As soon as I get my new phone, I call Brooklyn. She doesn’t answer, and I leave her a message and tell her to call me. I can keep her safe. Keep her away from me, but I can’t keep this from her. I know when I’m sitting at my desk ignoring the sounds of my office around me as my new phone resets that eventually I have to talk to my sister about this. So when the cloud brings all of my contacts back, I make the call.

After I leave that voicemail, I open a new group chat with just Noa, Claudia and Rayna. I think for a moment before I type out the words. I think about exactly what I need to tell them and what will just make them more upset. Like how I have no idea if Kelsey got caught up in this, if she’s lying dead on her own kitchen floor somewhere. Or if the cops are gonna tell me they think I’m crazy and I need to take my life as a blessing and let this whole Dorrit thing go.

I start typing. I explain the bare details of what happened. There was a man. I defended myself. I’m okay. That’s what matters. I don’t tell them about Dorrit. I don’t tell them how scared I am because there’s nothing they can do except get themselves wrapped up in some shit I’m pretty sure they want no part of. I tell them I want to have a personal conversation with Brooklyn when she gets out of court so if they could not mention this to her that would be good. I tell Noa not to come running to me now or after she finishes for the day. I have too much to do anyway. My caseload is not little. I’ll be at the office late.

I tell Claudia to stay right where she is in Northern California so she can enjoy this time with her man. I know they are all busy, but each of them start messaging me back right away. I do my best to convince them that I’m alright, shaken up, but alright. They believe me. They know me. If anyone was going to fight for her life the way I did, it’s me. They’ll check in with me, they offer. I can come to them. They are here for me. I know, I tell them and then I say I have to get back to work.

Not five minutes later, Claudia calls. I know to pick up. She’s been through enough for five lifetimes and it would do nothing to stress her out more by not answering the phone.

I hit accept, then I get up and close my office door.

“Hey, bitch,” I say.

“Hey, bitch. Talk to me. Are you really okay? You know you can tell me.”

I think for a second, take two long slow steps back to my desk. “No running? No hiding?” I say. Something Claudia’s therapist shared with her, and something Claudia shared with me. She laughs a little and I know I should have told her first. I don’t regret telling Rayna, but Claudia’s been here before. We’ve been here before together. She knows.

“Exactly no running, no hiding.”

“I’m not thinking,” I tell her. “I’m numb, but not numb enough.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I do. I felt that way for months and it is different than when our parents died. There’s loss and then there’s violation.”

I close my eyes ’cause even though I’m not even close to processing, she’s right. And fuck I miss my mom so much. “Yeah.”

“What can I do? How can I help?”

“You can’t. I can’t tell you the rest. I promise I will when I can, but there’s more to this.”

“How much more?” she asks in that mother hen tone she and I trade off when we know the other is slipping. The exact tone our moms used.

“More. It's… work related.”

“Work related how? The guy who broke into your place is work related? It wasn't Scott was it?!?!”

I laugh at the leap she makes because Scott is the only person she knows from my office. “No. Scott didn't try to kill me.”

“Okay good. He's kinda cute,” she says and then I hear her fiancé, Shep, grumbling in the background. “No, you don't need to fly to New York to fight anyone. Fucking ridiculous.”

“Just trust me. Okay?”

“I trust you. That doesn't mean I trust this situation, but I'm gonna give you what you need. For now. I'm keeping an eye on this, Lizzie Love. Be careful with yourself. I mean it.”

I look out the window at the reflective building across the street. “I will. I—” I turn around at the knock on my office door. “Come in.”

Deanna, one of the partner’s assistants pokes her head in the door. “Hi, Mr. Murrell wants to see you.”

“Thanks, Deanna. I have to go,” I tell Claudia. “I’ll call you later.”

“Okay. I’ll call you if you don’t call me.”

“Deal.” I end the call then check myself out on the six foot horizontal mirror that hangs on the wall. I look only slightly better than I feel. I touch up my makeup, ditch the bandage wrapped around my wrist and then I head down to the partner’s office.

Of all the partners, I hate Murrell the most. He called me a diversity hire to my face, but he stays out of my way for the most part and I love my paychecks so I try to ignore him as much as possible. I manage to recover my confidence in stride before I make it to his office, ignoring how much my toe hurts.

“Lewis. Come on in,” he says the second he sees me approaching.

