Last Updated: 3/25/2024 additional chapter.

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March 19th, 8:48 p.m.
"You found something on their computers?"

"Let me ask you a few questions first. Where did you go to school?" Paul asked.

"Why's that relevant?"

He tilted his head and smiled, before saying, "I'm asking the questions... Play along."

I chuckled and pressed the 'Down' elevator button.

"Tacoma Community College, why?"

"Not yet... You know who the Dean of the Law Program there was?"

"James Norton, I think that was the guy's name. Not like I made any academic list while attending, pretty much a solid 'B' grade student overall," I replied, wondering where this was going.

The elevator opened, and he waited for me to enter, pressing the 3rd garage level button. When the doors closed, he asked, "When did you apply for your job here?"

I had to think that one out, "End of," I paused to think, "Beginning of October... Why?"

"When did you graduate?"

This was getting annoying, but I was stuck playing along.

"I graduated late. I had to challenge a class I'd failed after a summer school retake of that class." I wasn't sure how much more embarrassment I was willing to lay out there for him.

"Anyone encourage you to apply at Brandt, Wentz, and Larson?"

"No... Wait, I got a letter from my guidance counselor about Brandt, Wentz, and Larson."

He scrunched his brow and said, "Crap…"

"Alright, what? Why the questions?"

He pulled a couple sheets of paper from his jacket and handed me a couple, holding back one. I looked at him, then the pages. It contained emails between Janet and James Norton. I read what looked like she was making an innocent inquiry into how his latest class of paralegals was shaping up and that the firm was interested in the top students. He said it was a decent class, diverse, and a couple stars he would guide her way, and I stopped reading to look at Paul.

"You don't think," I asked surprised.

He shrugged. "If you'd said Norton encouraged you to apply, then I would wonder if maybe his comment about 'one transgender student' had more weight than what else I found."

"What does that mean?"

He had a concerned look on his face. "Janet, have you checked out? Did you notice the dates on those exchanges with Norton?"

I looked at them; they were from June of last year. That would have been about the time I should have graduated.

"So?"

He handed me the piece of paper he'd held back. It was another email chain, an original message, and its response. They were in reverse order, like the thousands of emails I'd scanned from Janet and Martin. The reply was at the top of the page and from a name I didn't recognize. It only said, 'She was deep into the scene. I'll call with details.' The original email message from Janet below only said, 'Please look into this person, Elizabeth Gallagher. She's a transgender woman who's applied for a position. I'm curious as to her story. Do this quietly.' The date of the original email was June 7th of last year, four months before I had even heard that Brandt, Wentz, and Larson existed.

March 19th, 8:50 PM
"You okay?"

I had to read the email twice, and when I was done, I shuddered. What the fuck?! Was my past the impetus to lure Amber into shit with Lafleur? Did Janet really think every Trans girl turned to feeding the fetish machine out there? Was bringing me onboard all part of some sick plan to screw with Jacob by distracting him and using that distraction to go after the firm while his attention was on his sister’s family?

I shook my head absently. These emails would have been before David Lafleur began grooming Amber. Jesus!

"Something is not right with that woman, Liz," Paul said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder to guide me out of the elevator when I hadn't moved after the doors opened to the garage.

I followed him to his car through the nearly empty garage, opening the door, sitting, and buckling the seat belt. Why? That sick fucking bitch!

When Paul was settled and the car was started, I asked, "Why would she do that?"

"I wish I knew... But there aren't enough breadcrumbs to follow, though the ones we have certainly can't be ignored. I wanted to talk about this with you before suggesting we compile what we suspect and ask Jacob again for a legal reading. There wasn't anything of significance on either of their computers, and the only reason I went searching for her emails was that she'd looked up Tacoma Community College a few years ago, and I scanned her emails looking for the connection, finding Norton. That email chain had been deleted. There's always a digital trail."

Yeah, I knew that all too well.

"I wonder how she figured out Amber had an online presence. Did she somehow encourage it? Like that bullying stuff Amber put up with and her mom fought... I just don't get it."

