The driveway curved toward the house, manicured and perfect. The place looked like money had built it to never show stress.
Emily’s stomach tightened as they walked up the front path.
Naomi rang the bell.
They didn’t wait long.
The door opened, and Thomas Caldwell appeared.
He was dressed impeccably, as always. But Emily saw it immediately—something tight around his eyes, a faint strain behind his calm. Not fear exactly.
Pressure.
Time.
Thomas’s gaze flicked over Naomi, then the deputy, then landed on Emily. For a heartbeat, something like annoyance sharpened his face. Then his expression smoothed again.
“This is unnecessary,” Thomas said calmly.
Naomi lifted the folder. “Court order,” she replied, voice crisp.
Thomas’s jaw tightened slightly. “May I see it?”
Naomi handed him the first page. The deputy shifted subtly, as if reminding Thomas that this wasn’t a negotiation.
Thomas scanned it quickly. His eyes moved fast—he was a man used to legal language. When he reached the judge’s signature, his nostrils flared faintly.
He handed it back without looking at Naomi. His gaze stayed on Emily.
“So,” he said softly, “you’re escalating.”
Emily felt the reflex to respond—anger, accusation, the urge to scream the truth.
She didn’t.
Naomi stepped forward. “We are here to copy specified documents,” Naomi said. “We will be in and out. You may have your counsel present, but the order stands.”
Thomas’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Fine,” he said. “Follow me.”
The house smelled the same—clean, cold, expensive. Emily’s skin prickled as they walked down the hallway toward the office.
The office door was closed.
Thomas paused, hand on the knob, then looked back at Naomi.
“You realize,” he said quietly, “this will not end well for her.”
The deputy’s voice cut in sharply. “Sir, do not make statements to intimidate.”
Thomas’s eyes flicked to the deputy, then back to Emily. His smile was thin.
“I’m only speaking the truth,” he said.
Naomi’s voice was flat. “Open the door.”
Thomas opened it.
The office looked exactly the way Emily remembered it—dark wood desk, leather chair, neat shelves, the kind of room designed to communicate authority.
The desk was clear.
Emily’s stomach dropped.
The papers were gone.
Naomi didn’t react outwardly. She stepped inside, scanning the room. “We have an order,” she said calmly. “Documents must be preserved. If you removed them after being served, that’s a violation.”
Thomas leaned in the doorway like he had all day. “I don’t keep private medical information on my desk,” he said. “It’s secure.”
Naomi nodded. “Then you will produce it as ordered,” she said. “Today.”
Thomas’s smile tightened. “My attorney will handle production,” he said.
Naomi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Not good enough,” she replied. “The order allows supervised copying of documents you were known to possess in this space. We will search within the scope of the order.”
Thomas’s voice stayed calm, but his eyes sharpened. “Search my office?”
Naomi didn’t blink. “Within scope,” she repeated. “Or we go back to the judge.”
The deputy stepped forward slightly. “Sir,” she said, “cooperate.”
For the first time, Thomas’s composure cracked just a little.
It wasn’t rage.
It was contempt.
He exhaled through his nose, then stepped aside. “Do what you need,” he said, as if granting permission.
Naomi moved efficiently, opening desk drawers, scanning file folders, checking the cabinet beside the desk. Emily stood still, watching, heart pounding.
Minutes passed.
Then Naomi opened a locked file cabinet.
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