Page 86 of Unlocked

She walked in and headed to the coffee station. Movement caught her eye.

He was sitting in the chair by the window.

Stuart Wellington looked up from his phone as she entered, and for just a moment neither of them said anything. He was immaculate as always, gray suit, silver tie, the kind of put-together that looked effortless and cost a great deal of money. His face gave nothing away. It never did.

"Tatum," he said.

"Stuart." She kept her voice level and crossed to the coffee station. Her back burned where she was sure his stare was boring into her. Ignoring the sensation, she took a cup and filled it, buying herself a few seconds to settle.

"Sit down," he said.

"I'm on my way somewhere."

"Sit down, Tatum."

She turned. He hadn't raised his voice. He never raised his voice. That was what made it so effective.

She sat.

He set his phone on the side table and looked at her with the particular expression she had feared since childhood, not anger exactly, something more calculated than that. Controlled displeasure. The kind that came with consequences attached.

"The Anderson case," he said.

Her stomach tightened. "No."

"That isn't a negotiation."

"I know it isn't. My answer is still no."

Stuart's jaw moved slightly. "Lou Anderson is a significant client of our firm, Tatum. He has been for fifteen years. He expects our best representation, and our best representation is you. You will take the case."

"I won't defend a man who assaulted his employee," she said evenly. "I've told you that." She wanted to tell her father that Anderson had done much more than that, if Vince Kelly could be believed, and that her father needed to dump Anderson as a client immediately. But now wasn’t the time, since she still needed proof. Undeniable proof, if she had any hope of swaying Stuart Wellington at all.

"What you will and won't do," Stuart said, his voice dropping just slightly, "is not entirely your decision. Not while you are a partner at Wellington, Wellington, and Smith. Not while you carry that name."

She felt it then, the old familiar cold that started in her chest and worked its way outward. The feeling of being very small in a very large room with no way out. She gripped her coffee cup.

"I'm asking you to reconsider," she said carefully.

He dismissed her request with a flick of his wrist. "That isn’t happening. I'm telling you. You will take the Anderson case. You will do it without complaint. And you will stop this pointless crusade with the Granite Industries victims, because it is damaging your reputation, and by extension, the firm's reputation. I will not allow it to continue."

"You can't⁠—"

"I can," he said simply. "And I will. Don't make me demonstrate how."

The threat sat between them, as neat and quiet as everything else about Stuart Wellington. She opened her mouth.

"I wasn't aware," a voice said from the doorway, "that threatening people was something we did in the Society."

Archer walked in.

He wasn't hurrying. That man did cold better than an iceberg. He moved to the coffee station with the nonchalant ease of a man who owned the room, which in every way that mattered, he did, and poured himself a cup. Then he turned and looked at Stuart.

"Threatening a member is grounds for membership review," he said conversationally. "Threatening a board member is something else entirely." He sipped his coffee. "Something with considerably worse consequences."

Stuart looked at him. Something passed between the two men that had no words attached to it, a recognition, a measuring. Two people who understood each other completely and had no intention of pretending otherwise.

"Archer," Stuart said, his voice perfectly pleasant. "Eavesdropping is not polite. You would be best served to stay out of other people’s business."