“Let him think that,” Jerome said. “He will walk into that courtroom completely unprepared for what we are about to present.”

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the darkened street.

“His lawyer is expensive, but he doesn’t know his client has been leaking evidence to his pregnant mistress,” Jerome said.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

“Go home,” Jerome said. “Act normal. Do not reply to any messages from Scott.”

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread.

I left the office and drove back to my house.

The suburban streets were quiet, the lawns covered in wet, rotting autumn leaves.

Inside, the house was dark and empty.

I turned on the kitchen light and made a cup of tea.

I sat at the kitchen island, staring at the dark window.

My phone, lying face-up on the counter, suddenly lit up.

It was an incoming call from an unknown number.

I hesitated, then answered it.

“Avery,” a voice said.

It wasn’t Scott, and it wasn’t Kayla.

It was a woman’s voice, sharp and unfamiliar.

“Who is this?” I asked.