I had listened to my sister describe the nursery she wanted in my home.
I had watched Jamal nearly turn my identity into a prison sentence.
And I had not broken.
But alone, with the sun setting over Chicago and my reflection staring back from the window, I allowed myself one breath that was not controlled.
One breath that hurt.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Cassidy Vale.”
A man’s voice said, “Ms. Vale, this is Special Agent Daniel Mercer with the FBI’s financial crimes division.”
I straightened.
“Yes, Agent Mercer.”
“Are you alone?”
I looked toward the closed door.
“Yes.”
“We need to speak tonight.”
“My attorney should be present.”
“She can be. But this cannot wait until morning.”
The tone of his voice changed something in the room.
The glass walls seemed colder.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We arrested Jamal Price outside the courthouse holding area. While processing him, he asked for a deal.”
