“Why do you believe you’re ugly on the inside?” Denise asked.
“When I was told my fiancé died, I felt like part of my heart and emotions died, too. I was this carefree, loving, fun girl and everything changed in that instant. I crawled inside a bottle for a year and turned into a surly, unemotional wreck.”
“I think that’s to be expected, Stella,” Denise sympathized while she took notes.
“But I changed, and once I finally felt like I knew who I was again, I was shot.” She skipped over the Jamie aspect of this situation for now. “I was with George at the time. I mean, not when I was shot, but we were together as a couple. We’d just gotten back together. And after, I felt like I couldn’t fall apart again. He’d seen me like that and I didn’t think he would stay with me if I circled the drain again. I acted tough and strong, but on the inside I felt like everything I had rebuilt inside of me turned hard. If that makes sense…”
“It does.” She nodded at Stella to continue.
“I let bitterness eat away at me, but I tried to hide it from George because I didn’t want him to leave me, which led me to lie to him about certain things.”
“Tell me one thing about you, on the inside, that’s ugly.”
“I planned and trained to find the guy who shot me and kill him.”
Denise’s face gave away nothing. “What happened?”
Stella shrugged. “I couldn’t do it.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t do it? You couldn’t find him?”
Stella’s eyes narrowed, thinking maybe Denise had been following her story.
“Stella, this is a safe space. I do research on all of my new patients. I know who you are and what happened to you, but this is your story to tell.”
Stella chewed on a fingernail and looked back at the bookcase.
“We have plenty of time to get that question. How do you feel today?”
“Honestly, I feel lost. I really don’t know why, but lost.”
“Well. Let’s talk about that. What do you mean by lost?”
“I mean that I don’t know who I am any more. I’m a very well-paid lawyer at a firm I never thought I’d be working at, doing a job I never wanted to do, living a life I never planned to live.”
“But, Stella, you said you feel lost. All you’ve told me is what you’re doing for a living now.”
“I’m trying to explain.”
“Tell me where that lost feeling is coming from.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not really sure. I’ve been ignoring all these feelings for so long, I’m not sure exactly where it’s coming from.”
“When’s the last time you remember not feeling lost?”
“The day I moved up here with Jamie. The next morning I woke up and everything was perfect. Our futures were so bright and everything felt so… right.” Stella thought back to the first morning she woke up in their bed in Old Town.
Denise wrote down a few notes on her pad. “So for five years you’ve felt lost?”
“I…maybe?”
Denise raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, I’ve had times where I rebuilt myself and started living again and George was a part of that. We’d just gotten back together before I got shot and then my world shattered and fell around my feet, again.” Stella shifted and rearranged herself so she was sitting on her leg.
Denise subtly glanced at her watch and cleared her throat. “Stella, I think we’ve had a good first session. There are several avenues that I’d like to explore and I think I can help you. I’m recommending therapy once a week for a while.”
“Okay,” Stella said weakly.
“Stella, we can work together and get you feeling more found than lost.”
“Okay.” Stella was dazed and felt on the verge of tears.
“It’s normal to feel very exposed. Just know therapy is really like you’re having a conversation with yourself.”
Stella really didn’t want to talk to herself about any of this.
Stella finished researching defamation of public figures and got ready to leave; she had late dinner plans with George. Her phone rang and she groaned; it was a Federal government number. “Stella Murphy,” she answered.
“Ms. Murphy, this is Monica Peterson. We have a date.”
Stella tensed. “Hi, Ms. Peterson. When’s the date?”
“It’s set for next month. I need to prepare your testimony. We’ll need to meet a couple of times before trial. When are you available this week?”
“Next month?!” She didn’t know why she was shocked; she’d known she would have to testify. Typically trials of this magnitude took years; the explosion had only happened about a year ago. “So soon?”
“Yep. Because the investigation stalled with the one defendant, we’re going forward with his trial. We’ve got to show that we’ve got something.”
“You still haven’t found the other two? The one that shot me?”
“Nope, both of the other assailants are in the wind.” Ms. Peterson muffled her phone and said something to someone else in the room. “So, when are you available this week?”
“I’m not.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not available this week. I don’t take lunches and since I was terminated by the FBI, I work until 10:00 every night.”
Ms. Peterson cleared her throat. “Ms. Murphy, your testimony is the most important evidence we have in this case.”
Stella cut her off. “No, it’s not. Look I’m a lawyer, too, and I’m not stupid. I didn’t even see the guy. He was wearing a mask. Your most important evidence is the evidence they found on my person. Cut the shit and work around my schedule.”
Ms. Peterson was silent.
“Is the trial being held in Montana?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“Okay. I’m available after six next Thursday and Friday. Does that work for you?” Stella heard her name called from behind her. “I have to go. Email me day, time and location.” She disconnected the call and turned around to see Pete Michaels, one of her new bosses, standing in her door.
“You done?”
“Just about.” Stella pulled out all the legal authority from her printer. “Here are all the cases relevant to the DeVry case.”
