JJ
The strange thing about freedom was how often it arrived disguised as paperwork.
I sat at the kitchen table the next morning with my laptop open, a legal pad beside it, and half a piece of toast going cold near my elbow while Marissa talked me through another update from Havoc’s attorney. Nothing dramatic had happened overnight. The divorce wasn’t suddenly finished, and nobody had handed me every disputed thing simply because Donald Harper had proven himself awful.
What had changed was quieter.
“They’ve formally withdrawn the remaining equipment claim,” Marissa said. “The cabinet and printer issue is closed, and they’re narrowing what they’re asking for financially.”
I looked at the notes I had already written. “Because the records don’t help him.”
“Because the records make some o
