Chapter 4 - The Lawyer I Never Hired
The man called himself Daniel Price.
He was forty-something, clean-cut, expensive suit, expensive watch, and the careful smile of someone who expected people to trust him because he had good teeth.
“I represent Emily Hart Cole,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” I answered.
His smile stayed in place.
“I understand you’re under considerable stress.”
Adrian moved between us.
“She said she doesn’t know you.”
Daniel glanced at him.
“This conversation may involve privileged matters.”
Adrian laughed without humor.
“Try again.”
Victor remained by the window, silent.
Daniel opened his briefcase and removed a document.
“My firm was retained on Mrs. Cole’s behalf six weeks ago.”
“By who?”
“By Mrs. Cole.”
I stood too quickly and felt the room tilt.
Adrian caught my elbow.
I steadied myself.
“I never hired you.”
Daniel turned the document around.
At the bottom was my signature.
It looked perfect.
That was the worst part.
I had signed my name that way on hundreds of forms.
The loop in the E.
The pressure mark under Hart.
Even the slight upward slash in Cole.
My mouth went dry.
“That’s forged.”
Daniel’s smile finally weakened.
“Mrs. Cole, this agreement authorized my firm to advise you regarding separation, custody, and mental-health planning.”
“I have never spoken to you in my life.”
He looked down at the paper as if it might rescue him.
Adrian reached for it.
“Give him the document.”
“I understand that your client just told you she never retained you.”
“You say that again and security carries you out.”
He looked at Cassandra through the glass.
Just once.
But I saw it.
The glass turned opaque.
“I can’t discuss another client.”
Victor nodded.
“Fine.”
“Federal building. White-collar division.”
He didn’t need to.
“I was contacted by an intermediary.”
“Convenient.”
“Voice?”
“I never did that.”
Adrian’s face changed.
“What?”
Victor said, “Someone cloned her voice.”
You sounded so warm, she had written.
Now it felt like a threat sent three months early.
He removed a sealed envelope.
“What’s inside?”
I tore it open.
Mine.
I stopped breathing.
Probability of paternity: 99.98%.
“Emily…”
I turned the page.
The alleged father’s name was printed in bold.
May you like
MICHAEL REEVES.
And Michael Reeves had been dead for eleven years.
