Page 76 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

"Applies retroactively, not preemptively. The timing is the problem." Jennifer closed her laptop, looking at me with something that might have been sympathy. "Ethan, I'm grateful for everything you're bringing to this case. This documentation is extraordinary. It's going to put multiple people in prison. But you need to understand: when this goes to trial, the defense will eviscerate you on the stand. They're going to make your ethics violations the entire story."

"I know." I'd been living with that knowledge since the moment I walked out of Caldwell & Associates with a briefcase full of incriminating evidence. "Which is why the case needs to stand on its own. The documents have to be self-evident even if my credibility is shredded."

"They mostly are. But there are gaps—conversations you witnessed, coordination you can testify to, intent you can explain." She reopened her laptop. "Without your testimony, we have a strong case. With it, we have an airtight case. But using you means giving the defense a target."

"Then let them take their shots." I leaned forward. "Because even if they destroy me as a witness, even if they make me look like a disgruntled ex-employee with an axe to grind, the documents still exist. The pattern still exists. Twenty-three families still got defrauded. That truth doesn't change."

Jennifer studied me for a long moment. "Why are you doing this? You could have taken Marcus's settlement, kept your law license, walked away from all of this with your career intact. Why sacrifice everything?"

I thought about Maya—about her grandfather's legacy, about pastéis de nata made from recipes passed down through generations, about twenty-three other families who'd lost everything to this same fraud.

"Because someone has to," I said simply. "Because if lawyers only do the right thing when it's convenient, when it doesn't cost anything, we're not really officers of the court. We're just mercenaries in nice suits."

"That's very idealistic."

"Yeah, well, I spent five years being cynical and practical and focused on profits. Turns out I was really good at it and absolutely miserable." I pulled up another document—the falsified survey from Maya's case. "This is what 'practical' looks like. Destroying a fifty-year-old bakery for profit margins. I'm done being that person."

Jennifer actually smiled. "Your idealism is about to result in criminal indictments against a multi-million dollar investment group and a prominent Seattle law firm. The grand jury convenes Monday morning. If they indict—and they will—we file charges by end of day. Arrests happen Tuesday."

"How long until trial?"

"Months. Six, maybe eight, depending on how much the defense fights discovery." She started packing up her files. "This is going to be very public. Very controversial. Every legal blog and news outlet is going to debate whether you're a whistleblower or a thief. You’ll probably even get featured on some YouTube drama channels, since you’re young and cute. Are you ready for that level of scrutiny?"

"Absolutely not. But I'm doing it anyway, because apparently I've developed a martyr complex to go with my newfound ethics." I stood, stretching muscles that had been locked in conference room position for too long. "At least when they write the case study about my career implosion, it'll be entertaining."

After Jennifer left, I sat alone in the conference room, staring at Seattle's skyline and wondering when I'd started actively sabotaging my own life.

Somewhere out there, Maya was finishing her day at Honey & Hearth, dealing with Sweetheart Week crowds and the lawsuit Marcus had weaponized against her. Alone, because I was here building a case instead of there being an actual supportive boyfriend.

My phone—which I'd finally been allowed to have back—buzzed with a text from Richard: "Called Maya earlier about the amended lawsuit. She was upset you hadn't warned her. Worried you'd abandoned her. I explained about the prosecutor meetings. She understands now, but Ethan—she's scared. And she's dealing with this alone."

Guilt punched through my exhaustion. I'd been so focused on building the perfect case that I'd let Maya think I'd disappeared. Let her face a devastating lawsuit without warning. Let her doubt, even briefly, whether I was actually fighting for her.

I called her immediately.

Chapter twenty-four

Coming Home

Maya

Isat on the overstuffed chair in my living room wearing jeans and one of Ethan’s sweatshirts. It was the one he'd left at my cottage two weeks ago, the one I'd definitely not been sleeping in every night like some kind of romance novel cliché.

Okay, fine. I'd been sleeping in it every night. It smelled like him and I was emotionally vulnerable. Sue me.

Actually, please don't sue me. I was already being sued quite enough, thank you.

I was trying to read, but the words kept blending together, and I kept checking my phone every few seconds. I was willing him to call me again. Even bad news would be better than being unsure.

At around 11:00, Headlights appeared in my driveway, and my heart did this ridiculous flutter thing that would have embarrassed me if anyone could see it. Was I about to be served more papers? Be told in person that I was going to be kicked out of Sweetheart Week? Have my baking license revoked? Could they legally do that after business hours? After taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

And there was Ethan.

We just stood there for a moment, looking at each other like two people who'd forgotten how to function in polite society.

He looked exhausted—three days of conference room chaos evident in the dark circles under his eyes, the rumpled suit that had definitely been worn for sixteen hours straight, and the general aura of someone who'd been surviving on bad coffee and legal documents.

But he was here. He'd left Seattle, driven across the state, caught the last ferry—all to come home to me.