‘Then you’ve come to the right place.’ Laila leaned back in her chair and opened the Peyton file. She’d been right. Scarlett would be unimpressed if she learned of her relationship with her husband’s solicitor, however casual it may be.
‘As long as you’re aware I specialise in acting for the wives of our defence force. I’d be remiss if I didn’t point that out.’
Scarlett raised one professionally shaped brow. ‘Why do you think I chose you? I know all about the Blackhawk Foundation. You only charge the minimum fee for your legal services, and when clients can afford it you ask them to donate the balance of your costs to the foundation.’
‘You have done your homework.’
Scarlett eyes flashed. ‘Oh, I always do my homework.’
Laila stayed quiet. She had to admit she was impressed by Scarlett’s diligence. Fees hadn’t been discussed at their previous appointment. Scarlett had been upset. Today, she was more contained.
The other woman leaned forward in her chair. ‘I have a proposition for you. Get me custody of my children, and the settlement I want, and charge me at the hourly rate a name firm would charge. I’m guessing that’s roughly double your standard hourly rate. After that, I’m happy to become a patron of your charity, if you like.’
Laila tried not to let her excitement show. The Peytons were known as a philanthropic family, particularly Duncan’s mother, who sat on the board of a number of Sydney charities. Negotiating a satisfactory property settlement for Scarlett would result in the foundation receiving a much-needed injection of cash.
‘That’s a very gracious offer, thank you.’ Laila folded her arms on the desk and looked her client straight in the eye. ‘As for the other, I’ll agree to get you a reasonable and fair settlement, after I’ve seen the Statement of Financial Circumstances of course.’
‘I only want what’s fair,’ Scarlett said quickly.
That remained to be seen. In Laila’s experience, couples often began with the intention of working everything out amicably. It rarely happened.
Laila picked up the affidavit she’d prepared from the top of the file. ‘While it’s smart to avoid a long, drawn-out court battle, it’s vital we move quickly to protect your interests. Bearing in mind the substantial family assets, there’s no avoiding court at this early stage.’
She slid the document across the desk. ‘This is a short affidavit in support of the orders we’re seeking. It’s straightforward. Basically, it sets out the concerns you have about your husband.’
As Scarlett read through the affidavit, Laila was gripped with more nervous excitement at the prospect of going up against a powerhouse firm like Poole Greenwood. Would her former lover appear on Duncan’s behalf, or would he hand it over to someone on his team?
She couldn’t help wondering if he was working today, preparing Duncan as she was preparing his wife. Despite his declaration that he hated family law, she knew he’d be very much involved in the case. And she was under no misapprehension. Evan Barclay would make a formidable opponent.
‘That’s all fine.’
Scarlett’s voice brought Laila back to the present, and they spent the next twenty minutes discussing the merits of sharing custody of the children. Eventually, the affidavit was signed and witnessed, the meeting at an end.
In the waiting room, Laila shook Scarlett’s hand. ‘Be sure you’re at the court by 9 a.m. sharp. The judge is certain to have questions.’
Scarlett left, and Laila stood alone in the quiet waiting room. Mike and Trudy were catching up over coffee somewhere. She’d heard Mike suggesting it as she’d followed Scarlett into her office.
In two minds whether to join them, she took her phone from her jacket pocket. There were no voicemail messages or texts as to their whereabouts. Mike’s desk was also free of the sticky notes he often used to leave her messages.
Laila straightened her shoulders, annoyed with herself for feeling a little let down. It was better this way. The conversation was always censored when she was around.
Her eyes cut to the picture of the Blackhawk helicopter hanging on the wall. In addition to the class action, she now had a huge divorce case to handle on top of all her other matters. The sooner she got to work the better.
Deciding to put Eddie’s file away, Laila moved towards the two steel filing cabinets housing the foundation’s paperwork. Side by side, they stood in a small alcove behind the reception desk. Taking a bunch of keys from her pocket, she located the right one and held it up to the lock.
Laila froze.
The drawer was already open, only a few millimetres, no more than the width of her index finger — but it was definitely open.
Laila’s heart began to race as she dropped the keys back in her pocket. Careful not to touch the surface, she inspected the cabinet. There was a clear dent in the steel frame where the lock had been jemmied open.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She’d unlocked the cabinet when she’d arrived this morning, taken out Eddie’s file, and locked it again immediately. As she always did.
When had this happened? Apart from her, only Mike, Trudy and Scarlett had been in the office today.
Laila turned to inspect the second cabinet. Again, the top drawer had been prised open. This time, there were scratches on the side where a steel implement had scrapped off some paint.
Hasty work.
Had it been done while she was seeing Trudy, before Mike had arrived? Or maybe in the last forty minutes while she’d been in the office alone with Scarlett?
It was a brazen move. Then again, it could just be kids looking to steal the petty cash. It had happened before. If that’s all it was, it was hardly worth calling the police.
With that in mind, Laila checked the petty cash tin in the middle drawer of Mike’s desk. Most of the fifty-dollar float was intact. Could the intruder have gone to the filing cabinet first, only to hightail it when they heard voices from the inner office and realised they weren’t alone?
