Grady
The front door opens, and Leif steps inside, snow melting off his shoulders and his face ashen except for the bruising.
I push myself up from the couch, closing my laptop as Emily and Jared turn toward the sound.
Leif slides his phone from his pocket and extends it toward me, his hand shaking. “I got it.”
I take the phone, our fingers brushing, and his skin is icy cold. “How are you doing?”
“It was fine.” Leif’s eyes drop to the floor, but rise again with visible effort. “He didn’t suspect anything. Just…talked.”
Emily crosses the room in three long strides, stopping short of touching him. “Are you okay?”
Leif’s throat works as he swallows. “I will be. But I need...” His hands rise, fingers rubbing his palms as if trying to scrub something away. “Would it be all right if I used your shower?”
“Of course,” Emily says, concern deepening the furrow in her brow. “You don’t need to ask.”
Jared steps forward. “I’ll grab you some clean clothes. Mine might be a bit long in the sleeves, but they’ll do.”
“Thanks,” Leif murmurs, already moving toward the hallway, his steps too measured to be natural.
When the bathroom door shuts and the water starts running, Emily turns to me, dropping to a whisper. “Do you think Carson hurt him again?”
I look down at Leif’s phone in my hand. “I don’t know. But he’ll tell us when he’s ready.”
Emily’s jaw tightens, the muscle jumping beneath her skin. “If that bastard laid a hand on him again...”
“Leif is strong,” I remind her, though my own stomach twists with concern. “Stronger than any of us realized, I think.”
Jared comes back with a folded stack of clothes in his arms. He pauses, catching the tension in the air. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing confirmed, but I’ll find out once I listen to this.” I lift the phone, then hesitate. “I think someone needs to reach out to Blake before this article goes live. The Wrights deserve to at least know the storm that’s about to hit.”
Emily nods. “I’ll speak to Leif when he comes back out. They made a big donation to the school, so they’ll want their lawyers to be on standby for any backlash this might bring.”
“Thank you. I’m going to start processing the recording.” My hand tightens around the phone. “Thanks for letting me use the office.”
“Anything you need.” Emily turns toward the kitchen. “I’ll make tea.”
I retreat to the small office at the back of the cottage, closing the door behind me. Emily had cleared a spot at her desk, pushing aside stacks of material invoices, contractor estimates, and blueprint revisions so I could work undisturbed. The gesture touches me as I settle into the chair.
I plug Leif’s phone into my laptop and start the file transfer, grateful not to be at the dining table where their anxious pacing would interrupt my focus.
While the audio copies, I open my existing documentation on Carson. The folder has grown thick over the past weeks, organized by school district and date, with cross-references to witness statements and official complaints.
What started as sending out my feelers based on a hunch has become a prosecutorial brief, each document a brick in the wall I’m building around Carson Whitaker.
The audio file completes its transfer, and I disconnect Leif’s phone, setting it aside. My cursor hovers over the play button, bracing for what comes next before I click.
Carson’s voice fills the small office, smooth and controlled at first. I listen as he circles Leif, each statement calculated to establish dominance without overt threats. My fingers tighten on the desk edge as the conversation unfolds, Carson’s tone shifting from professional to possessive.
Then his words turn explicit, the threat to Quinn’s accommodations laid bare without pretense. My stomach clenches as Carson describes how he’ll use his position to isolate Leif professionally if he doesn’t submit personally.
Leif:“So my relationship with you affects Quinn’s accommodations?”
Carson:“Your position provides the advocacy, and my recommendation ensures you keep the position.”
I pause the recording, bile rising in my throat. Carson’s casual cruelty cuts deeper than shouting ever could. I force myself to breathe through my nose, counting to four before resuming playback.