Chapter 201

The ball of nerves that had been growing in my stomach suddenly burst outward until I felt like tiny pins were prickling into every inch of my skin.

Logan and my secret was out, it seemed, and now his grandfather’s lawyers were here for my blood.

Well, I’d been preparing for this. Logan was ready to go to war. He’d left me behind to protect me, but I’d always been ready to stand along beside him.

Now was my chance. Did I find this table full of lawyers immensely intimidating? Absolutely. Was I going to let them bully me into the divorcing the man I loved? Absolutely not.

“I refuse,” I said. “Unless Logan himself tells me that he wants one, I’m not going to just go along with whatever Mr. Hatfield wants. Or demands.”

The lawyers didn’t even blink.

Mr. Smith spoke again. “Mr. Hatfield Sr. is prepared to offer you a substantial sum in exchange for your complicity in this matter.”

“There isn’t enough money in the world,” I said.

Mr. Smith removed a sheet of paper from within the folder. He slid it down the table to his associate on his right, who slid it to the associate on their right, and so on, until it reached in front of me.

I wasn’t even going to bother looking, but curiosity got the better of me. Glancing down, I gasped.

That was a lot of zeros.

It didn’t matter, of course. I wasn’t going to divorce Logan for all the combined wealth on the planet, but it was still interesting to see just how much Logan’s grandfather was willing to give up to keep Logan in line.

Grabbing the sheet of paper, I lifted it and ripped it in half.

None of the lawyers had any outward reaction. It was unnerving, watching them being so calm. Detached.

Mr. Smith looked back down at the next paper on his stack within the folder.

“In the case that you refused Mr. Hatfield Sr.’s very generous offer,” Mr. Smith said, voice monotone, “I am to issue a warning that if you do not accept, your life will be made very difficult. Do you still intend to refuse?”

Mr. Smith looked up at me, waiting for my answer.

“I am not divorcing Logan,” I said.

“Very well.” Mr. Smith looked back down. Lifting a pen, he marked something on the paper.

One of his associates started typing on their laptop.

“In that case, you are to vacate any of Hatfield Supply’s facilities immediately. You are now fired.” Mr. Smith delivered the news as if it was nothing at all. To him, it probably wasn’t.

He closed the folder. His associates packed up their supplies, and all of them stood up at once.

“Security will be outside of the door, ready to escort you off-property,” Mr. Smith said. “Good day, Miss Whitaker.”

Just like that, the lawyers began to file out of the meeting room. I stood up as, once they’d gone, the security guard entered.

“This really isn’t necessary,” I said. “I’ll go quietly.”

“Orders are orders,” the security guard said.

With his as my shadow, I had to walk back up the hallway to the elevator. All of my ex-coworkers were staring now. The wait at the elevator door was the worst. With all the lawyers in one elevator, there wasn’t any room for me. I had to wait for the next one.

While I stood there for several long, awkward moments, I could hear the whispers behind me. There wasn’t a chance my co-workers knew why I’d been obviously fired, so I imagined speculation was running rampant.

It hurt, having near-strangers making likely unflattering assumptions about me. But I reminded myself that these people were not my friends. They never wanted to be my friends.

I didn’t care what they thought.

When the elevator finally reappeared, a sense of relief filled me. The security guard rode down with me, then stepped outside with me.

“Your ID card and access card,” he said, holding out his hand.

I handed him both.

Once he disappeared back into the building, I breathed in deeply. Well. That could have gone worse, I reasoned.

In my car, I plugged my phone back in immediately and started charging.

On my way back home, as a consolation prize to myself, I stopped at convenience store and picked up a pint of ice cream. Yet when I tried to purchase it at the checkout, my credit card declined.

“That can’t be right,” I told the cashier. “Try again.”

She did, with the same result.

“Try this card,” I said, handing her a different one.

That one also declined.

What the hell was happening?

The people behind me in line coughed impatiently.

“My debit card then,” I said, handing her that one next. There was enough money in my account, I was sure of it.

“Declined,” the cashier said. She glanced at me like I was a deadbeat holding up her line. It made me feel like I should apologize even if this wasn’t my fault.

“That can’t be,” I said.

“Please step out of line, ma’am, if you can’t afford to pay,” the cashier said.

Humiliated, I did as she asked and rushed back to my car.

My phone charged enough to turn on now at least, I called my bank first thing.

“We’re sorry, Miss Whitaker,” the customer service agent told me, whenever I could finally convince the robot who initially answered that I needed to speak with a live agent. “It says here this account has been flagged for possible fraud. We’ll need you to come into the main office with identification to sort this out.”

“I’m nowhere near the main office,” I said.

“I apologize, ma’am. But that’s the only way to resolve this.”

I wanted to lose my temper, but I reminded myself whatever was happening here was not this customer service agent’s fault.

“Thank you for your time,” I said and hung up.

By now, my phone had fully restarted, and I saw the slew of missed calls and messages from Logan. Dylan had some too.

Opening my text thread, one stood out. The most chilling. The one I wished I had read before I walked into the office this morning.

Grandfather knows.

Finding Logan’s contact, I pressed call.

He answered almost immediately. “Hazel? Thank God. Where are you?” The worry in his voice was palpable and struck through me like a sledgehammer.

“I’m in my car,” I said. “I’m sorry, I hung out with the girls on video chat last night and I forgot to plug in my phone…”

“It’s fine. So long as you are okay, it’s fine. I just have something to tell you, Hazel.”

“Your Grandfather knows about us. Yes, I know.”

“You saw the messages.”

“He had me fired,” I said.

Logan went quiet on the other end of the phone. Then he cursed. “Of course he would. I’m sorry, Hazel. I should have expected that. I guess I didn’t expect him to be able to track you down so quickly, but I should have known better. He was pissed as hell.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I didn’t like it here anyway.”

Logan hummed in understanding. “Then you need to get back here right away. As soon as possible. There’s no telling what else he might do.”

“I’d love to,” I told him. Looking down at my dash, my fuel gauge caught my eye. “But, I, uh, might have a problem…”

“What is it?” Logan asked.

I hated to ask this, but I didn’t see any other way. “Is there any way you could buy me some gas?”