There were too many unknowns. Coincidence or not, these emails said to me that Janet may have had a hand in Lafleur's entry into Amber's orbit. Nothing concrete, but there was something there; I could feel it. Was she somehow involved with his murder? Fuck! God damn bitch!

We'd exited the building, heading towards I5 in light traffic, and I couldn't get over this feeling of numbness, hurt, and disgust. I listened to Paul talk about theory and additional search options he could try. When we were on the freeway heading south, I asked, "Can we get something to eat?"

He took my hand and said, "Of course. You care what we eat?"

I shook my head, ‘No'.

March 20th, 10:15 AM
We'd eaten burgers at a Red Robin just down the street from my apartment in Kent. I'd had two drinks; the first hit me hard since I'd skipped lunch and the second went down quickly when our food arrived. I could sense Paul was concerned about me all the way up to dropping me off at my apartment after we ate.

I assured him I would be fine after a good night's sleep. I told him I just wanted to go to bed and apologized a couple times for being such bad company. I wanted him to come in, but my heart just wasn't up for company. He got it, hugged me gently, and kissed me quickly before I exited his car. It was just the right amount of support and affirmation I needed last night.

Now, in the conference room where my journey to find Amber began, Gina Barnes was asking Cal some questions about an RCW he'd pulled in regards to an ethics case she'd wanted precedent for.

"I can recheck that," he said, typing something into the laptop before him—the results showing on the screen we were all looking at, reading it ourselves, and considering the argument Gina was making.

Gina asked, "Elizabeth, Johnson vs. State of Washington, point seven. What are your thoughts?"

"I think there might be some leeway. Cal's got the right RCW reference here. In that particular case, I think Johnson's LLC was determined to not be the shield the owner could hide behind for the half-million dollar donation to the Republican gubernatorial candidate."

"I think it's thin, but let's add it to the brief material. We can pull it if there isn't enough for it to stand on its own." she said.

"If you reference the Bentley and Cambers case, it should stand as viable," I replied quietly.

I knew she'd put a lot of focus on that case, and the connection to the Johnson case would strengthen the argument she was trying to make. How I was regurgitating these legal case recollections right now, given my mind was more consumed with Janet's possible involvement with Amber's abduction and how my past transgressions might have given her that idea, I couldn't explain.

"You mean Bentley and Chambers, correct?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barnes. Apologies. Chambers, not Cambers."

I guess I wasn't all here in the moment. I saw Michelle roll her eyes, and I shook my head imperceptibly to say, 'Leave it alone'. She immediately looked down at her notes and began writing something. I was fine being the target of Gina Barnes wrath, and I would take it all if it spared Michelle and Cal. We just needed to get through this as best we could, figure out where she thought we were deficient with our research, and hope we'd delivered enough or could by the close of business Monday to satisfy her.

This was just the beginning of a long, long day.

Gina finished typing something on her laptop and looked up.

"Okay, I'd like to discuss Morgan Trucking vs. State of Washington."

March 20th, 1:33 PM
"Lunch... Let's meet back here in an hour. Bring a receipt, and I'll expense it," Gina said, still looking at one of the financial records Michelle had just gone over with us on the screen in the conference room.

Cal, maybe more Michelle, looked like they needed a break. The truth was I needed to pee going on at least a half hour now. When we stood to leave, Gina asked me to stay for a moment. The other two quickly made their escape. Augh... Gotta pee!

She waited for Cal and Michelle to leave the room before speaking.

"You seem distracted."

Fuck! Do I tell her what's going on, or do I throw out an excuse?

"I'm just worried we haven't; I mean… I just want my team to deliver everything you need." Excuse me, it was going to be.

She looked thoughtful; maybe even a tiny smile graced her lips before saying, "Your team, they've delivered if that's helps. I'm impressed. Cal is very thorough, and Michelle is your detail asset. I like what she suggested about a possible quid pro quo relationship being built with Council Member Perry's wife and Martin's ex-wife. Very insightful work; she's your ace in the hole."

"Thank you, Mrs. Barnes. I appreciate hearing that." I was actually both elated and relieved. When I had a chance, I would be passing those comments on to Cal and Michelle.

