Chapter 13

James Fogerty’s office was too warm. It always was. Fogerty and Lancaster sat on one side of the desk, the third partner hovering near the window like a silent observer. Three nameplates. One problem.

“Is it the money?” Fogerty asked.

Bill Lancaster nodded once, waiting.

“No,” Max said. “I’m leaving because my time here is finished.”

Fogerty didn’t hide his confusion well. Lancaster didn’t try.

“We’ll triple your salary,” Bill said. “And benefits. We can add whatever you want—equity, housing, a driver—just tell us.”

Max stood. They followed her movement with their eyes.

“I’m opening my own firm,” she said. “As a courtesy, I won’t solicit the clients I brought in. But if they reach out to me directly, I’ll engage. That is the extent of the courtesy.”

All three men nodded.

Fogerty rose to shake her hand first. When their palms met, Max left a flash drive behind.

He looked down at it.

“My employment agreement requires that I return any material that could expose the firm,” she said. “You now have everything I ever handled. No duplicates.”

Lancaster extended his hand next. He was less steady.

Max met his eyes. “Bill, begin reclassifying the massage therapy charges. The categorization is sloppy.”

He paled.

He cleared his throat. “If the firm were to retain you privately, how would we proceed?”

“Cara Worthington,” Max said. “She’ll take your call.”

No elaboration.

Max stepped out. She paused at reception long enough to give Janice a brief nod.

The elevator arrived as she reached it. She entered. The doors closed.

That concluded her employment at Fogerty & Lancaster.

Present Day

Interior – Public Defender’s Office

Philip signs the substitution-of-counsel form without ceremony, sliding it back toward Cara with a grunt.

“She’s yours. Quiet one.”

Cara keeps her tone neutral. “Quiet how?”

Philip scratches his jaw. “Doesn’t talk. Barely looks up. I’ve seen shutdown before, but this one’s deep.”

He shrugs. Just the facts.

“Didn’t get much from her.”

Max stands beside Cara, hands in her coat pockets. “Combative?”

Philip shakes his head. “No. More like she’s underwater.”

A beat.

“Refused showers last couple days. Thought you should know.”

Cara nods. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here.”

Philip’s already reaching for the next file.

“Good luck.”

Savannah stood in the bathroom, staring at the test on the counter. One line meant not pregnant. Two meant pregnant.

She kept reading the box like the words might rearrange themselves into something less permanent.

The first year with Seb had felt cinematic—soft mornings, easy affection, dinners out when they felt like being the couple people envied. Her job at NeedOne was taking shape exactly the way she’d imagined, the kind of trajectory that made people whisper her name with respect.

A baby would… change things.

But then she pictured it—Baby Walter. Maybe Seb’s green eyes. Maybe her cheekbones. A perfect blend. Beautiful. That mattered to her more than she wanted to admit.

A sharp beep pulled her attention back to the test.

Two lines.

Her stomach dropped.

The garage door whirred open. Savannah froze. She hadn’t thought about the timing. How to say it. Whether she was supposed to be excited, terrified, or something in between.

“Babe?” Seb called.

“In here!” she shouted, too quickly. She rinsed her hands and picked up the test without thinking.

Seb stepped into the doorway, smiling—until he saw the stick in her hand.

“Is that…?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, shy, unsure. “I know we weren’t trying. And this might change—”

She didn’t finish. He crossed the room in two strides and lifted her off her feet.

“This is amazing,” he said into her shoulder, voice warm and certain. He kissed her, gentle, then pulled her close again. “Savannah, just think—”

“Spencer!”

The shout crashed through the memory.

A guard. The fluorescent lights. The cold concrete.

Savannah blinked hard, breath catching in her throat.

“Some lawyers are here for you,” the guard said.

She followed him out of the cell, the echo of Seb’s voice still drifting somewhere she couldn’t reach.

Transition – Jail, Hallway

As they walk, Max speaks low.

“Catatonic?”

Cara exhales. “Grief does strange things.”

Max doesn’t reply, but the look she gives says enough.

The deputy opens the door to the attorney interview room.

“Savannah Spencer,” he announces, like he’s reading from a clipboard he didn’t bring.

Savannah steps in—thin, disoriented, and smelling like she gave up on hygiene sometime last week.

Her eyes flick between them, landing on Cara first.

Cara stands. “Ms. Spencer, I’m Cara Worthington. This is my partner, Max Carlisle. We’re here to talk about representation.”

Savannah nods, cautious. “Okay.”

She sits. The smell settles. Damp. Sour. Baked into the jumpsuit.

Cara doesn’t flinch, but tilts her head slightly and gestures to the deputy.

“Why hasn’t she been allowed to shower?”

The deputy frowns. “Ma’am, she’s been offered. She’s not taking them. We can’t force her. Not yet.”

Savannah looks up. “I showered.”

Max stays still.

Cara softens, just enough to register.

“If you say you’ve been showering, I trust you. Let’s just make sure you’re comfortable moving forward.”

Savannah relaxes, almost clinging.

“I’ll be clean next time,” she says quickly. “I promise.”

Cara nods. “Good.”

She sits.

“We’d like to represent you. Worthington & Carlisle handles complex criminal matters. Max will support the investigative side. You’ll have both of us on your case. Do you understand?”

Savannah looks between them. She doesn’t track all of it, but she catches the shape.

“Yes,” she says. “I—I want that. I want you.”

Cara slides the retainer across. Savannah signs without reading.

When the deputy returns and leads her out, Max waits until the door clicks shut.

“Cara,” she says, “she’s lying. She hasn’t showered in days.”

Cara gathers the papers, aligning the edges.

“She’s overwhelmed. Bullying her about hygiene won’t help.”

“That wasn’t bullying. That was reality.”

Cara shakes her head. “She needs someone in her corner. If a little compassion helps her feel safe, it’s not a big deal.”

Max doesn’t respond.

Cara wouldn’t hear it.

But Savannah’s delusions had heard every word.