Page 91 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

The building is all glass and silence. Modern art on the walls. Security that doesn’t smile. The receptionist offers me a cup of fresh coffee and escorts me to the elevator with the efficiency of a five-star hotel.

“Mr. Carter will see you in three minutes,” another assistant says, guiding me into an empty boardroom with panoramic views of the city.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Then a man walks in—sharp suit, calm energy, practiced confidence.

“Cole Dawson?” he asks, his voice smooth and deliberate.

I stand. “Yes.”

“Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand. “I’m Damien Carter. How may I help you?”

“I sent a confidential letter a few weeks ago. The tracking confirmed it arrived. I was hoping you’d read it.”

“I don’t read anything for free,” he says.

I set my coffee down. “So, you’re one of those asshole lawyers.”

“The biggest one you’ll ever meet.”

“Alright, then.” I stand. “Thanks for your time.”

“I don’t typically do revenge plots, Mr. Dawson,” he says before I reach the door. “But I read every word of your letter. I’m just pretending I didn’t—because you said, and I quote, ‘sometimes I feel like harming my father.’”

I blink.

He studies my face. “Is he still alive?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I don’t represent murderers.”

He walks to the head of the table, casually clicking his pen. “How much is his empire worth these days?”

“I’m not going after his money.”

“I’m calculating my fee.”

I sigh. “Thirty million. Give or take.”

“There are really that many people buying his bullshit?”

“He gains more fans every day.”

He smiles. “Tell you what—don’t burn the house down just yet. Something like this needs a slow fire.”

“What does that mean?”

“Can you prove he was the one driving that night?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Phone records,” I say. “He called me to come get him. And… they never took my blood. I just…”

“Admitted to a crime you didn’t commit to protect him,” he finishes.

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