Page 8 of You, Only You

I'd been in the firm's law library on day three, cross-referencing a case citation in a bound volume of federal reporters, when the sensation of being observed had crept over me like a cold draft. I'd turned to find Nathaniel Sterling, the founding partner, silver-haired and distinguished in that way that whispered old money and older secrets, standing between two towering shelves of legal journals.

He hadn't spoken. He'd just studied me with eyes that held a weary, knowing intelligence, then nodded once, a gesture that felt less like greeting and more like... acknowledgment. Maybe a warning.

"Mr. Sterling," I'd said.

"Ms. Ashford." A pause. "I hope you're finding everything you need."

"The firm's records are very thorough."

"Yes, they certainly are." Something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Concern? Both? He took a final glance, turned, and as he walked away, he said, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

I'd stood there for a long moment after he left, trying to decide if that was friendly, threatening, or concerned. I settled on "all three" and went back to the federal reporters.

The fourth encounter had been the strangest of all.

A junior associate named Derek had appeared at my conference room door, bearing a latte and a smile that was working overtime. He was young, eager, the type who'd been told his whole life that charm was a skeleton key.

"Thought you might need a pick-me-up," he'd said, setting the cup on the table with a flourish. "These audits can be brutal. Anything I can help clarify?"

"That's very kind." I'd made no move to touch the coffee. "I'm fine with the files, thank you."

"It's just..." He'd leaned against the doorframe, casual and calculated. "Some of this stuff can be confusing without context, you know? The Henderson case, for instance. There were some unusual circumstances..."

"The Henderson case isn't in my current review scope."

His smile had faded. "Right. Of course. Well, if you have any questions..."

"I'll ask Mr. Steele directly."

He'd left, the latte growing cold and untouched on the table. I wasn't going to drink coffee offered by someone more interested in what I was finding than in whether I needed caffeine. My father had taught me many things, most of them unintentionally. One was that people who volunteer information are usually trying to control what you find.

Three days. Four encounters. And a growing certainty that Sterling & Steele was hiding something more interesting than billing irregularities.

I just hadn't expected that something to be quite so damning.

It started as routine due diligence. I was cross-referencing departure records with personnel files, looking for patterns in turnover that might indicate a hostile work environment or discriminatory practices. The kind of thing that shows up in ethics complaints, the kind of paper trail that tells a story if you know how to read it.

The first name was Marcus Anders, junior partner, departed fourteen months ago. The personnel file listed "pursuing other opportunities" as his reason for leaving. Neutral language. Standard practice. Nothing to see.

Except I was thorough. Pathologically thorough, according to my college roommate, who'd once watched me reorganize her entire bookshelf by publication date at two in the morning and told me I needed "a life, a therapist, or both, in thatorder." So I ran a public records search, just to see what "other opportunities" Marcus Anders had pursued.

"Oh," I breathed, staring at my screen.

Forty-eight hours before his resignation, a legal blog had published a story about a sealed sexual harassment settlement Anders had reached with a former paralegal. The seal had been mysteriously breached. The settlement amount was eye-watering. The details were graphic enough to end any partnership prospects in the tri-state area.

Coincidence,I told myself.Has to be.

I pulled the next file. Carla Jenkins, paralegal, resigned abruptly mid-trial. The name was familiar; I'd flagged the HR anomaly in my first meeting with Will. Her public record search revealed that she'd resigned one day after court documents were unsealed, exposing a prior fraud conviction she'd failed to disclose on her bar application.

My coffee went cold beside me as I pulled file after file.

Gregory Prentiss, senior associate. Resigned after a news outlet exposed his membership in a private club with documented ties to white supremacist organizations.

Diana Chen, contracts specialist. Left the firm two days after an anonymous tip led investigators to discover she'd been padding billable hours on three major accounts.

Thomas Whitmore, litigation support. Quit after following revelations about a gambling addiction that had led him to access confidential client information for insider trading tips.

The pattern was undeniable. Every single person who'd left Sterling & Steele in the past three years had a scandal break days before their departure. Not weeks. Not months. Days. The timing was surgical.