59
SARAH MORGAN
can’t do this shit anymore. The chips just keep stacking up against me. II close the car door and enter the dimly lit office building. It’s late, but Anne said Matthew had a courier deliver a package earlier: the DNA results are waiting for me on my desk.
I can hear the buzzing of a vacuum cleaner. The only ones here this late are the cleaners. It’s past 9pm. The trial begins on Monday. I ride the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. Motion sensor lights flicker on as I walk.
Before I make it to my office, my phone rings. I scramble to find it in my purse and without looking, I answer it quickly just to silence it.
“What’s this that a mother can’t visit her own son in prison?” Eleanor seethes.
I regret not looking at the caller ID before taking this call. “His visiting privileges were revoked due to his escape.”
“That’s nonsense. When do I get to see him?”
“You can see him on trial days, but you won’t be able to speak with him.”
“You’ve mishandled this whole thing, Sarah. I don’t know how you got to where you are! You screw up all the time. I have half the nerve to report you to the bar, and they’ll—” I hang up. I go to her contact information page and tap block this caller. I let out a sigh of relief, dropping the phone back into my purse.
On my desk is a large sealed yellow manila envelope. What’s inside it may make or break me. I hesitate before dropping my bag on the floor,
kicking off my heels and walking to my desk. I pick up the envelope and twirl it in my hand for a moment. It all comes down to this.
Pulling the metal clasp open and peeling back the flap, I slide out a small stack of paper. I quickly scan and flip the page, scan and flip the page, scan and flip the page and then my breath catches. A small gasp escapes.
My mouth curves to a grin.
“I knew it. It’s a fucking match.”
