I stare at my ink-stained fingers. Leif did everything right and still ended up running from the man who harassed him.
“Thank you, Martin. This is exactly what I needed.”
“What will you do with it?” he asks with concern.
The question hangs between us. What can anyone do when the system is built to protect its own? When boards value reputation more than justice? When powerful people simply relocate problems instead of solving them?
“Whatever it takes,” I tell him, resolution settling into my bones. “I’ll call you soon.”
After hanging up, I stand at the window as rain threads down the glass, smearing the world beyond into gray streaks. The yellow pages in front of me hold more than facts. They hold proof of a system that was intentionally flawed. Twelve pagesdocumenting Leif’s abuse, carefully recorded and meticulously filed, were erased without consequence.
I imagine him placing his trust in the process, believing it would shield him. Then Pinecrest. A fresh start. Only for Carson to appear here too, closing the distance all over again.
What Leif needs isn’t another complaint that disappears. He needs the truth made so public, so undeniable, that no one can bury it ever again.
A soft knock on my door cuts through my concentration.
I turn in my chair and call out, “Come in.”
Emily pushes the door open, an insulated bag clutched in one hand and a thermos in the other.
Her silver hair darkened by rain, cheeks flushed from the cold. “Surprise lunch delivery for the overworked journalist.”
A waft of tomato soup and grilled cheese reaches me, and my stomach growls.
“Emily.” I turn my notepad over, close my laptop, and grab my cane to stand. “This is a nice surprise.”
She sets the food on the small dining table. “You’ve been holed up a lot lately with work. Figured you might forget to eat.” Water droplets glisten on her jacket, catching the lamplight as she shrugs it off. “The weather’s miserable out there.”
I go to the kitchenette for bowls and spoons. “You didn’t have to walk through this storm for me.”
“This cabin is warmer than my trailer, and I had extra time today.” She unscrews the thermos cap, steam rising in a fragrant cloud. “The supplier for the island’s plumbing fixtures screwed up our order.”
The rich scent of tomato and basil fills the small room as she pours soup into the bowls. “Kyle went into town to pick up the right order.”
My fingers brush hers as she passes me a bowl, her skin still cool from the December air, and my pulse quickens.
“How’s the new article coming?” She unwraps the grilled cheese, the waxed paper crinkling between her fingers.
The sandwich gleams golden-brown, with cheese melting at the edges. It’s still so hot that she must have picked it up from the Homestead on her way.
I take a sip of soup to buy time, the warmth spreading through my chest. “Slow but steady. But I might put it on hold to work on something else for a bit to give myself space. How about you? How’s work going? I haven’t been to the worksite in a while.”
Emily tears her sandwich in half, steam rising from the gooey center. “Phase Two might actually finish ahead of schedule. The exteriors are all up, and drywall can start next week.”
The normalcy of her conversation forms a surreal backdrop to the information I just learned about Leif, and my soup ripples as my hand trembles.
“That’s great,” I manage. “You’ve been pushing hard.”
“Worth it to give people homes so they can stop commuting from the mainland.” Crumbs scatter on the tabletop as she takes a bite. “Leif should be happy. It will be a lot easier to do his lessons with Quinn if he’s living here.”
My chest constricts at Leif’s name, and I set down my bowl, appetite vanishing. “How is he doing? He seemed tired the last time I saw him.”
Emily’s chewing slows, her eyes dropping. “He’s stressed with end-of-year prep. And the committee work takes a lot out of him.” She wipes her fingers on a napkin, leaving greasy fingerprints on the paper. “We haven’t seen much of him at the cottage lately.”
Unease fills me, and I resist the urge to look back at my notebook.
Emily finishes her sandwich, brushing crumbs from her fingers. “With the weather so crappy, Jared’s planning a game night on Saturday. Think you can make it? I’m baking lasagna.”