The green-room door opened before I could put my phone away.
Senator David Reynolds stepped into the service corridor, adjusting the cuff of his tuxedo.
He had been my closest friend since our first year of law school, when we were two exhausted scholarship students sharing case notes and vending-machine coffee.
His eyes moved from my face to the apron tied over my navy dress.
Then he looked through the doorway at Sterling Thorne.
“You said you needed a witness?” he asked.
“Stand here,” I said quietly.
“Please don’t announce me yet.”
David had known me long enough not to ask unnecessary questions.
He moved beside the stainless-steel counter, partially hidden by the kitchen door.
Sophia remained on the milk crate, her LSAT book clutched against her chest.
The floor manager stood several feet away, staring at the message on his phone that apparently instructed him to fire her.
Sterling entered the corridor a moment later.
He did not notice David in the shadows.
He pointed at Sophia first.
“You were told to leave.”
“I’m on my scheduled break,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Your schedule is no longer my concern.
Collect your things.”
The floor manager cleared his throat.
“Mr.
Thorne, the catering company handles personnel decisions.”
Sterling turned on him.
“And who do you think hired the catering company? Remove her, or I’ll make certain your company never works in this building again.”
Then he looked at me.
“And take the other one with you.”
I folded my hands over the front of the apron.
“Before I go, may I ask one question?”
Sterling gave a theatrical sigh.
“Make it quick.”
“The toxicity reports you mentioned—were those the reports from the Meridian facilities?”
His expression hardened.
For the first time, he looked directly at my face.
“What did you hear?”
“Only that they were hidden in box four thousand.”
Sterling stepped closer.
“You heard nothing.
You poured drinks while attorneys discussed a confidential matter you could not possibly understand.”
Behind him, the nervous senior partner appeared in the doorway.
His face had gone pale.
“Sterling,” he warned, “stop talking.”
Sterling ignored him.
“The reports are buried exactly where I said they were,” he snapped at me.
“Nobody will find them unless somebody tells Judge Vance where to look, and nobody in this kitchen is going to do that.”
David stepped into the light.
“I wouldn’t be so certain,” he said.
Sterling’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
He recognized the senator immediately.
Everyone in that ballroom did.
Sterling had spent weeks boasting that David Reynolds would deliver the keynote at his future son-in-law’s reception.
“Senator,” Sterling said, recovering just enough to force a smile.
“I didn’t realize you were standing there.”
“That appears to be a recurring problem tonight.”
Sterling glanced at me again.
His eyes narrowed as he studied the navy silk beneath my apron, the pearl earrings Ethan had given me for my birthday, and the expression I had used from the bench when lawyers tried to turn evasions into answers.
I untied the apron.