I sit opposite his desk. I’m sure he’s going to ask me about the Fullerton case. I’m on top of it. He has nothing to worry about.

“Heard you had a bit of a rough night last night,” he says.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “There was an incident at my apartment with an intruder.”

“When you missed our meeting this morning, I asked around and McInroy seemed to be the only one who knew where you were.”

Shit. I did forget all about that meeting. “I had to go speak with the district attorney. The… uh, intruder didn’t survive our incident.”

Murrell’s eyes spring wide, then they soften as he sizes me up. It’s creepy as shit. He usually never looks at me directly. His eyes travel back up to mine and then his lips turn down in an impressed smirk. “So it was that kind of incident. Well if anyone could handle themselves in that kind of situation, I’m sure it’s you. You’ve got the fortitude for it.”

“I’ll ask Deanna for the notes from this morning. Did you have any questions for me?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Just checking in. Not like you to miss a meeting. It’s definitely not like you to come into the office in the afternoon, looking like hell worn over.”

For a moment I forget to bite my tongue. “Yeah, but someone did try to kill me last night. With all the blood, a trip to the ER, some bruises and sprains and having to talk to the cops, it did slip my mind to spend that extra hour in front of the mirror glamming up. I’ll make sure I plan ahead better the next time this happens.” You fucking dick.

He stares at me for a second, then stands and straightens his jacket. “Yes. Well. As long as you bring your A game to the Fullerton situation. You need this win in your corner.” I mean I guess. Fullerton’s bullshit labor dispute isn’t something I’ll be bragging about at happy hour.

I stand and hide a wince when I put too much weight on my toe. Murrell catches my show of weakness. Blood in the water. I excuse myself and leave before he realizes that I realize what I’ve done.

Before I can make it back to my office I run into Scott.

“Hey,” he says, all cheerful and shit like he wasn't up half the night with me.

“I have to get back to work.”

He stops me with a light hand on my wrist, which he drops the moment I look down at his fingers. He's friendly, but I'm sick of people right now.

“Hey, what did Murrell say?”

“Did you tell him about Dorrit?” I ask.

“No. Why? I just told him that you fucking handled a B and E last night. He was pissed no one had heard from you. I figured attempted murder was reason enough for you to be out of the office. What did he say to you? You're shaking.”

“I'm fine. I'm overcaffeinated.”

“What did he say?”

“To stop being a fatalist and get back to work.”

“What?” Scott says, like he’s shocked. Like he doesn’t know that Murrell is a huge dick.

“Can you please stop?”

“What? What did I do?”

“I just—”

“Wait. Come here.” He nods toward the corner. “Come here.”

I roll my eyes and follow him down the hall. Our office has a surprising number of quiet nooks and crannies filled with things like extra copy machines and water coolers. We find a quiet alcove outside of a small conference room no one ever uses. He turns to face me.

“Talk to me.”

“Stop acting shocked. Okay?” I say. “I’m accusing a man whose family owns half the wealth in the Northern Hemisphere of trying to kill me. I killed the person he supposedly sent to kill me last night. The cops probably think I just killed a guy and I’m trying to pin it on Dorrit like an actual insane person. Murrell couldn’t give less of a shit if I died. Bringing the Dorrit aspect to his attention would probably give him reason to toss me to the curb just so he doesn't have to deal with the hassle. So I should just go back to work. Right?”

Scott sighs and runs his fingers through his slicked back hair. Seriously, I can't stand how fresh and well rested he looks. How calm. I want my fucking calm back.

“How can I help?” he asks.

“I don’t think you can. I don’t want to go back to my place. I’m not even sure I should have stayed at your place last night.”

“Why?”

“Because Dorrit tried to have me killed, Scott,” I say slowly. “I feel like a fucking broken record and everyone is hearing all the music but that one key part. If it was that serious to Dorrit, you don’t think he’ll try again? I don’t want him to try again. And I don’t want him to hurt you or anyone else.”

Scott smiles.

“What?” I say.

“I’m just thinking about Jeffers calling you a frosty bitch. If he could see you now. You do have a heart, Lewis.”

“Yeah if only Jeffers wasn’t busy being indicted for fraud. I've always had a heart. I just don't share it with you soulless people.” I let out a deep breath. I know what’s coming. I’ve been through trauma before. I tried to hold Brooklyn’s hand the best I could as she processed our parents’ death in her own way. I tried to be there for Claudia. I know how this goes. It gets worse, so much worse, before it gets better. And that’s if I can get anyone to take this murder for hire situation seriously.