Laila pulled a handful of tissues from the box on Mike’s desk so she wouldn’t disturb the fingerprints, and pulled open the top drawer of the cabinet.
Oh shit!
This wasn’t the work of kids. Every file had been taken out then shoved back inside in a haphazard fashion. Some of the clear plastic tabs had fallen off the file holders, and a few random papers had even come loose.
Laila stared at the mess in dismay. This was the last thing she needed. With the Peyton case looming on Monday, she still had a ton of work to get through. The class action could be put aside for a bit, at least until Trudy returned Eddie’s paperwork.
And now she had to call the police. They’d want to brush the office for fingerprints, and see if anything was missing. How could she establish that? Going through the filing cabinets would take the rest of the weekend.
A sudden movement of air had Laila’s heart leaping, and she swung around, every nerve ending in her body firing. The waiting room stared back at her, silent, empty, and it took a few moments to realise the sound had come from Mike’s computer. It was on, and the fan had kicked in.
Laila reached for the cordless mouse and went cold all over as the screensaver disappeared, revealing a message at the bottom of the screen.
It is safe to remove external drive E.
Mike would never copy anything from the office system without asking her permission. This had to have been done by the same person who’d rifled through the filing cabinets.
Laila’s eyes flicked to the computer’s USB ports.
Empty.
The device had been removed in a hurry, before the screen prompt had appeared.
A faint movement caught her eye and she jerked her head around. Outside, in the corridor, someone was standing on the other side of the frosted glass partition.
Eyes glued to the shadowy outline, Laila came out from behind the desk. People often worked on the weekend, but usually they were coming and going. They didn’t loiter outside, unless they were talki
ng to someone else.
Laila’s glanced towards the door. She hadn’t locked it after Scarlett had left. If this was the same person who’d gone through her office, a few quick strides and he’d be back inside.
For long, agonising moments, Laila stood there, staring at the indistinct outline.
Waiting.
Willing the person to go.
What was he doing? Watching to see if anyone else was in the office?
Checking she was alone?
Laila forced her shaky legs to move. She headed for the door, arm raised, fingers reaching for the lock. She pressed the button in the centre of the handle, then turned and leaned against the door, shoulders lowering as her body went limp with relief.
Whoever was out there, they couldn’t see her now.
She groped in her coat pocket for her phone.
A door banged, and her heart leaped as the sound reverberated throughout the building.
Dragging in mouthfuls of air, Laila tried to bring her heart rate down. She knew the sound of the stairwell door; it banged like that fifty times a day. If the person had gone, there was no need to ring the police and have them race over in a panic.
Eventually, she stepped away from the door and peered through the frosted glass.
The shadow was no longer there.
Another wave of relief rolled through her body as she made her way back to Mike’s desk. Keeping a wary eye on the frosted glass, she reached for the phone and hit the speed-dial number for his mobile phone. Maybe he’d noticed someone hanging around the building. Maybe he had copied something onto a flash drive. Either way, she needed to alert him to the break-in.
A few seconds passed before Laila realised the dial tone was still buzzing in her ear. She felt an icy chill at the base of her spine, and she jabbed at the button with a jerky movement.
Nothing.
Just like last night, the pre-programmed settings had been erased.
Laila’s eyes cut to the Blackhawk. The picture had always fascinated her. If she stared hard enough, she could almost see the rotors turning, hear the unmistakeable whump whump whump as the blades sliced through the air.
She lowered the phone and thought of Will, Mike, Eddie and the others.
Had the military learned of the proposed class action and come here, searching for the information she’d gathered?
And if they had, what lengths would they go to — to ensure their cover-up remained intact?
Chapter Five
I watched Laila Richards.
Had been for a while now.
She was a creature of habit, one of those disciplined types you could set your watch by.
I liked that.
Made my job easy.
Every morning she was out the door by six, except Sunday, when she’d emerge at ten. She liked to walk, and she always took the same route, along the beach then up through the cemetery on the cliff.
Predictable.
As a lawyer, you’d think she’d be smart enough to vary her walking route — so it must have been laziness that she didn’t.
Last Sunday she’d looked my way, but my eyes were shielded by dark glasses. I’d joined a group of mourners at a graveside funeral, staying on the fringes and clutching my peonies. It was easy to blend in, standing among the others, head bowed, eyes fixed to a spot on the ground.
After she’d passed by, I’d broken away from the group and followed her, slipping between the large Victorian headstones topped with archangels and crosses. I read the names as I went, tossing the pink peonies onto a grave when I found a name I liked better than my own.
After her walk, she always went to the same cafe, sitting at a corner table and reading the Sunday papers.
Yes, Sunday was the best day to watch.
But not today.
She’d skipped her exercise this morning, and the bounce was missing from her step.
I knew why.
From my spot on the park bench, I gazed up at the glowing fluorescent lights in her fourth-floor office.
The newspaper shook between my fingers.
