Chapter 285

The office buzzed with an electric tension that seemed to follow me as I made my way to my desk. My colleagues, typically engrossed in their own tasks, glanced up at my arrival, their expressions tense.

"Evie, have you seen the news?" one of them asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I forced a tight-lipped smile, feigning ignorance. "I've been a bit out of touch. Just catching up now."

But the whispers persisted. My phone buzzed incessantly with notifications, and I could feel the weight of the stares fixed upon me. They all knew about my interview with Bette. They all knew about Timothy.

I attempted to bury myself in my work, focusing on legal briefs and case files spread across my desk. Yet, the questions from my colleagues pierced through my concentration like arrows.

"Evie, what made you do the interview?"

"Did you know Timothy was going to be arrested?"

"How are you involved in all of this?"

Each inquiry felt like a dagger aimed at my heart. I knew I had to maintain my composure, to weather this storm of speculation and judgment. But it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Then, as if the day hadn’t already been an avalanche of overwhelming emotions, the TV screens mounted around the office suddenly flashed with images of me and Bette during the interview on Best Bette. The volume on the TVs soared, the sound of my voice intermingled with Bette's questions reverberating throughout the office.

I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I had never experienced before. The interview, meant to shed light on Timothy's plight, had taken on a life of its own. The news of Timothy's arrest coupled with snippets from my interview had spread like wildfire, despite efforts from his PR team to suppress it.

My colleagues turned their attention back to their screens, stealing glances at me and exchanging hushed conversations. The weight of their judgment, their unspoken accusations, pressed down on me.

I could hear snippets of the news anchors' discussions:

"Evie Sinclair, the young lawyer from yesterday's interview, is being linked to the high-profile arrest of Timothy—"

"Speculations rise as her interview with Bette on Best Bette goes viral—"

"Allegations and insinuations regarding her involvement in the case—"

My phone buzzed again and again with messages from friends, family, and acquaintances, all wanting explanations, seeking insight into my role in this unfolding drama. I wanted to sink into the floor, to disappear from the prying eyes and relentless scrutiny.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I fought to maintain a semblance of professionalism. But the weight of the situation bore down on me, threatening to crush my resolve.

Disgust churned within me as I heard the twisted tales being spun about Timothy's supposed motives for Stella's murder. Rumors echoed through the office corridors, insinuating that he had wanted to rid himself of his ex-fiancée due to her alleged infidelity.

My heart sank further as I witnessed some of Timothy's hockey teammates coming forward, their statements casting doubt and suspicion on him. The headlines painted a picture of Timothy's supposed questionable behavior, insinuating that they had sensed something wrong with him.

I clenched my fists in frustration at their betrayal, unable to comprehend how easily they succumbed to the media's narrative. Then, unexpectedly, an interview with one of the players, Alex Richards, popped up on the screen.

But it was the unexpected appearance of Alex Richards that caught me off guard. His usually affable demeanor was replaced by a somber expression, an air of restraint in his voice as he navigated the interviewer's questions.

"I can't speak for Timothy's personal life, but I can tell you that he's a good player and a dedicated teammate," Alex said, choosing his words carefully. "The Fitzgeralds' loss is a tragedy, and it's heartbreaking for all of us. We're grieving, and we're all hoping for answers."

His measured response was a stark contrast to the damning statements made by others. But it still stung. I couldn't shake off the sense of disappointment and anger at the ease with which Timothy's former colleagues turned against him.

I sat at my desk, staring at the files in front of me but unable to focus. There was a brief knock on my door before Sarah poked her head in.

“Evie?” With slow movements, she entered the room and approached my desk.

I eyed her carefully, knowing that the curiosity was eating away at her just as much. “Yes?”

"Is it true? What they're saying about Timothy?"

The bitterness of the situation tasted like bile in my mouth. "No, Sarah. It's not true. Timothy had nothing to do with Stella's death," I replied firmly.

“But they showed footage of him,” said Sarah. “He was the only one that saw her that night. Sorry to bring it up, but it does seem odd.”

Before I could refute her claim, another colleague, Janet busted into the room looking just as eager as Sarah was.

"Evie, I just saw the news about Timothy! You were on Best Bette, right? When he was getting arrested?”

Her words were like a blow to the chest. I could feel their eyes boring into me, awaiting an explanation. My mind raced, grappling with the flood of emotions and unanswered questions.

"I had no idea," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I still don’t. It all happened so fast."

The disbelief in their eyes was visible. The suspicion lingered, as though my mere presence on a talk show during Timothy's arrest made me complicit in the unfolding drama.

A wave of determination surged through me as I stood up and rushed out of the door. I marched towards the center of the office, where everyone could hear me.

"Attention, everyone!" I called out, my voice cutting through the murmurs. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to me. "I need you all to stop spreading baseless rumors about Timothy Hayes. Let the authorities do their job without adding to the chaos."

There was a collective hush as my words lingered in the air. I could sense the skepticism lingering in the room, but I had to try—anything to combat the negativity aimed at Timothy.

As I made my way back to my office, I couldn’t help the sinking feeling in my stomach. Being unable to reach Timothy only added to my frustration. I had tried calling him repeatedly, leaving messages, but there was no response.

Throughout the day, my phone continued to ring incessantly. Clients, some long-standing, others relatively new, expressed their disdain, questioning my association with Timothy. They voiced concerns about potential fallout and hesitated to maintain their affiliation with the firm.

The phone buzzed again, interrupting the uneasy silence in my office. My heart skipped a beat as I saw the caller ID—jail administration. Without a moment's hesitation, I answered.

"Ms. Simmons, this is the jail administration. We have a call from Timothy Hayes requesting to speak with you personally," the voice on the other end announced.

Relief surged through me, followed by a sense of urgency. "Thank you. I'll be right there," I replied, hastily ending the call.

Grabbing my belongings, I rushed out of the office, barely sparing a glance at the curious stares of my colleagues. I had to speak to Timothy, to hear his voice…