Page 48 of Breaking the Ice Queen
Andrew stood and crossed to the window, hands in his pockets. “Burty’s team will spin it as a disagreement over strategy. The trades will speculate about internal conflict. By noon tomorrow, every entertainment lawyer in Los Angeles will be calling to ask what happened.”
“You’ll field those calls.”
Andrew nodded once and gathered the signed letter and slid it into an envelope. “What about the evidence?”
Adriana looked at the window. The city was dark outside. The skyline that she had spent twenty years learning to navigate glowed with its persistent, indifferent light.
“Send everything,” she said. Her voice was steady. Her hands were not. “The full file. Every document we compiled during the alliance. The financial records from the internal systems. The corporate filings. The shell company documentation. The counter-evidence file against Burty’s PR campaign. The Hartwell strategy memo proving the fabrication campaign.” She pressed her palms flat on the desk, steadying them. The next words were the hardest she had ever spoken. “And the memo. My memo. The one I wrote three years ago flagging the payment irregularities and recommending an audit. The one I buried instead of acting on.”
The room was very quiet.
“All of it, Andrew. Everything I have. Everything the firm has. I want Sienna’s legal team to receive a complete, unredacted record of the truth. Not the version I was comfortable sharing. Not the version that protects me. The complete truth.”
Andrew was still. The stillness was not surprise. He had anticipated this. The stillness in his posture said he intended to be fully present for it.
“Adriana.” Andrew set his laptop down. He was clearing his hands, his attention, everything except the words he was about to say. “That memo is the single most damaging document in this entire case. Not for Burty. For you. It proves you identified potential fraud in a client’s financial operations, recommended a formal audit, and then suppressed your own findings to maintain a relationship worth three million dollars in annual retainer fees. If the bar association conducts an ethics investigation, which they will once this becomes public, your license is at risk. Not suspended. Revoked. And if the memo enters the public record through the documentary, the firm’s malpractice exposure could exceed our insurance coverage.”
“I know what it does.” Adriana’s voice was quiet. Not defeated. Clear. The voice of a woman who had been carrying a weight and was setting it down. “I know what it costs. I’ve spent three years weighing the cost of that memo, and the answer is always the same—disclosing it is devastating and not disclosing it is worse. Because not disclosing it means I chose comfort over truth, and that is exactly the thing I accused myself of on the night I found it in my own files.” She met Andrew’s eyes. “Sienna asked me to do the right thing. She said I’d know where to send the evidence. This is me knowing. This is the only honest thing I have left to give her.”
Andrew looked at her. His dark eyes held the complicated blend of respect and concern and affection that characterized the best moments of their nine-year partnership, the moments when the professional relationship dissolved into its older, deeper form, the relationship of two people who had chosen each other as allies and meant it.
“I’ll hand-deliver it,” he said. “To Sienna’s legal team. In person. With chain of custody documentation.”
“Thank you.”
He stood. He gathered the evidence files, two boxes, meticulously organized, representing the complete record of Adriana’s relationship with Burty Howarth and the complete record of her complicity in his crimes. He paused at the door.
“For what it’s worth,” Andrew said, “this is the bravest thing you’ve ever done. And I say that as someone who survived a hostile takeover.”
He left. Adriana sat in her office and listened to his footsteps recede and to the elevator doors open and close and to the building’s ventilation system cycling on with its patient, indifferent hum.
Andrew returned two hours later. It was nearly midnight. He walked into Adriana’s office, set his car keys on the desk, and sat in the chair across from her without speaking.
Adriana waited.
“Delivered,” Andrew said. His voice was quieter than usual. “Sienna’s attorney received the boxes at the Parallax Films office. Signed for them. Chain of custody documented.” He paused, and the pause held a weight he was choosing whether to share. “Sienna wasn’t there. Dani was. She opened the first box. Saw the memo on top — I placed it there, so it would be the first thing they saw. Dani read the subject line and closed her eyes for about five seconds. Then she looked at me and she didn’t say anything. She just nodded and closed the door.” Another pause, smaller, almost reluctant. “The editing suite was lit. Third floor. It was on when I arrived and still on when I left.”
The image lodged in Adriana’s chest. Dani reading the memo’s subject line, understanding instantly what it meant that Adriana had placed it on top. Not buried. Not excused. Placed front and center, the most damaging document first, because that was the only honest way to deliver it.
Dani had watched Sienna fall in love. Had watched Sienna get hurt. Was now standing between them, deciding what to do with two boxes of evidence that answered every question Sienna had ever asked. And Sienna was somewhere in that building, three floors up, the lights still on at midnight, whatever she was feeling happening in real time while Adriana sat in this quiet office and waited.
“Andrew.”
He looked up from his desk. The lamp cast long shadows beneath his eyes.
“What I just did, handing over that memo, puts the firm in a position that may not be recoverable. If the bar investigates, if Burty retaliates, if the documentary includes the memo in its narrative. The professional consequences could be significant.”
“I know.”
“You could have walked away. Any time in the last two weeks. You could have distanced yourself from this, protected your own career, let me take the fall alone.”
Andrew looked at her with an expression she had never seen on his face. Not in nine years, not during any crisis they had navigated together. It was an expression of absolute loyalty, unqualified and unashamed.
“I was never going to walk away,” he said. “I stayed because you’re worth staying for. Not the firm. Not the career.” He stood. “Go home. Sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.”
The story broke on Friday morning.
Not through the documentary—that was still weeks from completion. Through the trades.Varietyran it first: LOVETT & ASSOCIATES DROPS HOWARTH AMID FRAUD ALLEGATIONS.The Hollywood Reporterfollowed within the hour: ENTERTAINMENT LAWYER ADRIANA LOVETT SEVERS TIES WITH PRODUCER BURTY HOWARTH. By noon, the story was everywhere—trade publications, entertainment blogs, social media feeds, the inevitable cascade of attention that occurred when a powerful person’s protection disappeared and the industry realized, collectively, that the protection had been the only thing holding the structure together.
