Page 11 of The Quiet After The Fall

My father’s already waiting when I get off the elevator and sweeps his gaze over me from top to bottom, his lip curling.

“You look like hell.”

“Good morning to you too.”

Then there’s silence. I wish I could say it was the peaceful kind, but with Richard Aldrich, the silence is always weighted. I won’t be the one to start a conversation, not with him and not right now.

I take a seat in one of the leather chairs but he stands there, straight backed, hands fisted at his sides until our attorney, Jeffrey Harris, comes to collect us five minutes later.

The conference room runs the length of the back wall, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the east side of Ashford. On a clearer day, you could probably see the Hudson from up here. I’d much rather look at that than the faces of these old fucks in front of me.

Harris takes his seat at the head of the table. Two of his associates flank him, laptops open, legal pads and pens stacked next to them. They’re eager as fuck, and why shouldn’t they be? They’re sitting on a goldmine.

My father and I sit across from them. I pour water from the pitcher in the center and stare at the condensation ring it leaves on the table while Harris opens his folder.

“Let’s get into it,” my father says, all business as usual. This man can’t be in a room without thinking he’s running the show.

Harris clears his throat and opens the folder. “We’ve had movement on the civil side. Wonder World’s insurance carrier came back with an updated figure, still below where we’d like, but it opens the door for negotiation.”

He slides documents across the table. My father picks them up and scans every word. I try to read over his shoulder, but I can’t take in more than a stray word or two. “The more pressing issue at this stage is the Thorne situation.”

My chest squeezes at her name out of that skin bag’s lips.

“I’ve heard through the grapevine that Ms. Thorne has responded to at least one of the firms that contacted her.” Harris folds his hands. “We don’t yet know which one, or whether she’s formally retained counsel. But we should proceed as though she has.”

“What the fu—” My father glares at me, so I self-correct, unclenching my fists and setting them on the table. “What does Thorne have to do with us?”

Harris glances between us, blinking way too much for someone who’s not about to talk out of his ass. “Ms. Thorne was present on Velocity at the time of the malfunction. She sustained injuries. And given her relationship to the deceased…” he pauses, and I can practically see the thought bubble floating above his head, “she’s considered a high value plaintiff. If she retains aggressive counsel and pursues litigation rather than settlement, it complicates our position considerably.”

“She won’t,” my father says.

I look at him hoping it’ll help me decipher what the hell he’s talking about.

“She has no property, no savings, and a father sitting in Otisville.” He reaches for his water glass. “She’ll take the money and move on. That’s what people in her position do.”

People in her position.

I set my jaw and look back at the table.

“With respect,” Harris says, “we can’t assume⁠—”

“I’m not assuming. I’m telling you how this plays out. They’ll make her a reasonable offer, something she can’t turn down given her circumstances. She’ll take it.”

Harris’s lackeys make notes on their computers. They accept his words and move forward the way people always do when my father speaks in that tone.

I clear my throat and ask the one question that’s been churning in my mind since Harris brought up Sawyer’s name. “Why the hell do we care whether or not she settles?”

Harris shifts in his seat, his mouth hanging open like a fish. I wait for him to make words with said mouth but he closes it as fast as it takes me to blink. Then he glances at my father, like he needs permission to speak.

My father’s brow creases slightly, but otherwise his expression stays the same. He gestures to Harris.

“Because litigation means discovery. And discovery brings its own set of concerns. It’s best to keep this out of a courtroom.”

I’m still fucking confused. Wouldn’t they want litigation? That could mean even more money for them.

I look at my father for more.

“It’s standard liability management,” he says. “We avoid discovery wherever possible. That’s why we pay Harris more than he deserves.”