“Walters,” she said, her voice a sharp, clinical edge that betrayed none of the tremors currently rattling her bones.
“The Da Silva team hasn't just barked back, Amara—they’ve bitten,” Braithwaite’s voice crackled over the line, vibrating with a dark, restless energy. “Their lead counsel just filed a protective order and a cross-motion for a stay of proceedings. They’re alleging professional misconduct. My office. Now.”
The line went dead.
Amara stared at the handset for a heartbeat before slowly returning it to its cradle. Her fingers felt like ice. Misconduct. It was the word that could end a career before the ink on a partnership agreement even dried. She stood up, her legs feeling like they were made of glass, and reached for her briefcase. The drawing—the crude, beautiful sketch of
