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“Yes, I do. And you owe her this.”

“Thirty days, and no back pay,” he counters.

“Sixty. And you pay her for the unjustified threat of a two-week suspension.”

Rhodes looks at me for a long moment, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Thirty days. Two weeks’ back pay for the suspension, not a day more. I’ll email HR now.”

Done here, I get up and head toward the door.

“You know,” Rhodes says without looking up from his email, “She was the best associate this firm has had in twenty years.”

“I know.” That isn’t even the half of it.

Stopping his typing, he turns partially and meets my eyes.

“You have a great deal to answer for with her.”

“More than you know,” I respond more to myself and walk out before Rhodes can say anything else.

I’m still at my desk at 4:30 p.m. when Cassandra appears in my doorway without knocking, barging into my space with her unwelcome presence.

“Jacky.” She smiles forcefully, attempting to appear at ease. “I was hoping to catch you.”

“Cassandra. And it’s Jackson,” I intone, giving her nothing but basic professional courtesy.

“I’ve asked you repeatedly to call me Cassie. We’re all friends here.”

She comes in without being invited and takes the chair across from my desk with the ease of someone who is comfortable in my space. An ease I allowed, even when my skin crawled.

“Things are finally calming down,” she says, crossing one leg over the other. “After everything with Phoenix, I think the firm can get back to⁠—”

“Are they?” I question.

Her smile stutters for a moment. “Are they what?”

“Calming down.” I lean back in my chair, tenting my fingers against my chin, listening closely.

Cassandra’s jaw drops slightly, momentarily shocked before she schools herself. “I think so, yes. Rhodes is shaken, but he will stabilize. The presentation was a God-awful spectacle, but there is nothing actionable in it; it was all hearsay.”

“She named a shell company. Phoenix wouldn’t have done that without proof. That would have been defamation, she’s smarter than that.” I keep my voice level with this woman, but breathing my girl’s name is trying my patience.

“An alleged connection,” Cassandra says smoothly. “It was unverified in her little slide-deck performance.”

“I verified it,” I say. “Three weeks ago, when I found it in those same files she accessed.”

Her face contorts into something ugly, before her snaky smile returns, slightly recalibrated. “Well then, it sounds like you have everything well in hand.”

She stands and smooths her jacket, moving toward the door in slow and measured steps.

“Cassandra,” I call out before she leaves.

She turns, hope momentarily flaring in her eyes.

“The Yarrow billing approvals from November,” I say. “I will need those flagged in the transfer file we have been creating by the end of the week.”

“Of … of course.” Panic edges into her voice. “Happy to help, I have nothing to hide.”