{Hailey’s Pov}
Sunday arrived quiet and gray, the kind of morning that felt like it was waiting for something to happen. Williams drove me in silence to the McConnell Smith and Jones building, the same firm that had handled everything George Lachlan-related since before I was even born.
Clara met us in the lobby—a sea of chrome and glass so sterile it made a hospital waiting room look cozy. The place was massive, clearly designed for high-stakes negotiations and power plays, not just simple will readings. And yet, the moment we walked in, it was nearly deserted.
“You said I was the firm’s only client,” I told Clara as we passed a receptionist and a guard on our way to the elevators. “So why does this place feel like it’s hiding an army of lawyers behind closed doors?”
“There are severa
