlic dressing. As she let herself into Laila’s office, her fingers skimmed over the various awards on the bookshelf. Khatira sighed in admiration. She really is impressive, Khatira thought.

She walked behind Laila’s large mahogany desk. What was it like to be a fancy lawyer? Seeing people at their most vulnerable, helping them instead of exploiting them. Khatira sat down in the leather chair, lightly. She scooched back slightly. Oh, it was comfortable. She surveyed the Chicago River skyline and looked at the expanse of Laila’s office domain. Now this, Khatira thought, this is power.

The door swung open, and Laila stood there, mouth agape. “Khatira? What are you doing here?”

Khatira jumped up in alarm and guilt. “Surprise! I wanted to come see you.”

Laila rushed over to give her a hug. “Oh, my goodness, how have you been? How’s Christian?”

Khatira leaned into the hug. Wow, Laila smelled so nice—gardenias with a hint of vanilla. Khatira realized her own mother had never hugged her this warmly. Tears unexpectedly welled up in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Ahem,” she said, blinking rapidly. “I uh, have a surprise for you.”

Laila smiled broadly. “I thought you were the surprise.”

Khatira shrugged and shuffled her feet. “No, there’s more. Here. This is for you.” She awkwardly placed a ring box on Laila’s desk.

Laila gasped, her eyes shining. She slowly opened the box, letting out a small cry of happiness. “You found it. You found my mother’s rings. Oh, Khatira! This is so lovely. Thank you.”

Khatira felt her cheeks flush. She’d never felt good about doing a good thing before. To be honest, she still ate her vegetables begrudgingly. “How is, um, Gabriel? All recovered from the gunshot wound and everything?”

Laila gestured for Khatira to sit across from her. Khatira reluctantly gave up the big leather chair and walked over to the civilian chair. Definitely not the same level of cushioning.

Laila’s eyes shifted to the bookcase behind Khatira. “I, uh, actually don’t know how he’s doing. Last I heard, he was in Morelia, Mexico.”

Khatira processed that information, noting how Laila’s voice had faltered, how she tapped nervously on the ring box. She raised an eyebrow. “And how’s your husband?”

Laila gave a half chuckle. “I just filed for divorce a few days ago. We weren’t together when Gabriel and I... when Gabriel and I met you in Los Angeles. My relationship with my soon-to-be ex-husband was already over.”

Khatira processed the words, a slight smile on her lips. “Okay, so no hard feelings over the hubby being gone?”

Laila laughed loudly, the sound ricocheting off the walls. “Absolutely not! Very happy that he and I are going our separate ways. I wish him well. But I truly hope I never see that man again.”

Khatira pulled out a lip gloss from her backpack and asked casually, “And you’re also happy that Gabriel’s in Mexico?”

Laila’s eyes flicked away again, her fingers tightening on the ring box. “Yes, if that’s what’s best for him, his two sons, his mother, and his supposed sister-in-law, then I’m happy for them.”

Khatira raised an eyebrow. “Supposed sister-in-law?”

Laila sighed and waved her hands in frustration. “His first wife’s name was Maria Sofia Santos, and his sister-in-law’s name is Maria Angelica Suarez. Well, when his sister-in-law emailed us certain documents, with the names being so similar, I thought he lied about his first wife being dead. I ruined the whole thing.” Laila buried her face in her hands, exasperated.

Khatira leaned back in the chair. “And you’re not going to Mexico to double-check?”

Laila looked at her in confusion. “Why would I go double-check?”

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