Chapter 11

Cara sat in the library, brimming with excitement and trying not to show it. She wasn’t sure if Max would go for the case — that was the only question.

It wasn’t about money. They’d out-billed some of the most prominent firms in the state, even the powerhouse they both left.

Well—Max left. I got fired.

Even though Cara came out ahead, it still grated from time to time. Not in a way that hurt. Just in a way that lingered.

The bar had been dim, all exposed brick and expensive shadows. A place where ambitious people pretended to be relaxed.

Cara sat at the end, whiskey untouched.

Not crying. Not unraveling.

Just still.

Like if she moved, the whole day might reverse itself.

Max slid into the seat next to her like she’d been summoned. No greeting. Just flagged the bartender.

“You look like someone ran a hostile takeover on your soul,” she said.

Cara gave a hollow laugh. “I got fired.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “Figured. You want sympathy or a refill?”

“Both.”

The bartender brought Max a club soda. She sipped it like it was Scotch.

“It was Whitney,” Cara said. “She went to the board. Said I wasn’t aligned with the firm’s new direction. Laid out a bunch of moves I didn’t even know she clocked.”

Max didn’t respond. Just blinked, waiting.

Cara shook her head slowly. “I didn’t expect it.”

Max raised a brow. “Why not?”

“She’s… I don’t know. I backed her. Gave her space. I wasn’t trying to compete.”

Max leaned back. “So you thought Whitney was gonna do the right thing by you.”

Cara bristled. “Is that so wild?”

Max looked at her. “No. It’s just naïve.”

Cara tried to gather her thoughts. “I thought she saw me as… someone on her side. Not the enemy.”

Max snorted into her glass. Didn’t apologize.

“You really thought being one of the good ones was a force field.”

Cara stiffened. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant,” Max said flatly. “You saw yourself as different. So did Matt. So do most of you.”

“Matt?” Cara echoed.

Max stared at her. “The posh guy who smiled at you in meetings and still took credit for your work. You expected it from him. Called it politics. But when Whitney did it? Suddenly it’s betrayal.”

Cara swallowed.

“You didn’t see her, Cara. You saw who she made you feel like. Safe. Righteous. Aligned. But never equal. You flattened her into a symbol that made you feel good. That’s not solidarity. That’s self-soothing.”

Silence.

“You're mad because she moved like a shark,” Max said, finishing her drink. “But we’re all sharks. She just didn’t hide it behind an NPR tote bag.”

Cara looked away.

“Cmon,” Max said, getting up. “If we hurry before they close we might see something.”

They sat in silence, tucked in the corner of the library like they were waiting for something they hadn’t named.

At the community resources desk, a Black woman—dreads pulled back, hoodie clean but worn—leaned forward, hopeful. She was explaining her background in culinary, asking if there were programs that could help her get recertified.

The white woman behind the desk smiled wide, tone syrupy. Trained. Every word dipped in a kind of faux warmth that sounded helpful until you actually listened.

“Well, there is a list,” she said. “And we do offer support, but… it can take a while. Funding depends on several factors. We can’t make any promises.”

Her cadence was gentle, sing-song almost. Her posture leaned in, but her words held the woman out.

Cara’s jaw tightened.

She knew this play.

To perform graciousness. To speak in the language of inclusivity while holding the door shut with her foot.

Say enough to look helpful. Smile enough to sound like she cared. Never commit. Never follow through.

Offer just enough warmth to be blameless when nothing came of it.

She had done this.

Not out of cruelty. Not even consciously. But she’d mastered the art of appearing available without ever risking true investment.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

She wanted to swat it away, retreat into rationalizations—processes, deadlines, structure. But something in her, still raw from Whitney’s betrayal, told her to just sit with it.

Just for a moment.

The woman at the desk nodded, thanked the gatekeeper, and walked off with a paper that meant nothing.

Still watching, Max asked quietly, “What do you see?”

“A woman reaching out for help only to be denied basic human decency. I know how I saw Whitney isn’t exactly the same, but I’d be lying if I didn't see notes of a similar theme.”

“Looks like I’ve accomplished my magical negro quota for the day,” Max smiled wryly.

Cara rolled her eyes. Max had a point and she knew it.

Then, she had an idea.

“What if we threw in together?”

“Meaning?”

“We made our own firm.”

Max looked at her incredulously. “I don’t practice law anymore.”

“And you wouldn’t have to,” Cara said emphatically. “Unless you wanted to. But look with your PI skills and my legal expertise, we could make a name for ourselves.”

“Uh huh,” Max said, not completely dismissing the idea. “I don’t have a noncompete in my contract.”

“How’d you swing that?” Cara asked incredulously.

“By being a shark,” Max said with a wink.“I couldn’t outright solicit. That would be in poor taste. But I know most of Fogerty & Lancaster’s high value clients would follow me off of a cliff.”

“It could be 25/75 split,” Cara said earnestly. “You’d be earning off the bat first I’d bet.

Max didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m good with 65%. We’ll call it Worthington & Carlisle. I like being behind the scenes.”

And Worthington & Carlisle they were.

Present Day

Cara spotted Max cutting through the rows of tables, coffee in hand.

Max plopped down across from her and slid one across the table.

“None for you?”

Max waved her off. “What’s up?”

Cara pushed a folded newspaper toward her. The headline read:

“CloudView Elite Slain in Home by Mad Woman.”

Max raised her brows. “I heard about this. What about it?”

Cara’s eyes sparked. “I want to represent her.”

“The mad woman?” Max said incredulously. “I’m all for pro bono, but—”

“Hear me out,” Cara insisted. “There’s something about this one. I don’t know, it’s got bones. I can feel it.”

Max studied her for a moment. “Well, if you’re game, I’ll back your play. Just hope you haven’t gotten us into a Primal Fear situation.”

Cara feigned offense. “I would never. Besides, it gives you some time away from your stuffy clients.”

Max picked up the paper, scanning the article. “He’s the son of a political titan. This is going to have the press all over it.”

“But it could be good for morale.”

Max smirked. “My conscience is clean. But this is your baby.”

“Great.”

Max folded the paper once and tapped it against the table, the decision sealed. Cara gathered the folder, trying not to look too triumphant.

They stood, falling into step without discussing where they were headed next. Outside, the late-morning light washed across the library steps, bright but not warm.

“Alright then,” Max said, tossing the paper into the nearest bin. “Let’s go meet your mad woman.”

Cara nodded, pulse quickening. “Let’s.”