Page 12 of The Quiet After The Fall

Harris laughs uncomfortably. My father leans back in his chair. Yup, that’s all I’m getting. End of conversation.

Harris moves on, going over numbers. The lackeys keep typing.

I look between them, trying to read the spaces between words, then back down at the table.

Something’s sitting wrong. I can’t name it but it’s there. A feeling that this is more than it seems.

I pick up my water glass and focus on a drip sliding down the edge. Yeah, there’s something off about all this.

The meeting wraps forty minutes later, all my questions still unanswered. Harris shakes my father’s hand, gathers his folder, and disappears with his men down the hall, off to another meeting at the courthouse.

The conference room door closes behind them. I pull out my phone, ready to open the tracking app and check up on Sawyer before leaving.

“You had questions in here that didn’t need asking,” my father says, and I look up, watching him stand and adjust his tie.

“I work for this company. I’m part of this family. This was my accident. My lawsuit. I think I’m entitled to understand what the hell is going on.”

“You’re entitled to what I tell you.” He picks up his jacket from the back of the chair. “Nothing more.”

I watch him shrug it on and button it, my hand squeezing my phone. “I can’t stand being in the same room as you.”

His sharp eyes narrow.

“Then leave.” He straightens his lapels. “No one’s keeping you here.”

I laugh and it comes out low and ugly. “You’ve been keeping me since I was twenty-two years old.”

I already know I’ve said too much. He turns to face me fully, and I make myself hold his gaze even though every survival instinct I have is telling me to walk it back. To smooth it over. To do what I’ve always done.

“Be very careful,” he says quietly.

It happens fast. One moment, he’s standing at arms distance. The next, his hand is fisted in the front of my jacket and he’s pulling me up, shoving me backward until my shoulders hit the window. The glass is cool through my shirt.

He gets in my face, close enough that I can smell the whiskey underneath the coffee. It’s early, even for him.

“You think this is a game.” His voice is low and controlled. “You think you can sit in that chair and talk to me like that and there are no consequences.”

I don’t move. I know better.

“Sawyer Thorne is a loose thread,” he says. “And I am handling it. You are going to stay out of my way and you are going to show up Friday and you are going to smile at Vince Moretti like your life depends on it.” He holds me there, breathing heavy. “Because it does. Do you understand me?”

Seconds go by where we’re locked in this silent battle of wills. I stay quiet, stewing in every single word I want to spit in his face.

He releases me and steps back, smoothing the front of his own jacket with a tug.

“Get yourself together, Knox.” He picks up his briefcase. “You’re smarter than this.”

He leaves the door wide open as he goes, and I watch his retreating frame, standing there by the window, trying to control my breathing.

Control. Something I’m barely holding on to.

Get me the hell out of this building. I pull out my phone and open the app.

Her blue dot is moving. I head toward the elevator, keys already in my palm.

Chapter 4

Sawyer