Page 11 of Wistful Whispers

“Three months is unacceptable.” I don’t even blink.

He disgustingly sucks some remnant of food through his teeth. “It’s not up to you.”

“No. It’ll be up to the judge when I file a motion to compel. When I argue you’re deliberately obstructing discovery.” I purse my lips.

Luther narrows his beady eyes.

“Dragging this out won’t change the facts,” I continue, my voice cool as ice cream. “It won’t change the fact a twelve-year-old girl went into the operating room expecting to get better and instead will never wake up. It won’t change the fact her parents are clinging to the hope she’ll somehow recover. It won’t change the fact I’m coming for Dr. Caldwell with everything I have to make sure Miranda has justice.”

“Mediation may berequired,” he reminds me as if I don’t know. “Why don’t you spare me the theatrics and cut the bullshit. Give me a number and I’ll take it to my client.”

“Ineversettle before mediation.” I wave my hand dismissively.

Luther sighs. “Then I guess we’re going toe to toe.”

“Guess so.” I give him a tight smile before clicking out of the meeting.

I sit in silence for a moment, fingers tapping against my desk, staring at the blank screen where Luther’s smug expression had been seconds ago. He thinks he’s won the first round. I know how he operates—stalling and obstructing and dragging cases out, hoping his adversary will lose momentum.

He is forgetting something critical.

Idon’tlose momentum.

Leaning back in my chair, I exhale slowly. The fight doesn’t usually bother me—this is what I live for. What I’ve built my career on. The strategy. The battle. The win.

I’ve gone up against some of the most powerful attorneys in Seattle, and I’ve beaten them. I’ll beat Luther too.

I glance at the clock. It’s later than I thought, and my stomach twists—not in hunger. More like a familiar gnawing sensation I’ve grown used to following aggressive conversations. Still, given my schedule, I need to get something to eat now before my afternoon full of meetings.

By the time I step into the Finney Cooper cafeteria, the lunch rush has passed, leaving a steady hum of conversation and the rhythmic clatter of utensils. I pick up my usual grilled chicken salad and chamomile tea, an order so ingrained I don’t even have to think about it.

It’s the safe choice—healthy and something no one will give me a side-eye for eating. Despite my regular workouts and dedication to a constant calorie deficit, I’ve gained two pounds this month, and I feel it, in the way my sweater rides up over my stomach. How the sleeves of my blouse feel tighter on my upper arms.

It’s depressing.

With lunch in hand, I take a seat near the window alone and attempt to shake off my gloomy mood by reading on my iPad. Halfway through pushing my food around my plate, a familiar voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Mind if I join you?”

I glance up, startled, to find the founder of the firm, my law partner, Joe Finney, hovering over me with a fresh coffee in hand.

Immediately, I slam my iPad shut and gesture to the chair across from me. “Of course.”

“I had to conflict out of a potential client this morning,” Joe says as he sits.

My eyebrows furrow, confused. “Okay?”

“A young neurosurgical resident, Seamus McGloughlin.” His gaze narrows indecipherably.

I blink. I wasn’t expecting to hear his name. “What?”

Joe watches my reaction, carefully. “He was referred by his brother and is looking for representation for any potential exposure he might have on a malpractice case. It didn’t take long to realize it’s the same lawsuit you filed against his mentor.”

“Why is he preventatively worried about liability?” My hackles are up. This is strange. Did he do something in the operating room that contributed to Miranda’s condition?

Joe tilts his head slightly. “Considering his background and some of the legal shit his family’s been through, he’s not stupid. He knows how this works.”

“I don’t understand.” I exhale, shaking my head. “Sure, I might bring him into the suit if I learn something relevant during discovery. As far as I can tell, Caldwell is the one who made the surgical decisions and anything McGloughlin did would fail under vicarious liability. The fact he called, however, makes me think I should reconsider.”

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