“Okay.” He took the cases and walked out of her room.
Well, you’re fucking welcome. She’d just sat back down when Christine Parker, the other partner in the firm, came in and sat down in one of her chairs across from her desk. “So, Stella. How’s it going?”
“Fine, I just gave Pete the cases you guys needed.” Stella had been working there for several months and was trying to get used to firm life. There were only six attorneys at the firm. It’s what they call a “boutique firm,” which meant it’s a small firm that specializes in certain cases and clientele. She was the youngest attorney and therefore got all the shit assignments. This usually meant she had to work with Christine, who was difficult to work for, and using the word “difficult” was being polite.
“I need you to draft a motion to be filed with the court tomorrow. I need it for the Farrelly case; we need a motion to compel. I know you aren’t that familiar with the file, so you should probably review the discovery we’ve already received before you start.” Christine put two Redwell folders on her desk. “Just put it on my desk when you’re done tonight.” She closed the door on the way out. Fuck.
She texted George.
another late night
George replied.
again?
Stella grimaced.
yep
George replied quickly.
see you when i see you
love
Stella smiled.
love
She closed her eyes, counted to eight and then started reviewing the new file.
On Thursday, she left her office at 5:45 pm and drove over to the Attorney General’s office, which was located in the main Department of Justice building. Monica Peterson
was not based in DC, but in Montana, which is where the trial would be held. She was meeting Stella in DC for the next three nights in order to prepare her for her testimony in a few weeks.
Dread crept up Stella’s spine as she walked toward the DOJ building. It’d been a while. Because it was after normal business hours, Ms. Peterson was waiting for her at the door.
“Hi, Stella,” Ms. Peterson greeted her and motioned for Stella to follow her to a conference room located on the first floor.
“Do you really think this will take this long? I mean, I can only testify as to what I saw, which wasn’t much.” She fidgeted with her earring.
“Stella, how many trials have you had?”
“None,” she answered.
“Okay, then let me do my job,” Ms. Peterson snapped.
“Fine.” Stella put her things down on a table in a small conference room with no windows. “I’m getting the star treatment.”
“Sit down and let’s get started.” Ms. Peterson opened two binders in front of her and began.
“Please state your name for the record.”
“Really? I think I got that part,” she said sarcastically.
Ms. Peterson looked up from her binder, exasperated. “Stella. I’ve had a very long day. I’m trying to get this thing ready for a slam dunk. All I need to do is go over your testimony; all of it. It includes your name and your background. Bear with me and I’ll get through this as quickly as I can. Tomorrow will be a lot longer. I’ll be preparing you for cross.”
Stella relaxed a little in the chair. “Fine. Stella Murphy.”
“Your full name.”
“Stella Eugenia Murphy. The media will love bringing that up again, thanks.”
They stayed closed up in the conference room until 10:00 pm for three nights in a row. The second and third night Stella felt as if she were leaving a boxing match, but Monica was pretty sure they were prepared for all the questions geared to make her lose her shit on the stand. She’d used every article and picture that’d been in the media to piss her off. It worked. She felt ready.
Millie walked past Stella to submerge herself in the walk-in-closet Stella had taken over in the guest room.
“Damn, girl, you’ve picked up some style in the past couple of months.” Millie ran her hand across the row of expensive suits and dresses as she walked further into the closet.
“Wait ‘til you see my new heels.” Stella grinned.
Millie’s head whipped around so fast, she could’ve gotten whiplash. “New heels?”
Stella pointed on the ground in the very back of the closet where she had stacked ten boxes of new shoes.
“Wait…” Millie steadied herself by placing her hand on Stella’s right shoulder. “Are those Louboutins?”
“Yes… yes they are.” She chuckled at Millie’s expression. “I work in the private sector now. I get paid really well.”
“And Cole Hahn and Coach.” Millie turned to look at Stella, narrowing her eyes. “I think I might hate you.”
“It’s too bad we don’t wear the same size, right?” Stella bent over to pull the top off the box that contained her royal blue Kate Spade four inch heels.
“Shut the fuck up,” Millie said as she looked at the heels.
“I know.” A year ago Stella couldn’t even imagine being able to pay $600 for one pair of shoes. Christine had explained they had high-end clients, which meant she needed to look appropriate. Stella was shocked at how much she enjoyed the couple of shopping trips she’d been on to get work clothes. Typically she hated shopping.
“Okay, let’s get down to work. Black suit is out. You want to wear softer colors, you’re a victim. Think pink or some pastel color.”
Stella scrunched her face together, thinking. “I don’t really do pink.”
“I can see that.” Millie walked down to the area that Stella held all her shirts and shells that went under her suits. “You have red, blue, green, black, and white. No pink? No pastel?” Millie’s tone was mocking.
“You’re shocked, right?” Stella asked, laughing.
“Very.”
“Okay, but here’s the problem. I have to wear my black heels. I won all three of the hearings I had while I was wearing them.”
“You’re superstitious?” Millie asked, surprised.
