“Then what do you want?” he asked, his voice cracking.

I looked at the mahogany desk, at the silver-framed photos of Daniel as a child, and then back at Richard.

“I want the truth in writing,” I said.

“I cannot sign a confession,” he said, his eyes darting to the closed door behind him.

“Then you can explain it to the grand jury,” I said.

My phone in my pocket began to vibrate again.

At the exact same moment, the landline on Richard’s desk began to ring, its loud, old-fashioned bell echoing in the small room.

We both looked at the desk phone.

The digital display showed the incoming number was from the Carter Holdings main office.

Richard reached out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the receiver.

“Do not answer that,” I said.

He looked at me, his hand still shaking.

“He needs me, Emily,” Richard said.

“He needs a criminal defense lawyer,” I replied.

The phone kept ringing, the sound sharp and insistent against the quiet background of the rain.

I took another step toward the door, watching his reaction.