I think they were as worried about this assignment as I was, though officially my ass was the one on the line. She hadn't complimented me or my contributions, but I would take that we'd met her expectations thus far and she hadn't held me back to chew me out—well, other than to say I look distracted.

"You know, Janet and I didn't generally see eye to eye," she began. "There are a lot of 'style' differences, and the truth is, I'm quite excited about the opportunity to sling a little mud at her with this case we're building. Martin too; he's a pompous ass that should have been brought up on any number of ethics charges due to countless improprieties over the years."

I tried to hold back my shock at hearing what she'd just said, but I couldn't keep it from my face.

"Go, get some lunch, Elizabeth. Oh, and your contributions have been exactly what I was hoping to get. Your relationship-building focus is how I want to present Janet and Martin being in bed with the City Council Members via the financial contributions of their spouses. Martin left such a trail of compromising emails—good God! What an idiot!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Barnes... He tried to hide most of those by deleting them, but there's always a digital trail," I said, smiling. Think about who’d mentioned that to me just yesterday.

I should be the one to talk about compromising digital trails. I doubt Gina would think Martin and my trails were even remotely close in comparison—at least on the compromising point.

She nodded in reply, and I figured I was dismissed when she began typing. PEE! I need to pee!!

March 20th, 5:57 p.m.
"Hey...," I collapsed into the front seat of Paul's car. It was warm, and the heated seat was on. I leaned over to give him a quick kiss before he pulled away from the curb, and I was buckling up. I had texted him during lunch with a status, and he'd insisted on picking me up so I wouldn’t have to catch a bus home. I didn't argue; this is where I wanted to be - with him.

"How'd it go?"

"Surprisingly well. I was certain Gina was going to rip everything we did apart, but it went well. I mean, we've got stuff to do yet, but I should be set for my meeting with her Tuesday morning. I'll be curious to see where the next phase of this assignment leads," I replied, placing a hand on his thigh and giving it a little squeeze.

"So... you're saying I was right then?"

"Ha ha... No, I'm saying that without Cal and Michelle's help, I'd have probably quit that first day. Gina is a hard woman to work for; I don't think you get that."

"But you did the job asked of you, leading a couple other paralegals, and it worked out."

"I guess... this time at least." I looked out the window, wondering where we were going. "Are we going to your place?"

He smiled and said, "I made you dinner. I hope you like lasagna."

"You cooked?" I probably asked that with more skepticism than I should have.

"I've been known to dabble," he chuckled in reply.

March 20th, 7:06 p.m.
When we got to Paul's, it was obvious something was in the oven baking, and it smelled amazing. He'd set the table; there were linen napkins and nice-looking dinnerware. He lit a couple candles, put some music on, and I was seated with a gentle hand and a long kiss that spoke volumes. I felt like he missed me, and I hoped he knew I felt the same. Work was certainly eating up a lot of each of our existences of late.

When dinner was served, I couldn't help but eat until I couldn't bear to lift my fork. I must have complimented him three or four times on how really good it tasted. I was seriously impressed—this man had skills in the kitchen and other areas I was hoping we'd enjoy at some point before the night was over. He confessed that the recipe was his Nana's and couldn't take credit for it, but was happy I enjoyed it.

We agreed to not talk 'shop' while eating; instead, we spent a lot of time talking about movies we loved, music, and concerts we'd seen over the years. He'd seen both Pearl Jam and Nirvana in concert; I hadn't seen any big names like that. Lisa had said the age difference would keep us from appreciating these kinds of things; I think the opposite was true. The truth was we had more in common than either of us probably realized.

I tried to help with the dishes, but Paul was insistent that I just sit and that there really wasn't much to do anyway. He wrapped the remaining lasagna up, saying it would be better tomorrow, rinsed our plates and salad bowls, putting them in the dishwasher, and was escorting me to the living room in nearly no time at all. He talked a lot while cleaning up, almost like nervous chatter.

"Are you okay?" I asked once we were seated on his couch.