I swallow and tell Scott the truth. “I’m scared. I'm scared to go back to my place. I'm scared to be alone. I'm scared to be near anyone I care about. I'm scared that my body is gonna wash up in the Hudson some day very soon. And what about Kelsey? I have no clue if something happened to her. I feel like I have to warn her. I need to try and get in touch with her.”

“I have an idea. Let me look into this.”

“You don’t—”

“I want to. Look, I get it. I know how this looks.”

I stare back at him. He has no fucking idea.

“I do. There’s all this shit stacked against you. And it is clear that even if anyone believes you, they don’t give a shit. Murrell’s not gonna back you going against Dorrit. Even if he actually gave a shit about any of us as human beings, he’s not backing any Black woman in any cause unless there are a lot of zeroes involved.”

Okay, maybe he does understand, but that's only part of the problem.

“Can you hang for a few hours?” he asks.

“For what?”

“I have some place where you can hide out for a little while. Outside of the city. Murrell can’t fire you for taking some time. Your caseload has been nuts and you’re one of the best associates they have. You can take a little time.”

“Where’s this place?”

Scott straightens up a bit and I see a weird red creep up his neck. “Uh, I have a place upstate. Outside of Ghent. I have people who could look out for you.”

“Uh, I don't know. I don’t even know where the fuck Ghent is.”

“Trust me. No one, and I mean no one, is going to look for you there. You go up there for a little while. Tell Murrell you’ll be out of the office dealing with this shit and you’ll take your work with you. You’ll be reachable. He won't like it, but he can't fire you for getting your shit together after something like this. Meanwhile I'll get in touch with Tillery. And I’ll track down Kelsey.”

“Tillery. The guy you used on the Bachelder case?”

“You know Tillery,” he says with a devious smirk.

“I do know Tillery,” I say, turning this idea over in my head. “Tillery is good.”

“If anyone can find out what the fuck Dorrit is up to, it’s Tillery, and then maybe we get him to chill the fuck out. He sent his message. He scared you. Fine. He doesn’t need to take this any further.”

“I don’t want to drag you into this.”

He shrugs. “Eh, I was in this the moment you used me as your emergency contact. Use my place. Please.”

I consider his offer for a moment, then shake my head. “No. I can't. Let me get back to work. I have ton of shit to do and I feel like Murrell is having my desk surveyed.”

“Well at least stay with me until things cool down a bit. At least until the cops are finished with their investigation.”

“That could be weeks.”

“Then let me get you home tonight. I'll come back to your place with you and if you don't feel comfortable there you can crash with me for a few days.”

“Fine.”

“I know, I know. I'm a terrible friend.”

“Ya fucking garbage, McInroy,” I say instead of thanking him. Instead of breaking down and crying on him in the middle of the office.

* * *

It takes a few hours to find my focus. I take two breaks. One for takeout and one when Brooklyn calls me after she's finished in court. She's hysterical. Not crying. Yelling. For not telling her what happened sooner, for not tracking her down immediately, for not calling her the second after everything happen. I talk her down and I tell her the whole truth. And finally she understands, but she's scared too. I tell her to promise me that she’ll stay put until I get a little more clarity on the situation. I am definitely not trying to push her away. I’m trying to keep her safe. I’m trying to be smart.

She relents, eventually, after so much cursing, and makes me promise that I will be in touch with her constantly. I can give her that. I promise I’ll call the minute I leave the office. She says she doesn’t care that she needs to be back in court in the morning, she’ll answer no matter how late. We’re sisters. We don’t go it alone. I tell her I love her and then I put my mask back on and get back to work.

Around nine-thirty Scott pokes his head in my office. I realize I’ve been staring at the same piece of paper for at least twenty minutes. I gather up my things and follow Scott and two of the paralegals down to the ground floor in the elevator. Scott gets us a cab. I don’t know how I manage to fall asleep, but the second after I give the driver my address, I’m out cold. The next thing I know, Scott is nudging me awake. We step out into another hot night and my building seems eerily quiet from the outside. I don't know if it's me. If I'm suddenly on alert, listening for things on the dark street that I've never listened for before, but something feels off.

I look over when Scott’s hand lands on my lower back. “You ready? Let's just go check it out. We can leave or stay as long as you want. Cool?”

