The Last Invitation (77)

“With the partner meeting scheduled and associate oversight rules done, we can move to some related issues.” Covington led her from the small conference room where they’d been meeting with the office manager and bookkeeper to the file room.

Jessa was surprised Covington even knew where this room was. He didn’t exactly search out his own supplies and case files. The man had two assistants and everyone at the firm on speed dial to answer to his demands.

“You’re familiar with the client filing codes,” he said.

“Of course.” The folders were color-coded and divided by age. She’d learned about that early in her tenure at the firm, so she didn’t understand the need for the replay now.

He turned to the door across from the supply closet. “This is the partners’ file room.”

She’d always assumed the unmarked locked door had something to do with computers. No one ever went in there. “Why is this room separate from the rest?”

Covington typed a code into the keypad next to the door. “The office manager assigned you a security code. It’s in that manual she handed you.”

She’d gotten stacks of binders since becoming a partner. She’d signed papers and heard more about the retirement plan than she’d ever wanted to know.

“We keep specific files in this room. Problematic ones. Most cases, after they finish and the bill is paid, and a certain amount of time has passed, are closed then moved to our off-site storage. Other cases, ones we believe will circle back or could result in further litigation with the firm, stay here.”

“Further litigation?” She looked at what seemed to be a wall of safes, and a surge of what have I done? hit her.

Covington rested his hand on a door with his name on it. “Some cases are of a nature where we can’t risk losing track of the files, so we keep them close.”

As a partner, she had partnership liability, so she found this room terrifying. For the first time, it hit her that running the firm came with responsibility and not just new benefits and more income. “I guess I’ll have a locker or safe, or whatever you’d call these.”

“Specifically designed safes. And, yes, all partners do. Past and present. We kept these old-school and use keys.”

Past included Retta. Retta and a locked cabinet. Jessa couldn’t ignore the obvious. “Do I get a key?”

“Of course.” Covington drew one out of his pants pocket and handed it to her. He pointed to an open door. “This one is for you. The partners may suggest you put certain cases or documents in there from time to time, but you should use it as you see fit. If you need more room, we can give you a second space. I have three.”

Four supersecret vaults hidden in a wall. Jessa tried to understand why someone would need one, never mind three.

“I wouldn’t put money or jewels in there, but I have my will and other family and business documents in one of my spaces.” Covington smiled. “Consider it a safety-deposit box of sorts.”

Jessa looked at the space marked loretta swain. She used to be a partner in the firm, so it made sense she had old files here. But what else?

Two hours later, Jessa walked back into the supply closet, through to the “special” room. She’d kept the key from Retta’s desk on her at all times. Part of her didn’t want it to open the door. She wanted to be able to call Gabby and say she’d tried, but she’d hit a roadblock, and good luck . . . and please never call me again. But part of Jessa knew the key would unlock the cabinet, and then she’d have a new mess to clean up.

She walked over to Retta’s space. The vault with an equal potential for disaster or nothing. Jessa slid the key in and turned it until it clicked. Unlocked.

It figured this one time she was lucky.

She sifted through a few files with a series of case names. Nothing stood out, so she moved to a large envelope, which appeared to have personal papers and some information about accounts for Retta’s kids. Private information. The kind many people would keep in a home safe, but Retta had here. Away from everyone.

Jessa looked at the back section. Files without names. Labels with numbers.

For a few seconds, she just stood there. Walk away and lie. That was one option. The other was to step deeper into Gabby’s claims.

Jessa wanted to do better, be better. To not skate through difficult situations by ignoring them or maneuvering around them, leaving them for someone else to handle. But why? She regretted so much and could easily step away and add this to the pile. What was one more lie?

She texted Gabby, cursing herself as she did it.





Chapter Sixty-Seven

Gabby




In the world of terrible choices, this was her worst. Gabby sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair in the waiting area in Loretta Swain’s office. Just Gabby and the judge’s assistant, a fifty-something woman in a black wrap dress who had insisted the judge didn’t see walk-ins without appointments until Gabby made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere.

She didn’t think she had a choice but to wait. Her world had crashed down around her, and the judge had the power to hit the stop button and turn off all the chaos. She might pretend she didn’t, but Gabby knew better. The ups and downs of her life matched too neatly with the times when she asked difficult questions. Just as Rob had told her they would.