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I’m in the same dark denim and black polo from when I left the Inn an hour ago.
Roger Harris’s office is a dimly lit and cluttered space. An oak table that looks like it’s been chewed up rests in the center. The walls are grey and the flickering overhead lamp is going to give me a migraine before I walk out of here. Which is fine because I’ll be that much more of an asshole.
“Noah! Good to see you. Got yourself working Saturdays now? You really don’t take breaks, do you?”
I glare grimly at him. It’s usually something I do with my clients when I need to get the upper hand. When I need to pull the truth. Or when I’m about to terminate our agreement. “I'm afraid this isn’t a social call, Harris.”
“Oh,” he releases a breath. “We’re all set for court, aren’t we? You said the builders didn’t have the right to walk out on the job short notice. You said—”
I set my hands in my pockets. “I’m here about another matter.”
He’s thrown off guard but shrugs to appease me. “I guess I could spare a few minutes.”
“A young woman came to see me today with a claim against you regarding her apartment. A…Charlotte Whitley.”
He leans back in his chair waving a dismissive hand. “Eh, she’s got nothing. Girl can’t even afford a lawyer. Telling you, you gotta stop taking those pro bonos.”
I offer a tight grin. “Perhaps you’re right.” I sigh and twist, pacing his office. “But for your sake, I do need to ask you a few questions.”
He spreads his arms openly. “Go for it. Got nothin’ to hide.”
“I’d like to see Charlotte Whitley’s apartment.”
Harris holds up his finger, as if to say he knows this one. Like we’re practicing for one of our court cases. The ones I always win for him. “She never had an apartment here. She lived with her mother, who was under the lease agreement.”
I nod with an unamused grin, giving the guy credit for that factual correction. “I’d like to see Sara Whitley’s apartment.”
He grimaces. “You sure? I mean, someone did just die in there.”
Fire burns my chest but I’m not like my brothers. I’m not my father. I contain my anger. I strategize.
I can wait for my punch.
I twist my hands like I’m out of options. “Kind of necessary if you want to prove you did nothing wrong.”
He nods and grabs his keys.
I take another walk through the cold, empty space. Floorboards squeaking with every step.
I look up at the ceiling again in the kitchen. My gut wrenching when I calculate approximately how long it’s been like that.
“And look,” Roger continues his mind-numbing theories. “You and I both know that for a new tenant, I can raise the rent as I see fit. It’s the existing tenants I have a limit on. And she wasn’t on the lease, so…”
I nod, giving the small space one last look. “Yes,” I mumble. “An unfortunate technicality.”
“Exactly. Unfortunate for her. I’m still good, right?”
I perk a brow at him and take another few photos of the water damage, afraid of what I’d find if I had it inspected by a professional.
“How many times would you say she complained about that?” I ask with a bite to my tone. Surprised at how difficult it is to keep emotions in check.
Roger hesitates. “I…uh…don’t think she did.”
I nod slower this time. “Rog, if she does get a lawyer to take her case…will they find something during discovery?”
“Nope.” He says too confidently, and I get the urge to get physical. It troubles me.
I narrow my gaze. “Remember. They check her emails too.” Even if I have to wrestle them out of her.
