Obviously with the amount of TV I’d watched and with the line of work I was in, I knew not to touch anything else, in the event that the blood inside was real. I escaped to the bathroom to grab a towel before returning to the office to inspect the contents of the box closer.

I’d seen some pretty gruesome images, so I typically had a thick stomach for those sorts of things, but nothing could compare to opening this box. I felt queasy and damp and uncomfortable—the kind where you think you could be coming down with something, except I knew that I was fine. I had been feeling fine up until the moment I opened the box.

With my hands covered by the towel, I peeled back the tissue again, this time reaching in to get a closer look at the pieces of paper I saw inside. There were bits of shiny paper that looked like the backs of printed photos. On the back of the first print facing up was the word “Is.” I flipped it over and knew I was looking at the image of the person who sent me this box.

Lara.

The picture had been one I’d seen before. A picture included in her file marked as evidence against Joel. I shuffled through the images, disgusted not only by the marred face of the woman staring back at me, but by the message that had been written out on each of the photos. When all of the photos had been turned over, the message read, “Is this worth losing your job over?”

The message was loud and clear. She wanted me to be scared that she had the power to make me lose my job. But she was also trying to scare me out of seeing or speaking to Joel again. Which was silly because she had to know I’d already seen the pictures, considering that I worked at the law firm that represented her. Maybe she thought I was a receptionist. That would explain why she thought it appropriate I escort her to the damn bathroom.

What Lara didn’t know was I’d been scared of the possibility of this happening for weeks. In fact, I’d been expecting any day I would walk in to find my crap thrown in a box and my last check in an envelope. She didn’t know that, but that was the fear I’d been living with since the day I found out who Joel really was.

Was I scared of her threat? Of course, but I was more scared of the person who would leave a bloody box with a creepy message on my doorstep. I had no idea if the blood was real or if she was just trying to scare me, but it didn’t matter. I was officially freaked out. I had tried for weeks to keep myself out of whatever was happening between Lara and Joel, but clearly I hadn’t tried hard enough, otherwise I wouldn’t have come home to that.

The hardest part was figuring out what to do next. It wasn’t like I could go to the authorities—something she probably knew—because then I would definitely lose my job. If I called Kerri, I was sure she would convince me to report it. I didn’t want to involve Joel either, because clearly Lara had been either watching my house or following Joel’s whereabouts. How else would she have found out our involvement and where I lived? For the first time in my life, I was without a doubt stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Chapter Eight

Friday couldn’t have come soon enough. After my lunch with Joel and returning home to find that box, the remainder of the week felt endless.  The compounding days weighed me down like a ball and chain wrapped around my leg. I needed a break, like I’d never needed one before. I wanted a day all to myself with zero work, without even a thought of work, where I could sit on my couch in a ratty shirt and sweats and drink wine to my heart’s content. Where I could mourn the loss of my blink-and-you’ll-miss-it love life. Where I could mourn the thought of what could have been. Where I didn’t have to worry about what could end up being a short-lived career.

Henderson had me working on the deposition for the case with Lara, which was due Monday morning, while Fitz had me working on a couple pleadings for a few clients—all of this while I still had research and copious amounts of files that needed filing for Lara’s case. The last time I’d been that busy was finals junior year, first semester. I didn’t even remember eating or sleeping for days, but somehow I managed, just like I managed to make it through the work that seemed to keep me glued to my desk for most of Friday.

When I looked at the clock, it read 5:30, and surprisingly, I didn’t hear any tapping of keys or over-exaggerated sighs, signaling that everyone would have rather have been home at that point instead of working another Friday night.

Just when I was thinking I was completely alone, Henderson emerged from around the corner, his shoes drumming the floor in an ominous sound.

“Blaire, great, you’re still here. Do you have a minute?”

“Yes.”

Henderson stood over me without making eye contact. In the silence, I garnered he didn’t want to have the conversation out there, next to the elevator, where anyone could hear us. So I stood up, waiting for him to lead the way to his office. I wasn’t used to this sign of hesitancy or indecision from Henderson. It wasn’t like him. He was most often bold, succinct, to the point in almost an Asperger kind of way. Henderson turned and headed back to his office without even giving me a second glance, and instead of thinking about all of the things that I still needed to get done, I was starting to feel somewhat nervous. It wasn’t unusual to be called back to his office, but something about the way no one was around on a Friday evening felt very eerie.

The door to his office was open, and he stepped to the side, allowing me to enter first. I moved to the seat opposite his desk while he turned to shut the door.

“Mr. Henderson, is there something wrong?” My impatience was getting the better of me. If it was bad news, I would have rather him just get it out and over with. There was nothing worse than delay.

He didn’t answer me until he took his seat across a desk that up until that point had never made me feel intimidated or ostracized, but at that very moment that’s exactly what I felt. Maybe it was the amount of guilt that had been weighing heavily on me. Maybe it was disappointment for the things I had given up for the strides I made. Joel wasn’t the first one I’d let slip by in lieu of a stellar career, and he wouldn’t be the last.

“Ms. Banks, you know we would never wrongfully accuse any of our employees of misconduct or unprofessional behavior without merit.”

“I’m sorry, ‘unprofessional behavior’? I don’t understand.”

He blinked a few times, nodding his head as if to settle my excitement. “Yes, we have reason to believe that you may have a non-professional relationship with the defense, E.J. Trevaunt, of the Farrows case—”

“Yes, but—”

“Now, you’re an amazing asset to our team, and this case was really only supposed to—”

“Wait, you’re not firing me, are you?”

My mind was scrambling for purchase while I thought over every fear that assaulted me from the moment I learned of Joel’s identity. Why did it surprise me that they would learn the truth? That Lara wouldn’t move forward with whatever evidence she had garnered. It wasn’t that I didn’t take her seriously. I expected she would do this, but maybe I just hoped that it wouldn’t come to this—being let go with no one around to say good luck, or—who was I kidding? If anything, most of the office probably had already known what I had done and why I was being let go by the time I was seated in Henderson’s office chair. Had anyone from the office still been there, I wouldn’t be leaving with uneasy smiles and a quiet send-off. They’d probably stand to the side in silence with smug looks of disdain.

“As of right now, we’re putting you on administrative leave while we figure out how to proceed. You understand we can’t have you working on or around this case. As I said, we really enjoy you working here, and we don’t want to make any hasty decisions.”