I silenced my phone.
When I eventually turned it over, nineteen missed calls filled the screen.
All from the same 214 number.
Not Laura.
Not Carol.
Not Richard.
Michael leaned over.
“Vanessa Crane.”
“Who?”
“Family law and commercial litigation. Thirty years. Very good.”
“Laura's lawyer?”
“Apparently.”
“Why nineteen calls?”
Michael pushed his glasses onto his forehead.
“Because something just became urgent.”
Four voicemails.
The first was polished.
“Mr. Hayes, this is Vanessa Crane. I represent Laura Hayes. I would appreciate a call regarding a time-sensitive matter.”
The second was firmer.
Third shorter.
By the fourth, appreciate had disappeared.
“Mr. Hayes, there is an urgent financial issue that cannot wait until tomorrow. Please return my call.”
I reached for the phone.
Michael put two fingers on my wrist.
“No.”
“She called nineteen times.”
“Exactly.”
“What if something is wrong?”
“Something is wrong.”
He looked at me.
“That does not require you to solve it while your pulse is elevated.”
“I feel fine.”
“You've checked your phone three times in thirty seconds.”
He set a legal pad between us.
“Twenty minutes.”
I stared at the second hand on his wall clock.
It moved slowly.
Michael reviewed service documentation.
Read correspondence.
Checked the lender notice.
At 6:24, he nodded.
“Speaker.”
I called.