Ella
The courthouse’s archaic clock chimed, echoing through the expansive corridor. Warm sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the cold marble floor.
The hum of hushed conversations filled the hallway as I pushed my way out of the bathroom. In a few minutes, I’d be back in court, facing another round of the tumultuous battle between Logan and the local tenants.
I wasn’t looking forward to it; not in the slightest. And I especially wasn’t looking forward to it after my emotional conversation with Miss Smith in the restroom.
Logan’s tall frame called out to me from the end of the hallway. “Ella,” he said, a strange sense of what almost sounded like remorse in his voice, “I’d like to talk to you.”
The sunlight filterin
