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“You’re sure they have nothing to offer to hurt you?”
“I have their written statements. If they deviate, they look like liars.”
A knock sounds on the door, and Reese stands up. “I’ll grab the food.”
I nod and grab a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, and a few minutes later, we are both pigging out on waffles and eggs. “Set aside the case for a while,” Reese says. “Any regrets over the agent firing this morning?”
“None. Though she was the one who texted me while we were asleep. She wants to talk.”
“Are you going to talk to her?”
“I’ll talk to her, but I’m not rehiring her. I’ll start looking for a new one to deal with my option when the trial is over.”
“How do options work?”
“I signed a contract and they optioned my next true crime novel. They get first right of refusal. But I know the terms. I’m not legally obligated to accept the deal with Dan. I am legally obligated to present a proposal for my own book, though they can decline, because I turned down the partnership with Dan. But that’s fine. Once they pass, and I get another agent, I can go to another publisher.”
“A lot of people would have taken the deal, Cat.”
“And I have my mother to thank for leaving me my apartment and a trust fund I’ll inherit at thirty-five. I’m not in a position where I have to do what I don’t want to do.”
“I didn’t know about the trust,” he says.
“I don’t talk about it. It’s hard to look forward to money you get because a parent died.”
“How did she die?”
“She had untreated high blood pressure that triggered a massive stroke.”
“That’s rough.”
“It was hard. She wasn’t all that happy. My father treated her like crap. She and I fought a lot because I wanted her to get out, or at least force him to do right by her.”
“I understand. My parents have struggles. At times, I think they’d be better off apart.”
“If it weren’t from watching the Walker couples, I’m not sure I’d even believe marriage can work,” I admit. “But they don’t seem like normal human beings.”
“And what am I, Cat?” he asks, studying me, watching me for a reaction.
What is he? It’s a complicated question that I answer as simply as possible. “Not an asshole anymore.”
“I’ll take that,” he says. “For now.” He moves on. “Didn’t you tell me your brother came by? I got the impression you weren’t on good terms.”
“We haven’t been but the whole visit was odd. He wants something. He actually asked about you.”
His brow furrows. “What about me?”
“He just asked if I would recommend you as the best of the best. Or something along those lines. I said yes and he dropped the topic.”
“Does he know about us?”
“No. I think it was because of the trial. You’re on everyone’s radar. And apparently, he actually reads my column, which highlights your trial skills.”
“Which brother?”
“Gabe. He’s the second oldest and he works for my father’s firm. Oh, and since we’re talking about my column. I think I should save my ‘who done it’ angle in my column for later in the week, right before Kelli’s testimony. If you agree, I’ll reframe the pages I’ve written for tomorrow, which I need to do soon.”
“I agree,” he says, his eyes narrowing on me. “You’re not worried about journalistic integrity by colluding with the defense?”
