Page 52 of Never Forget
"You went somewhere," Tyler said.
"Just thinking."
Sean raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Tyler held my gaze for a moment longer, like he could see something I wasn't saying.
I looked away and took a sip of my cold coffee.
Thinking about Bryce Montgomery made my blood boil.
I wasn't sixteen anymore. And this time, I wasn't going to stay silent.
I had promised to go with Jamie to the City Attorney's office. She wanted to find out what could be done about Jack's LODD classification—what the process looked like, what documentation she'd need, whether an appeal was even possible.
On the drive over, I noticed her eyes tracking something outside the window. Campaign signs. Blue and white, staked into lawns every few blocks.BRYCE MONTGOMERY FOR SOLICITOR.
"Doesn't Havensworth elect solicitors every four years?" Jamie asked.
"Yeah?"
"So why is Bryce already campaigning?"
"I heard the solicitor is stepping down due to health issues."
Jamie turned to look at me. "And Bryce is already campaigning?" She shook her head. "That's exactly the kind of move you'd expect from Bryce Montgomery."
It was good to see her more like herself. For weeks she'd been buried in funeral arrangements, guardianship paperwork, the endless machinery of grief. Watching her mind sharpen on something outside of all that felt like progress.
"Why is no one batting an eye at how inappropriate that is?" she asked.
"Maybe because he's a Montgomery."
Jamie shook her head and turned back to the window.
We parked and walked into the building together. The City Attorney's office was on the third floor, in a space that smelled like old carpet and stale coffee. The reception area was small, with a few chairs along the wall and a desk where a young clerk sat typing.
Jamie approached the desk. "Hi. I'm looking for information about appealing an LODD classification. My brother was a firefighter. He died in the line of duty, but the city ruled it as insubordination. I want to know what the process looks like to challenge that."
The clerk nodded and pulled out a form. "I can help you with that. Can I get some basic information? Your brother's name, the date of the incident, the station he was assigned to?"
"Jack Donovan. He was at Station 33. The fire was in January."
The clerk wrote it down. "And the basis for the appeal? What documentation do you have that supports?—"
"Jamie! Sam!"
That voice. I knew it before I turned around.
Bryce Montgomery was walking through the reception area, a coffee cup in one hand and a leather folder tucked under his arm. He looked like he'd just come back from a meeting—suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened slightly, the picture of casual authority.
I knew Bryce worked here. I'd just been hoping—stupidly, in retrospect—that we'd be in and out before he noticed.
"What brings you two to my neck of the woods?"
Neither of us answered. The silence stretched for a beat too long.
The clerk looked up from her notes. "They're here about an LODD appeal, Mr. Montgomery. Jack Donovan's case."
The name landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water.