"Yeah, of course. Dinner was a success. You're here... I," he looked to be measuring his next thought, "Missed you."

I squeezed his hands and kissed him. Slowly at first, but there was a building of desire he couldn't mistake that said I was happy, content, and might have missed him also. When I pulled away, I looked him in the eyes, wondering if he could read my mind right now. What am I thinking, Mr. Kline? Come on... Do you mind reading the stuff you do?

"Did you want to hang out for a while?"

Nope, not what I was thinking, but it does involve hanging out some more. Try again.

"I'd like that..."

"Cool... So, how are you feeling about those emails from Janet?"

Augh... I actually hadn't been thinking about them since we agreed to not talk shop over dinner. And there were other thoughts I'd prefer to be putting into motion rather than talking about Janet and my past. You really can't tell what I'd rather be doing right now?

"I'm still a little hurt over them. I don't understand why she'd have approved my hiring if there wasn't something she was hoping to get from knowing about my past. Hell if some client of the firm figured it out... If that came out somehow, there would certainly be some discomfort around the office for the partners and me, of course."

"Those are good points."

He looked like there was more he was going to say, so I asked, "And?"

As soon as I asked, he looked uncomfortable.

"I spoke with Jacob today..."

"I thought we were going to do that after compiling our thoughts," I asked, sitting back and searching his face. Guess that may be why you seemed nervous and chatty while doing the dishes—you knew you were going to have to lay this on me.

"He called, and we were talking about some stuff, and I slipped, mentioned the recruiting email. I had to explain what we'd found."

His voice trailed off, and I'm sure he saw me bristle. Fuck!

"And how much does Jacob really know about my past, Paul?" I asked, feeling my stomach roil a bit, the fringes of anxiousness beginning to constrict my chest.

He had a pained look as he began to speak, "He knows it all. I'm so sorry."

"Why?" I barked, rubbing my palms over the jeans material at my knees, while trying to control my emotions and my panic.

"Look, he doesn't ca..."

I didn't let him finish, "I care! I fucking care, Paul! I work for the man! You've seen the shit I've posted! Do you think I want Jacob, or anyone for that matter, looking that shit up and finding me?! 'Daddy fucks femboy', 'Step brother fucks Trans sister raw'—you know how easy it would be to find my past online? I'm in the first couple pages of search results for 'Transgender' on most porn sites! You think I want that?! He didn’t know the extent of my past in Phoenix and now he does!" I was fuming mad.

"No one..." he tried to say, but I cut him off again.

"Right! No one is going to look up Elizabeth Gallagher and find me linked to porn I’m in posted from two years ago when I was gutter trash Paul! But if they look up 'Transgender' or 'Sissy' or any fucking derogatory gender-bending term, it is likely they're going to see my face in a video or picture eventually. I messed up, Paul; I can't fix that! There's no do-over; there's only damage control, and it's tiring." I was running out of steam and could feel the tears welling in my eyes. "I'm tired of all that shit. I can't do..."

I felt his arms around me as the tears began to flow and the sobbing that followed racked my body hard. My heart was...

March 20th, 7:48 p.m.
There were hugs, handholding, gentle strokes of Paul's hand against my cheeks to wipe away my tears, and all manner of assurances that all would be alright, but the aching I felt wouldn't subside. He tried to talk me off the ledge, but I'd already had a foot poised over the abyss, and truthfully, I was fine with taking that freefall because there was no fixing my past, and I really was tired of trying to manage the shame. I wouldn't ever repeat that part of my life again, but it was a part of me I would have to deal with for the rest of my life.

Eventually I excused myself to use the bathroom and ended up having to wash my face to get rid of my tear-ruined makeup. I tried to reapply some blush and fix my face, but eventually gave up. I didn't have the energy or want right now. The last couple weeks had been trying, had bright spots I was holding so tightly to, and I wasn't sure...

A tap on the bathroom door startled me. It was followed by Paul asking if I was alright.

It took a second before I could reply, "Yeah, I think I'm going to call an Uber and go."

There was a long pause before he said, "I can get you home, Liz."

