He glances at his fancy Rolex watch. “You’re late in my world.”
I don’t argue because I remember spouting the exact same line to his brother. Except Parker was usually late. Instead, I sit across from him, holding my hands together to stop the nerves.
“Do you have it?”
He nods once, closing his laptop and pushing a thin folder from his side to mine. “The attorneys in Novadia who are representing the new victim that’s come forward.”
Victim.
“She was on your team,” he adds. His eyes flit to mine before darting back at the folder. “You might remember her even though she’s older than you by two years. You were quite the phenom. Must have been hard to give up.”
I nod, already knowing who he means before I even open the contents.
Katya.
The memory hits fast and uninvited.
She was always loud, gregarious, and confident in a way I never allowed myself to be because my dad always said I wasn’t quite good enough. Katya was the kind of girl who laughed too hard and skated faster than anyone expected her to, like she had something to prove every time she stepped on the ice.
She would braid my hair before games saying it made me look less terrifying. I was never sure if that was a compliment.
I hadn’t realized that I’d stopped remembering her, but now I recall her not showing up to a game, then missing practices and Dad said, “Katya quit. She’s not good enough to be on this team.”
But she was good enough, better than most of us.
“What else do I need to know?” I ask quietly.
“She came forward recently,” Witt says. “It’s a new case so that’s why things are moving again.”
My throat constricts, and I force myself to speak. “Thanks, Witt. I didn’t know where else to turn and your family seems to think you’re a hacking genius so… thanks.”
“Ahh, this was easy, some information was behind a firewall but it’s their fault for not protecting it better. You’ll see what she’s accusing your dad of,” he says matter-of-factly.
He looks at me like my face is a research project. I begin to squirm in my seat.
“You’re going to testify,” he states.
It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
For the first time since I’ve known Witt, his expression softens. “Good,” he says.
I wonder if that means he’s proud of me or that Parker will be. Or is telling the truth one hundred percent of the time an O’Ryan family trait?
“Thanks, Witt. You didn’t have to do this for someone who…”
He pushes back from the table, throws his laptop in his backpack, and leaves with his coffee in hand.
“Who my brother loves? Yes I did.”
Parker must tell his family everything. And this is Witt’s way of helping Parker, not necessarily me.
I scurry back to my office to call the attorney before I chicken out. It feels as if I’m stepping off a ledge into the unknown. There’s no easing into it. No way to soften what has happened to me and the others.
Sitting at my desk with the door closed and the phone pressed to my ear, I hear my heart beating too fast for something that hasn’t even happened yet.
The receptionist answers in our native language but when she puts me through the female attorney says, “Annika, we were hoping you would reach out.”