“Oh yeah, when I played ball I only had three pairs of underwear and two sport bras that I would wear for games.”
“That’s weird.”
“No, it’s not. Most athletes are superstitious about certain things, whether it’s the same process a pitcher goes through for each pitch or batting gloves. Jesse will only wear a particular brand of sock.”
“I didn’t play sports in school.”
“So, I have to wear something that I can wear black heels with…” Stella reiterated.
“Hmmm.” Millie walked back down to the skirts and suits. “What about this grey suit? You could wear your black heels, but still put the pretty pink shirt we’re going to buy under it.”
“Ugh, I so am not looking forward to this, Mil.” Stella walked out of the closet and sat on the bed. Millie followed her, sitting next to her and draping her arm across Stella’s shoulders.
“This is going to be hard, El. You don’t have to do it by yourself. You know that, right?”
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. I’ll be fine.”
“El, I’m sure you’ll be fine, but I don’t mind going with you. I know George would go, even Patrick.”
“No. This is something I need to do by myself. It’s up to me to do this.”
“Everyone needs help sometimes, El.”
“Oh yeah? When have you needed my help, Millie?” Stella looked at her, eyebrows raised. Stella felt all she’d done for years was ask for help; she needed to do this herself. She’d leaned on Patrick the entire first year after Jamie “died.” Millie had taken care of the media requests after she was shot. She asked George for everything. He took a chance with her and she was hoping his investment in her would pay off. She wanted to be what he wanted, what he needed.
“You never cease to amaze me with your jackassness. Have I told you lately that for a smart person, you’re really fucking stupid?” Millie gave Stella a squeeze on the shoulders and stood up. “Good luck. Call me if you need me, seriously. And don’t forget the pink shirt.”
“Jackassness? That’s not even a word.”
Millie just laughed.
“You know what it means, though, don’t you?”
Stella got up and walked Millie down to the door. “Thanks, Mil.”
“It’s cool to see the place photographer-free.”
“Yeah, it’s been really nice, but Greg called the other day and he’s had a couple of reporters call because of the trial coming up. They want to do interviews.”
Millie’s eyebrows shot up. “You doing any?”
Stella shook her head. “No way.”
“You should probably do one.”
“That’s exactly what Greg said.”
“I vote for Diane Sawyer. I love her.”
“Maybe. If I do an interview, you have to come with me.”
“Of course, El.” Millie gave a quick wave and put her dark sunglasses on as she walked to her car.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Go Time
George knew the fight was coming; Stella was tired of being treated like she was breakable. She’d shown everyone how tough she was. Wanting to prove it again, to herself more than anyone else, she told him he wasn’t going with her to Montana. The hell he wasn’t. He argued his points with her, knowing she would never give in. He let her think she won the argument, but there was no way in hell he was letting her do this by herself. Her parents had fallen for her act, but then again, Stella didn’t tell them she was headed to Montana. They would see it on television, just like everyone else. And be pissed. He put her in a cab, leaving her thinking he’d be waiting for her at home when she was done. Like hell.
He almost
missed his flight because he was moving a huge crate of clementines someone had delivered to Stella. He was cutting it close anyway, and hoped he would get there prior to her testimony.
He was sitting in the back on the government’s side of the courtroom when she entered. She looked beautiful, but different than when they first fell in love. Her hair was shorter, making the features on her face appear different, sharper. There was fierceness in her eyes that wasn’t evident before. Where muscles were once abundant, she was now skinny. The media reported that she’d had a makeover so that she would be taken more seriously. That wasn’t it at all. She’d changed her appearance to get away from it all. The long raven hair that was so identifiable, the muscular frame that everyone talked about; she’d changed it all.
He didn’t mind the changes, because she was still the same stubborn, willful, fun woman he had fallen in love with. His love had expanded to this new person, in looks and in fierceness. Her job changed her as well, but more in a superficial way. Because her clients were high end, she’d used her first couple of paychecks to buy designer suits and those killer heels she was wearing now.
Her testimony on direct was pretty short and limited to what she observed that day. The defense attorney punched holes in her memory, which she refuted. He tried to assail her character based on the reports in the media. The prosecutor objected on the questions and the majority of them were sustained, but the damage of putting the media coverage before the jury was done.
George could see the rage brewing beneath the surface of Stella’s eyes. The question that’d almost made her lose it was when the defense attorney said, “Based on the media reports, it appears that you should be thanking my client, not testifying against him. You’ve got a great job and you’re basically a celebrity. Is there anything I’m missing about your recollection of that day?”
Rage flickered in her eyes before she smiled, calming as the prosecutor objected.
“Now that you mention it, I think you may be right. Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for ripping my clothes off and almost raping me. Thank you for getting me shot and almost killing me. Thank you for giving me a reminder of you and your two friends. Thank you for the scars that cover my chest and are still bright red. Thank you for the pain I feel every day. Thank you for making my boyfriend and my parents carry me to the bathroom for weeks after I was shot.”
Tension Page 26