hapter 158 Conspiracy Theories
Mia’s POV
Gas’s ears perked up a full minute before the doorbell rang, his keen senses detecting Scarlett’s approach well before the elevator delivered her to our floor. His tail began wagging furiously as he positioned himself by the door.
Dogs are so smart.
“Someone’s excited,” I commented, pushing myself up.
Mom looked up from her laptop. “I’ll get it. You stay put.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, already halfway to the door. “I’ve been ‘putting‘ all day. I need to move a little.”
She gave me her patented maternal look.
I opened the door just as Scarlett raised her hand to knock again. She stood there in sleek black pants and an emerald silk blouse that made her red hair look like living flame, a large designer bag slung over one shoulder and what appeared to be several shopping bags clutched in her other hand.
“Finally!” she exclaimed, sweeping past me in a cloud of expensive perfume. “Do you know how many security checkpoints I had to go through to get up here? Your lobby looks like the Pentagon.”
“Kyle’s security team has been thorough,” I admitted, closing the door behind her.
Gas immediately demanded Scarlett’s attention, circling her legs and whining until she set down her bags to greet him properly.
“Hello, handsome,” she cooed, crouching to scratch behind his ears. “Have you been protecting our Mia? Yes, you have! Good boy!”
Gas preened under her praise, his entire back end wiggling with delight.
“What’s all this?” I asked, gesturing to the shopping bags.
Scarlett straightened, abandoning Gas with a final pat. “Essentials!” she declared, picking up the bags and moving toward the living room. “Stress–reducing tea, those French chocolates you love, some books that aren’t about pregnancy or murder, and- she paused dramatically, pulling out a small box from one of the bags, “-the most ridiculous rom–com collection known to mankind. If we can’t leave this fortress, we might as well laugh at other people’s relationship disasters.”
I couldn’t help smiling despite the heaviness that had settled over me since the hearing.
“You’re the best, you know that?” I said, following her back to the sofa.
“Obviously,” she replied with her typical lack of modesty. She set her bounty on the coffee table before turning to greet my mother. “Sarah! You’re looking fierce as ever. Love that ‘I’m plotting revenge‘ gleam in your eyes.”
Mom chuckled, closing her laptop. “It’s good to see you, Scarlett. How’s Morton?”
“Buried in spreadsheets and legal briefs, as usual,” Scarlett replied waving a dismissive hand. “He sends his regards and promises to keep digging into the Porter situation.”
She turned her attention back to me, her expression shifting from playful to serious as she took in my appearance. “You look exhausted. How are you really doing?”
1 sank into the cushions, trying to find a position that didn’t make my lower back scream in protest. “Physically? Tired, sore, uncomfortable. The twins seem to be using my organs as punching bags. Emotionally?” I sighed. “I’m furious, Scar. That psychopath is walking free again, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“It’s fucking outrageous,” Scarlett agreed, settling beside me. “Carson Whitfield must have dirt on that judge. There’s no other explanation.”
“Language,” Mom murmured, though her tone suggested she didn’t entirely disagree with the sentiment.
Chapter 158 Conspiracy Theories
“Sorry, Sarah,” Scarlett said, not sounding remotely apologetic. But seriously, this whole thing stinks. Taylor nearly kills Mia twice, tries to murder Sarah, steals millions, and somehow keeps slithering out of consequences? No way is that just good
lawyering.”
“Robert thinks Whitfield is just that good,” I said, though my own doubts had been growing since the hearing
“And I think unicorns might be real,” Scarlett scoffed. “No defense attorney is that good without help. Someone’s pulling strings behind the scenes.”
Mom nodded slowly. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. The timing is too convenient, the legal maneuvers too precise ”
“Edward Porter,” I said, voicing the suspicion that had been building in all of us. “He’s not just funding her defense, he’s actively intervening somehow.”
“But how?” Scarlett asked, leaning forward. “He’s in France, right? How does he influence a New York judge from across the Atlantic?”
That was the question that had been plaguing me. “Money only gets you so far. There has to be something else at play.”
“Connections,” Mom suggested. “Old favors. Shared secrets.”
“Or blackmail,” Scarlett added grimly. “Rich people’s favorite pastime.”
The twins shifted restlessly inside me, as if responding to the tension in the room. I rubbed my belly absently, trying to soothe
them.
“We need more information,” I said finally. “About Porter, about his connection to my father, and especially about his dealings with Kyle’s father. There’s something there we’re missing.”
Scarlett nodded, pulling out her phone. “Morton’s been digging, but he keeps hitting walls. Corporate firewalls, deleted records. convenient ‘server failures.‘ Whoever covered these tracks knew what they were doing.”
“Kyle might know more,” I admitted reluctantly. “I should ask Kyle what he’s found. Pride be damned. If there’s information that could help put Taylor back behind bars, I need to know it.”
“Want me to ask Morton to talk to him?” Scarlett offered. “Might be less awkward.”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll do it. Kyle’s more likely to share everything if I ask directly.”
“Your choice,” Scarlett shrugged. “But don’t go alone. I don’t care how ‘different‘ he seems; I still don’t trust him fully.”
“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” I assured her, gesturing to my swollen ankles. “The mountain will have to come to Mohammed this time.”
“Good,” Mom interjected. “Because Dr. Matthews was very clear about your activity restrictions.”
I rolled my eyes, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Yes, Mom, I remember. Bed rest, minimal stress, no marathon running.”
“Speaking of stress,” Scarlett said, reaching for one of the shopping bags, “I brought reinforcements.” She pulled out a box of expensive–looking chocolates with a flourish. “Direct from that little place in Paris you loved. One bite and you’ll forget all about psycho stepsister and her creepy uncle.”
“Chocolate won’t solve my problems,” I pointed out, even as I accepted the box.
“No, but it makes the problems more tolerable,” she countered, tapping the lid. “Go on. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“I have excellent taste. That’s better than a medical degree.”
I laughed, opening the box to reveal perfect rows of hand–crafted chocolates. The rich aroma immediately filled the air, making my mouth water. I selected a dark chocolate truffle and bit into it, closing my eyes as the complex flavors exploded on my
Chapter 158 Conspiracy Theories
tongue.
“Okay, you win. These are incredible.”
“Told you,” Scarlett said smugly, helping herself to one. “Chocolate therapy is severely underrated.”