“Yeah, let's go.”

I lead Scott up the stairs and open the front door. The marble foyer with its gold inlay has always been beautiful to me. It was one of the reasons I chose the building. Now it feels cold. I don't stop at the mailboxes like I usually do, I just keep moving toward the elevator.

“This is a nice spot,” Scott says quietly, just after the door clangs shut. I just nod. It is a nice building.

Mr. Guerra must have been waiting by his peephole for me because he springs out of his own door the moment we walk by it.

“Lizabeta! Oh my dear.”

“I’m okay,” tell him.

“The police left not too long ago. They told me to give you this. Hold on.” He ducks back into his apartment and is back a second later. He hands me a piece of yellow card stock. It’s a flyer for BIOCLEANNYC. They offer on the spot crime scene clean up, 24/7/365. My insurance may even cover it.

“They were here all day?” I ask. I glance down the hall and see the crime scene tape plastered across my door. So much for the info I left with Detective Cohill. Guess it's too much to ask for the cops to give you a ring when they finish tearing your life apart.

“Yes. I tried to listen. They called it a smash and stab. I am so glad you are okay, my dear.”

“Thanks. I’m just gonna…” I nod down the hall. He nods back in understanding before he eyes Scott. There’s no need to introduce them.

We head down to my door and Scott rips the tape off the walls. There's fingerprint dust everywhere. I try the knob and my door opens. A small part of my brain asks the question. Did I leave my apartment unlocked the day before? Did I unknowingly let that man in?

Scott stops me before I walk in. “Where's the light switch?”

“Just there on the left.” He reaches around me and the lights come on. Then he steps inside. After a few moments, he turns back and waves me in. “Come on.”

I walk into my apartment and there's two things I notice immediately. It's only been twenty-four hours, and it feels like I've been gone too long. There's an emptiness, that feeling when you come back from vacation and your place is too cold and stale, but this is different. There's proof of a police presence everywhere. And there's blood.

“I’m gonna—you want me to take some pictures? Like of everything. I smell a half ass job.”

“Yeah sure. I can't stay here tonight. Not until they clean up.”

“Let me see that card.”

I hand him the BIOCLEANNYC card. “Yeah, go grab some of your clothes and we’ll get out of here. We’ll call these people in the morning and you can stay at my place until they finish up.

“Okay,” I say. My voice sounds hollow.

I step around the other side of the counter and pick up my purse and all of my stuff that’s still on the floor. I head into my bedroom. The second I get in there I freeze. My brain just stops working. I don’t know how long I’m standing there before I hear Scott say my name. And I don’t know how long I go on ignoring him before he steps into my bedroom behind me.

“Hey. Everything okay in here?”

“No.” I turn to him. I can’t really see his whole face, just the side of it, illuminated by the light coming from my kitchen. “I take back what I said.”

“Yeah?”

“Please. Get me the fuck out of here.”

“Let's go. Come on. We’ll go to my apartment.”

“No, I mean like I need to get out of the city. I need to be away from all of this.”

“Okay,” he says. “Let's go.”

* * *

It takes Scott several tries to get me to hand over my spare keys, but he assures me that he’ll get someone to take care of the clean up. It’s New York after all. If you can get anything and everything delivered twenty-four hours a day, he can hire someone to hand my keys off to the folks at BIOCLEANNYC and make sure they get them back into my hands. No one else will get into my place. It’ll be okay. What finally convinces me is the reminder that when the BIOCLEANNYC team is done, I can change my locks. I give him my spare set of keys. I pack some things. Actually I grab as many articles of clothing as I can shove into my large leather duffle bag, while Scott grabs what I tell him to get out of my bathroom and then we go.

We catch a cab to the garage where he keeps a Mercedes SUV that I didn’t know he had and an hour later we’re on the FDR making our way out of the city. I call Brooklyn. She answers right away even though it’s close to midnight and she is serious about her sleep during trial. I tell her I'm safe. I tell her that I'm not leaving the state, that’ll be safe and I’ll let her know more when I can. She tells me she'll message the girls. Tell them not to ask me any questions. I tell her I love her. She says she loves me too.

After I hang up, Scott doesn't even bother with small talk. He turns up the radio and focuses on the road. His classic rock is blasting so loud I'm sure there's no way I'll be able to sleep, but eventually, my eyes close.