Richard steps out more slowly. He reaches into the car, past the back passenger door Stella left open, and pulls out her overnight bag and backpack. The door slams shut behind him, the sound like a shotgun in the suburban hum.
The front door opens.
Noah steps outside.
“Hey, Noah,” Stella says, bright and easy.
I don’t let her go right away. My hands stay in her hair, smoothing it back, grounding myself in the feel of her.
Richard and Noah exchange a nod—controlled, measured. It lands less like acknowledgment and more like a line being drawn.
“Alicia,” he says quietly, voice tight. “We need to talk. Alone.”
“Dad, I told you I’m not?—”
“It’s not about that sugar bug.”
She shifts, reaching for her things. “’Kay. Love you, Dad.”
My gaze flicks to the car. Jessica sits in the front passenger seat, watching—likely aware of Richard’s request for a private talk.
“Can we speak in your office?” The request for a seemingly official location sets me on edge.
“Sure.”
Noah holds the door as we pass, and I catch his gaze, offering a small smile meant to reassure him.
Everything’s fine.
Or it will be.
Richard doesn’t wait—he leads the charge up the stairs. Of course, Richard knows the layout of my home, and acts like he owns it.
Stella veers toward the kitchen, already at the refrigerator by the time I follow him. As I climb the stairs, Noah heads down the hallway to join her.
When I reach my office, Richard is standing in the room, flustered, jaw tight.
“Close the door.”
By common accord, when we argue, we don’t do so within earshot of Stella. That’s the only reason I do as he requests.
He paces once, the soles of his shoes whispering against the rug, then gestures toward my desk. There are some files on it, but it’s neatly organized. Nothing to indicate the chaos I’ve been combing through today.
“I want to know what you’ve gotten yourself involved in.”
I bite back the instinctive response—that my clients’ business isn’t his to question.
“There’s an upcoming court case,” I say evenly. “It’s possible I could be subpoenaed. It’s exactly what I told you.”
“This is related to the Vasquez scandal.” It doesn’t sound like a question, but I take it as one.
I step past my desk, wanting it between me and Richard, but I don’t sit, as I sense he has no plans to take a more congenial posture. “Yes. Tangentially.”
Richard lives in DC. He doesn’t need details to assemble the broader picture.
“Stella should come live with me.”
My stomach drops, and my fingers curl into my palms.