"I think I... I just need some down time, Paul. Probably best this way."

March 20th, 9:13 p.m.
It took twenty minutes to get my Uber, and in that time we did very little talking. One of the last things he'd said to me before I left was that he didn't want to lose me. That brought on a brief round of tears for me, several more hugs between us, and assurances that I had to work some things out, but I wasn't giving up on us. It was a defining moment for me in that we'd both just acknowledge there was an 'us', something we both found important, valuable, and wanted to pursue further.

Now, alone in my tiny, quiet apartment, I was struggling with the fact that Jacob knew everything about my past. Also that Janet may have used me in some way to get Amber hooked on posting shit. Fuck it! I pulled my phone out, found the number I wanted, and dialed it. It was picked up on the third ring.

"This is an unexpected surprise. How are you, Elizabeth?" the voice asked.

"I wasn't sure you'd answer."

"Why's that?"

"We've uncovered a few things that don't paint you in the best of lights," I replied nervously, but resolved to see what I could learn.

"I'm not sure I follow..."

"I think you do. I just want to know why. Why involve Amber? Why hire me?"

"You aren't making any sense. I don't know what you're talking about, but I certainly hope Amber is alright."

"She is, but she's going to carry these scars for the rest of her life. Was it worth it?" I asked defiantly, a full-on bitch bleeding out in my tone.

"Elizabeth, I'm still not sure I follow..."

"You emailed James Norton; he told you about me."

"I email him every year looking for the best paralegals to recruit from his graduating classes. James and I go back a long ways."

"Then why have me checked out by Ryan Flint? What did he tell you about me when he called you?"

There was a long pausel, "We do background checks for every applicant, and you were no different."

It was the first time since she answered that Janet sounded like I'd struck a nerve. I could have Paul check to see if her statement about emailing Norton yearly was true; then the deletion of last year's correspondence would look even more deliberate. I wasn't going to show her all my cards, but I was going to leave her with something to worry about before this call ended—like, I was now worrying about my job, Jacob, and others discovering the truth about my past.

"My background check was different, wasn't it?"

She was slow to answer, "Look, I don't know what you're implying or if you think there is some discrimination angle to be had, but you're outside your league, and none of that is viable anyway. I think this conversation is over. Goodbye Elizabeth, and don't bother calling..."

I interrupted her. "Not to worry, I won't be reaching out again; I got what I needed to hear from you," I said with enough accusation dripping in my voice to say 'Fuck You' right back to her. "Oh, by the way, we've turned over information to the FBI regarding Lafleur and CLogistics in Vancouver. Now this conversation is over."

I didn't give her a chance to reply before killing the connection. Fuck you, you pompous manipulating lying bitch! I had been used, and now she knew I knew it. It might have been a tiny lie to have said the FBI had gotten the Janet to Vincent Jones of CLogistics to possibly a Lafleur connection, but I was determined to stick it to that woman for all she'd dumped on me and screwed up in Amber's life.

Maybe in a court of law, what we'd found was circumstantial, irrelevant, or without legal footing, but I knew to my very soul Janet was somehow involved with Amber's abduction. She’d confirmed it in my mind from her answers and her tone... And even if Jacob wasn't up for passing the wisp of a connection in the data we'd found to Landon at the FBI, maybe I could convince Paul to reach out to his new-found friend Tim at the FBI. Maybe Tim would drop the possible connection with the RCMP in Vancouver.

Okay, now I feel better! But very much alone...

March 21st, 2:31 AM
The pounding on my door startled me awake, and at first I wasn't sure what was going on. I heard a voice and then more pounding. It was urgent, maybe even angry, and I almost felt like whoever it was might already be in my unit. The banging was so loud.

I rolled out of bed, my heart thumping out of my chest, threw on a t-shirt, and grabbed a baseball bat I had in my closet before poking my head out of my bedroom to see if the door to my unit was still closed and the lock was holding.

"Heather! God damn it, I know you're in there with him!" More pounding, and then, "Open the God damn door!"

