Chapter 8 - An Offer Wrapped in Threats
I opened the door but left the storm screen latched.
Tatum had covered the bruise on her cheek with makeup.
She wore black slacks and a pale sweater, looking as neat as a woman arriving for a business meeting.
“I'd like to put this behind us,” she said.
“That's up to Dahlia,” I answered.
“I'm speaking to the person who assaulted me.”
I didn't argue.
The punch was mine.
I had to own it, whether she deserved consequences of her own or not.
Tatum lifted the folder.
If I signed a statement saying the fountain tipped accidentally, she would ask her lawyer to withdraw her civil demand.
She would also “help” Dahlia clear the loan once the catering company's next contract paid out.
“That's not a settlement,” Dahlia said from behind me.
“That's a confession you wrote for us.”
Tatum's eyes narrowed.
“Your family could lose everything over this.”
“Our family isn't the one that borrowed the money,” Dahlia replied.
Tatum took one step toward the door.
I didn't move.
She dropped her voice.
“Your mother can't afford an assault conviction at her age.”
I felt cold despite the warm morning.
I had spent decades believing age automatically made a person wiser.
One punch had proven otherwise.
Dahlia held up her phone.
“Please leave. All further contact goes through a lawyer.”
Tatum looked beyond her into the kitchen, where Harper's laptop still sat open.
For a fraction of a second, fear displaced her practiced smile.
Then she walked back to the van.
May you like
Before driving away, she sent one more text to Dahlia.
You have until Tuesday. After that, it won't matter what your little camera friend recorded.
