Principal Costas gestured to the remaining vacant chair in his dated, but well-maintained office. I sat down next to the mystery woman and shot her an uncertain glance.
“Ivy, I’d like you to meet Mallory Hunter,” Costas explained.
I smiled at the attractive blonde in her early thirties. She was wearing a sharp, black skirt suit and screamed polished hardass. Her returning smile was tight, but there was a soft pity about her expression I didn’t entirely understand.
“Ms. Hunter is a lawyer on behalf of your father’s estate, as I understand,” Costas explained. “Smith Porter called earlier this morning to arrange this meeting. I am going to give you time to…. talk.”
Principal Costas put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and then left his office quietly. I gulped back some awkward nervousness and then shifted so I could face Mallory Hunter head on.
“Hi, Ivy,” she greeted soothingly. She held a folder in her lap, and there was an expensive brief case at her feet.
“Hi,” I said simply and then curiosity got the better of me. “Do you work for Jared?” Jared T. Artero was the lawyer in charge of my father’s estate and my trust. We talked every year around Christmas time, he because he was my father’s friend as well as legal advice and he liked to make sure I was Ok, and me because I liked to make sure my money was Ok.
“Not exactly,” she smiled brighter and I could see that it was her method of placating me. “I’m here on behalf of Smith Porter. Actually I work for the sister firm of Arnold, Terkoff and Blane. My firm is Hastle and Crimmens, but Catarina Arnold is my mentor.”
“Ok, so I’m really confused,” I grimaced. What did she just say?
“Catarina Arnold is employed by Mr. Porter, she is also my boss…. indirectly. As I understand this, your situation is very…. precarious. Smith brought me in to ensure nothing could be directly linked back to him, Catarina or Jared.”
“Ah.” Well, Ok, that made sense. And if my mom ever started asking questions I would just have Mallory recite that entire jumble of words. She would be confused immediately.
“I’ve met you here, because I understand your home life is…. intense?” Mallory had this way of punching her point. She would pause dramatically and then say her point with enthusiastic curiosity. I bet her tactic worked well with indecisive juries. “Smith has expressed concern that you might be facing abuse. As you know if you are in verifiable danger, it is possible for you to acquire the full amount of your trust early. Verifiable danger can be defined as any kind of abuse, emotional, physical or verbal with recorded evidence or life-threatening circumstances that you are capable of involving the police or FBI in. Can you claim either of these conditions?”
My mother slapping me flew to the forefront of my mind, but then again it wasn’t that awful. It was just a slap. It wasn’t like I had to be rushed to the emergency room or anything. The mark was completely gone by morning, no evidence or scars left behind. What did verbal abuse even mean? My mother was harsh at times, callous and unfeeling always, but was that actual abuse? Had I suffered anything that could be proven in the court of law other than a messed up sense of reality and unrealistic expectations?
“I don’t have anything I can prove,” I finally admitted. “I’m not even sure Smith is entirely justified in involving you. There’s no abuse happening in my life.”
Not yet anyway. And by that time I’ll be eighteen, I’ll be an adult. So it won’t matter.
“I was afraid of this,” Mallory’s face filled with more pity. “Smith and Catarina are very good friends of mine. I’ve taken this case as a favor to them. And I’m working with Jared, who seems to share some of the same concerns as Smith. Unlike Smith, Jared respects your mother, thinks the world of her actually, but he has shared some of your father’s dying words and I understand why Jared feels the way he does.”
My father’s dying words? What did that mean?
I opened my mouth to ask, but she continued. “There might not be anything to share with me now. There might never be. But I don’t think Smith would have gone to all these lengths if there wasn’t something going on.”
After several moments of charged silence I finally settled on, “You’re right. I can’t prove anything, but I need my trust early. I need it now.”
“Alright, then that’s what we will work on. I won’t call you, or contact you in any way other than here at school. And I’ll visit again in a month. If you can record anything you think is useful on your phone. Or if anything happens take a picture of it immediately. If…. conditions worsen for you, get ahold of Smith immediately. Does that work for you?” She raked her eyes over me in a way that screamed I was her client and nothing else. Pity maybe? But there was no sympathy behind Mallory Hunter’s expression.
Still it was obvious she kicked ass in court.
“Yes, that works for me,” I agreed feeling like I was signing away something very precious. Like my soul.
Which was ridiculous. If anything, staying was so much worse than leaving for that same thing.
“Alright, then. Ivy, thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch,” she stood then and stretched out her hand. I echoed every movement and then bit back a smile at her firm handshake.
She was just so…. professional.
“Thank you, Mallory,” I gushed not meaning to. I actually meant to return the professional air of civility, but suddenly I found myself near tears. Partly because Smith had disregarded everything I said. But mostly because there was hope that I hadn’t felt in a really long time. Hope I hadn’t felt in maybe ever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three pounds my ass. Literally…. maybe that’s where the three pounds were hiding. But I honestly gave losing them a legitimate run for two full days. And nothing happened. Not even a half of pound. Not even after I peed first thing in the morning.
Now that it was Saturday and I was practically faint from hunger I decided to screw it. Ok, so two days didn’t exactly equal the strongest effort ever, but chocolate croissants were calling to me from across the street. Fresh, warm, gooey ones. With a caramel macchiato to drink.
I could always start again tomorrow. Right? Right.
I rushed through a shower, only shaving my calves and ankles, leaving my thighs for a different day. Small rebellion, but well worth it. I blow dried my hair, hot rolled, then brushed it out to erase all previous efforts and painted my face with the usual regimen of makeup. My mom wasn’t going to wake up this morning and do a leg check on my dedication to shaving, but she for sure would check out my face in one second flat if I didn’t take cautious care. And if I intended to sneak out for chocolate croissants I needed to be extra careful.
After the beauty routine, I dressed in a pair of turquoise skinny jeans, white scooped neck tank top and a sheer oversized white cardigan. I slipped into some red wedges and threw on the required amount of jewelry to complete the overdressed outfit. But bases covered and I was ready to go.
As long as I didn’t spill chocolate on my shirt, I would probably get away with this too.
Mom hadn’t talked to me since she shut me up by slapping me across the face. So…. I had that going for me.
I slipped out of the apartment and across Farnam without incident. Once I gained some distance from my happy home, I found myself breathing easier, taking in the crisp coolness of the late October morning, and even smiling a little.
This morning felt like a reprieve from everything, from my mom, from Nix, from school, from…. me. That same everything felt easy. And for a moment I forgot about it all and just looked forward to breakfast.
Until, I opened the door and saw him waiting for me next to the counter.
Ryder.