Page 34 of A Thin Line

Maybe this made her nervous too.

But why was I nervous? Maybe because I’d been defiant this whole time and was expecting punishment of some sort? With that idea in mind, I decided to play it safe. No more sassing, no more lip.

My father’s health and well-being hung in the balance. That fact was quite the motivator.

I lightly rapped on the open door and tried to make my expression as neutral as possible. “Edna said you needed me.”

“Yes, Ms. Miller. Please have a seat.”

Although there was a highly polished wooden desk in the room with a computer on it, there was also a small sofa and a big round table to the side where the men were seated. The walls were a deep brown with sconced lights on each wall. And, like many rooms in the mansion, the look wouldn’t have been complete without the large ornate area rug. Two windows faced a backyard area I hadn’t seen before. There were cobblestones in the middle of the grass and atop the stones was a black iron bench. To the side was a lovely trellis covered in ivy. Although I couldn’t see the entire area, I spied more flowers, showing off Henry’s green thumb.

I joined Whittier and the other man at the table, wondering what was going on.

Whittier put me out of my misery quickly. “This is James Canterbury, my most trusted attorney.” As I nodded and shook the lawyer’s hand, he continued. “He’s familiar with the circumstances that brought you here and the arrangement we’ve made. I asked him to draw up a contract so that our arrangement is clear.”

“Contract?”

“Yes, Ms. Miller,” said Canterbury, his voice not like what I’d expect an attorney to sound like. Most of my exposure to lawyers had been from television and the one time I was called for jury duty. Although I’d been dismissed, I’d had to sit through the jury selection process and had developed an idea about what a real attorney was like. This man was nothing like my impressions. He wore wire-rimmed glasses over his brown eyes, and the top of his head was bald. Fortunately, he hadn’t made the desperate attempt to comb over his black hair, seeming to accept that the top of his head was bare. “And an NDA.”

“NDA?”

“Non-disclosure agreement. It’s standard in these types of situations.”

He handed four sheets of paper to me before giving a few to Whittier as well. “Would you like me to go over it or would you prefer to read it yourself?”

“I can read it.”

It definitely felt like a legal document. It seemed so official, beginning “THIS AGREEMENT made this 26th day of July…”. Both our names were there, but mine was first and last name only, and, after this point, I would be referred to as the Employee. Whittier’s, however, was his whole name: Sinclair Cornelius Whittier, and he would be called the Employer after that point. I glanced quickly at a few of the things I was expressly forbidden to do according to the contract and felt my anger flare again.

Enough that I ventured into defiant territory once more—and felt like taking a few jabs at my employer. “That makes it so obvious that you’re rich.”

As I met his gaze, Whittier cocked an eyebrow. “The contract?”

I shook my head. “No. Your name. If you’d gone to public school, you would have been teased mercilessly for a name like Sinclair Cornelius.” To myself, I admitted that at least his middle name could have a decent nickname—Cory. But there were no real nicknames for Sinclair that I could think of, unless I counted Edna’s affectionate Sinny. And even if I could admit to myself that his name sounded commanding and dignified, I would never admit it out loud. I’d go to my grave first.

“For all you know, I was teased for my name, and you don’t actually know where I attended school. Children tease. That’s what they do, regardless of their economic status.”

He was right. I’d been called Anna-banana for the entirety of third grade. That was before the seriously mean taunting had begun.

“As for the name Whittier, I’ll have you know that it’s well-respected among the people I associate with.”

“My point exactly.” Although I wasn’t looking at the lawyer directly, I could tell he wasn’t appreciating our back-and-forth. Not like I cared. I hadn’t asked for any of this. “But I think I’ll call you Mr. W.”

I could tell that got under his skin, but before he could snap back, his lawyer said, “Are you ready to sign, Ms. Miller?”

“I haven’t even read it yet.”

“Then please don’t let us stop you.”

Frowning, I decided to stop poking for the meantime—and I began reading the contract in earnest.

It began simply enough. The opening was full of jargon and legalese, but it basically said I was working in order to pay 1.5 million dollars in restitution. There was another sentence about basic needs being provided for me on behalf of Whittier Enterprises, Inc., followed by a section outlining my working hours—8 AM to 5 PM Monday through Friday, with a clause that there could be times when I’d have to work additional hours outside of those listed. It also stated that the location I’d be working was at this address.

Finally, after having read through the legalese of the first page, I went through each do and don’t line by line, forcing my mouth to stay closed as I did. It was that list that infuriated me:

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4. EMPLOYER OBLIGATIONS

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