Chapter Six
10 a.m. Monday
Laila stood and inclined her head as the judge entered the courtroom. In her peripheral vision she could see Evan likewise deferring. On his left was Duncan Peyton, a belligerent expression on his face. The only other person in the room, apart from herself and Scarlett, was the judge’s associate, seated directly in front of him, on a lower tier.
Laila remained standing as the judge took his seat at the bench. She’d barely slept the last four nights, and it had taken all of yesterday to straighten up the filing cabinets and try to establish if anything was missing. As far as she could see, everything was accounted for — but as Mike pointed out, if the military were behind it, they’d just photograph the documents using a tiny, high-powered camera.
But she couldn’t let any of that affect her now. Depending on the outcome, the Peyton case could make or break her career.
Within moments, the judge was down to business. ‘I’ll deal with the matter of Peyton versus Peyton.’
Laila took a deep breath, nerves pinpricking her stomach. ‘Richards, solicitor, Your Honour. I appear today on behalf of the applicant wife.’
It was natural to be a little nervous representing a person of Scarlett’s standing, but Laila had appeared in this courtroom many times, and she knew the disposition of the judge well. Their relationship was one of mutual respect, and she was confident he’d treat her application with the gravity it warranted
‘Barclay, solicitor, Your Honour.’ Evan’s baritone voice projected around the room and Laila’s heart gathered speed. ‘I appear on behalf of the respondent husband.’
The judge looked up from his papers and peered at Evan over the top of his narrow reading glasses. ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my court before, Mr Barclay.’
Evan’s dark head dipped a fraction. ‘No, Your Honour. I don’t often have the privilege of appearing before this honourable court.’
Laila smothered a smile. She had to hand it to him. He was smooth, controlled and charming, with an undeniable aura of confidence that gave the impression he would be as comfortable addressing a United Nations summit as he was addressing the Family Court.
With a half-smile, the judge turned to Laila. ‘Ms Richards. I’ve read through the application. Do you have any other documents for me?’
‘I do, Your Honour.’ Laila came out from behind the table and handed a document to the judge’s associate. ‘I have an affidavit sworn by my client last Saturday. A copy has already been provided to my friend.’
Her eyes cut to Evan as she returned to her seat. He was watching her, lids hooded, the corner of his mouth upturned, as if he too were thinking they’d been a whole lot more than friends.
While the judge took his time reading, Laila watched time tick by on the analogue clock. Every now and then she could hear the deep tonal notes of Evan’s hushed voice as he clarified something to Duncan Peyton, her body so attuned to his dulcet tones that the muscles in her lower body clenched. How many times had he whispered hushed words to her, sexy words, while threading his fingers through her hair?
Did Evan’s client know of their affair? Evan didn’t strike her as the kiss and tell type, but it was possible. They’d been best mates since high school.
Heat gathered in Laila’s chest and rose slowly until it warmed her face and neck. Her nerves were exacerbated because Evan was on the other side of this matter — the man who’d seen her in all her naked glory, the man who’d given her more orgasms than she could have believed possible.
Oh god!
Forcing another deep breath into her lungs, she focused on the judge. She needed to rein in her wayward thoughts or they were going to sabotage her. If there was ever a time to perform well, it was now.
To her relief the judge set aside the document. ‘Are you seeking any orders today, Ms Richards?’
Laila rose again. ‘Yes, Your Honour. I�
�m seeking interim orders to ensure the status quo remains, until a full hearing of the property application can be dealt with by the court.’
The judge gave a solemn nod. ‘Then I’ll address the matter of the assets first. Go on.’
Laila glanced at the opposition. Evan was writing on his legal pad, a black Mont Blanc pen — which had once slipped from his shirt pocket and landed on her bedroom floor — grasped in his right hand. His face was impassive, left elbow propped on the desk, chin cupped in his hand. He looked unconcerned, in control, as if he graced this particular courtroom every day with his presence.
‘My client is seeking orders from the court that the husband be restrained from further mortgaging any asset of the parties, any associated companies, and of any trusts of which the parties have an interest.’
‘Is there a significant likelihood of that occurring?’ asked the judge.
Laila looked at the document in front of her. ‘As deposed to in my client’s affidavit, Your Honour, you will note that paragraphs twelve to eighteen are instances where my client alleges her husband has acted inappropriately.’
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Evan look up.
‘On one occasion, there is an allegation her signature was forged. My client alleges her husband is constantly in discussion with a multitude of parties regarding different business ventures.’
Laila paused for a moment and looked at Scarlett. ‘My client is in court today, prepared to give personal testimony, if Your Honour so requires.’
Beside her, Scarlett lifted her chin, shoulders straightening under the judge’s scrutiny. But his next question was directed at Evan.
‘What does your client have to say in response, Mr Barclay?’
Laila sat, and it was Evan’s turn to stand.
‘My client strongly denies any suggestion of alleged wrongdoing, but of course I’ll need more time to get full and proper instructions in order to adequately respond to the wife’s affidavit, Your Honour.’
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