Page 56 of Hidden & Held

“Understood,” I respond, because it is the fastest way to end this conversation.

When the screen goes dark, I sit for a moment, looking at the mountains through the window. I am thirty-four years old. I have closed eleven acquisitions for my grandfather’s firm. I am exceptionally good at this work, and I have never, not once, wanted to do it for the rest of my life.

My grandfather built Morrison Rose from a single-office practice into the largest firm in the Pacific Northwest. He did it through precision and patience and the particular willingness to make decisions that cost other people things: respect, careers, and even livelihoods. He has always assumed I want the same thing. I have never corrected him, never saw the point. Until now.

Ten minutes after our call has ended, my grandfather’s name appears on my phone, unscheduled.

“Yes?” I answer brusquely.

“One more thing. Cassandra reached out to us, unprovoked mind you. She mentioned something to Richard that I dismissed at the time. She suggested your judgment on the Cascadia assignment may have been compromised by a personal attachment to one of the associates …”

I don’t give him any response, which is what he would prefer. Gives him probable deniability.

“I told her that was unlikely.”

“If that’s what you want me to say. But we both know it isn’t true.”

“Clean it up, Jackson. Whatever this is, it’s not appropriate behavior for someone who is supposed to take over the firm someday. “

He hangs up, and I can’t find it in me to care. Taking over the firm someday, as if that was ever the plan I chose. The life I want is in Unit B, in a purple cast, furious with me, and I have never been more certain of anything in my life.

Checking the time, I push up my jacket sleeve and look at my Cartier Tank watch passed down from my grandfather at my law school graduation. Phoenix once commented on my insistence on always wearing it to work.

“That watch is the most pretentious thing about you, and that’s saying something.”

A whisper of a smile appears as I head toward Rhodes’s office, knowing he will be there now. We need to have a conversation that is long overdue.

I knock once then open the door without waiting for an answer. Rhodes looks up from his phone in surprise.

“We need to talk about Phoenix Lane.”

“Jackson.” He straightens his suit. “What can I do for you?”

“You can start by managing this firm better.” I take a seat in the chair across from him, unbuttoning my suit jacket and crossing my leg over my knee.

His jowls redden. “How are you—I’ve been running this place since you were in diapers. George and I built it from nothing⁠—”

“And that’s what it is returning to with his illness, apparently.” He stops short, mouth hanging open, but I press on, “You knew he was sick. That he gave Cassandra power of attorney. You chose not to examine that, what it could mean for this place. That’s not criminal, but professionally negligent.”

He deflates, slumping into his seat. “At first, I wasn’t too concerned. It started with forgetting a few details here and there. George would forget to show up to a meeting, that kind of thing. Turns out, it was early onset dementia.”

That would be incredibly difficult for a man like Pierce, who, by all accounts, was quick-witted and sharp.

“Cassandra broke the news to me, wanting to keep it quiet. They have gotten him into some drug trials, trying to slow the progression down. It’s been … challenging to witness.” I nod, sympathetic for him and his friend. “I didn’t know what Cassandra was doing at first.” He chuckles darkly. “I don’t even know if I do now.”

“Look, Cassandra deliberately targeted Phoenix. The suspension was weaponized instead of procedural. Not only that, she even called Officer Dickson to investigate her client’s immigration status. If this goes to the bar association, which she has grounds for, the firm’s exposure will be significant.”

Rhodes rubs his forehead. “What do you want?”

“When Phoenix resigned, it was effective immediately. Which means her insurance will terminate. She broke her ankle yesterday and only has a few weeks of coverage left. I am asking you to delay her resignation by ninety days, with one month’s back pay.”

He narrows his eyes at me, the negotiator coming to life.

“We have an ironclad employment contract.”

“Do you want to take a chance on your negligence and Pierce’s illness coming to light? Because it will.”

“You have a significant amount of nerve walking in here and asking me for anything,” he says grudgingly.