At exactly nine o’clock, the doorbell rings.
Deacon frowns, glancing up. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Yes,” I answer calmly, setting down my cup.
Sloan’s head snaps up. “What? Who?”
The doorbell rings again, longer this time.
I stand and walk to the front door, my legs feeling stronger than they have in months. I open it wide.
Marcus Chen stands on the porch looking every inch the successful attorney—tall, composed, wearing an expensive charcoal suit, carrying a leather briefcase. His expression softens when he sees me, his eyes immediately finding the bruise on my face.
“Good morning, Loretta,” he says gently. Then his voice cools as he looks past me into the house. “Mr. Patterson. Mrs. Patterson. My name is Marcus Chen. I’m an attorney specializing in elder mistreatment and financial exploitation. May I come in?”
Deacon appears behind me, his face suddenly pale. “What is this?”
