MARTHA POV
Where the hell was I even going?
I had spent the last hour driving through the middle of a freaking forest, following a list of vague directions scribbled in a text message like I was some kind of nineteenth-century explorer instead of a divorce lawyer with a perfectly functional GPS.
The little damned town of Greenwood didn’t even exist on Google Maps.
Apparently I had to find it “the old way.”
Turn left at Willow Creek.
Follow the dirt road.
Look for a wooden sign.
Look for a wooden sign.
That was the level of precision that prick had given me before hanging up the phone early this morning like I was one of his assistants instead of a professional he had called for help.
My phone finally pinged.
I nearly swerved off the road grabbing it.
“Make a U-turn,” the roboti
