A pit forms in my belly as we exit the courthouse. I don’t know the details of this couple’s marriage or what caused the destruction, but I can’t help feeling blindsided by the realization that fighting for what is right might not be as clear-cut as I want it to be.
“My office will be in touch once I receive the ruling,” Griffin states, and we part ways with Arlene in the parking deck and climb into his SUV.
“You did good finding those hidden rental properties. She’ll be able to afford health insurance and retire comfortably.”
Did I. . .do good?I’m not naive enough to think everything is as it appears. I know first-hand that things can vary drastically from a one-dimensional perspective. I’ve lived it many times over, and I’m currently hiding the true state of my situation.
In this case, I’m questioning the definition of doing good when it’s clear there’s so much more to be considered to determine if that’s true.
My mind swirls, and I’m ready to go home. “Could you drop me off at the mechanic shop? It’s about three blocks from the firm. My car is ready.”
Griffin glances at me. “Cal’s?” There’s a slight intonation in his question that sounds skeptical or surprised, maybe.
I toss it aside. My brain is unable to dissect anything else at the moment. “Yes.”
“Sure.” He exits the parking deck. “So, it was your first day in court. What did you think?”
I stare out the windshield and ask the question floating on the surface. “Did you know Arlene had an affair?”
Griffin peeks at me, his brow furrowed. “I did. She told me when we had our first consultation.”
I don’t say anything, letting that roll around.
“Sarah, one of the things I’ve learned over the last thirty years is that there’s no such thing as innocent and fair when it comes to divorce and settlement. As with most legal matters, it’s often who can make the best argument.”
He makes a right turn. “In this case, I think we proved Arlene was due those assets. It doesn’t matter what happened personally between them. It’s just sorting out how to divide what was once shared.”
I tuck my arms in my lap, processing his words and wondering if it’s callousness or factual—that right and fairness never really come into play at all.
It hits like a ton of bricks. “Do you ever feel like you helped the wrong team?” I ask bluntly, really wanting to know.
He laughs. “There is no good or bad, just people with something to lose. It’s our job to help win back whatever we can.”
Win. I wonder if there’s ever truly winning in this. I think about Ollie and Frankie. No matter what happens, there’s no winning for them.
But he’s right. Sometimes, people really do have everything to lose. It’s just. . .what if you’re the one who helps take it all away?
I check my phone—still no message from Miles. My stomach sinks even further.
Griffin pulls into the garage lot, and I see my car parked in a spot at the far end. I gather my things, pushing the door open. He puts the car in park and hits the button, turning it off.
I glance at him.
“I’ll be sure everything is set before I take off.”
I tug the shop door open, and Griffin holds it, following me inside. The air smells like metal and oil, and the noise is piercing. Krissy sits on a stool, her shoes propped on the counter, with her phone in her hand.
The door bangs closed, and her eyes pop up to us. She smiles, but it falters slightly as she zeros in on the man behind me.
The sound dies off except for a radio, and the room suddenly stills.
“Hi,” I say, glancing around the space for Slade but only seeing three other men staring back at me. “Uh, Slade said my car was done.”
Krissy removes her feet from the counter and sits forward, her eyes moving back to me.
“It’s ready,” a deep voice strikes the stillness.
My gaze snaps to the big man standing just outside a dark hallway. His flannel shirt is rolled up to his elbows, revealing the intricate inkwork that covers his arms.