I jumped back and retreated to my nightstand to grab my phone, dialing 911 with one hand while clutching the baseball bat for dear life in the other. What the fucking hell?!

"911... What is your emergency?"

I whispered, "There's someone at my door trying to get in."

"Alright... I see you're calling from a cellphone," the woman paused for a few seconds. I could hear her typing, and then she said, "I've got you located... It looks like an apartment complex on Kent East Hill, South East 244 Street, off of 104th Avenue South East. That's the Meadows Apartments; what unit are you in?"

There was a loud thump at the door, like someone was trying to kick it in or something. Fuck! A second thump followed a couple seconds later. Oh shit!

"Sir, are you still there?"

I cringed, sir. Did I really sound that bad?! Fuck! I retreated to my bathroom and locked the door.

"I think the guy out there is trying to kick the door in."

"What unit are you in?"

"203... I'm... Shit, I'm in the bathroom... Is someone coming? The police?"

"Yes, they should be there within a minute... Do you know the person?"

"No! Of course not; that guy is fucking nuts! He's yelling for Heather."

"Okay, does your bathroom door lock?"

"Yes… I do not know who that guy is," I hurriedly complained just above a panicked whisper.

"Understood... I see this phone is registered to Elizabeth Gallagher; is that you?" she asked, almost as if she'd recalled that she'd addressed me as 'sir' a moment ago.

"Yes..." I could hear a tapping out by my front door and what sounded like a woman speaking.

"There are two officers in your parking lot, but I want you to stay in the bathroom until I tell you it's alright to leave, understood?"

"Okay... There's a tapping on the door, and I think it's a woman's voice."

"Stay in the bathroom... It should just be a minute. I know this is really frightening, but help is there. Hang on... You got this, Miss Gallagher."

I could hear the dispatcher talking to someone, then a distinct knocking at my front door and a man's voice. I couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Alright, Elizabeth, there's an officer at your door. Can you go meet him?"

"You're sure?" I asked that, but felt stupid. Of course, there's an officer at my door! She wouldn't have me leave my locked bathroom if there weren't!

"Yes, Officer Price and Samson are on site," she paused. "Price is at your door... Stay on the line with me until you've been secured by the officer, alright?"

March 21st 3:18 AM
Officer Price turned out to be at my door, and the bad news was that no one was found lurking around or fleeing the general area when they arrived. Officer Samson had walked the grounds and spoke to my neighbor two doors down, who happened to be up, and poked her head into the hallway to shut the idiot up who was trying to kick my door in. According to her he’d left quickly after that confrontation.

I got to meet my neighbor officially, though we'd seen each other coming and going from the building the past couple months, smiling at each other politely on those occasions. She gave the police a rough description of the man trying to kick my door down and hung out long enough to make sure I was okay. There were two large foot prints just under my door knob, where whoever tried to kick the door in might have succeeded had they gotten a third or fourth kick in.

When my neighbor left, I got to answer all kinds of questions about boyfriends, possibly spurned ex-lovers, or whatever. The one question that made me most annoyed was whether I'd used the name Heather before. Why ask that question, because I was Trans?

Since I had to produce my driver's license, which had my dead name and picture on it from before I transitioned, Price was making assumptions. It didn’t make it any easier to navigate his suspicions. I explained I was Trans and hadn't gotten around to fixing my legal documents yet. And ‘No’ I didn’t pick a woman’s name weekly to use as I tried to trick men into being with me. Pretty sure he got that his question annoyed me.

Price made some notes, and I eventually got a copy of a police report I could reference should I need to contact them or have another run-in with whoever thought my apartment contained some bitch named ‘Heather’. The officer had done his job to get the facts, but I don't think he was all that open-minded. You'd think with as much hate as there was for the police out there, he'd be a bit more empathetic of the hate thrown at someone who was Trans. Whatever!

All I wanted to do now was sleep, but I was wired. If it had been light out, I probably would have gone for a run, but since it was the middle of the night, I was stuck trying to calm down enough to get back to sleep.

Where the hell was my bottle of Xanax!?

::: --- :::

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Rachel M. Moore