Erica Sinclair - All or Nothing (M/F)

[LunaDog]

From what i can see, the REAL damning matter here is Giovanna's original statement, inaccurate and made under duress as we now know, that makes Lucy look like a cold blooded killer. Even with Christine's evidence, if the jury are fooled by Giovanna's original statement, then they may have some sympathy for Lucy here, they may well believe that Gary Loudon abused her, but they'll still believe she's guilty.

Already there could be trouble ahead, Loudon's money and Wallingham's power ensures that this is going to be difficult. Erica is becoming known within the districts legal circles, i get the impression that Wallingham was already aware of her, and probably therefore her general competence. Questions may already be being asked as to just how Lucy's case came into her radar, questions that will only intensify when she reveals that she knows all about Christine. For it will be crystal clear that somebody inside the Police force revealed this knowledge, and it could be that Wallingham is prepared to leave no stone unturned in order to determine just who that was. Sandra Ruiz, whose actions might well be fully commendable, could be in trouble here.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, you've got it perfectly right. A lot is at stake here.

[Jenny_S]

The discreet whoosh of the elevator doors barely registers as Erica steps into the immaculate lobby of Sinclair & Associates.
The afternoon light, muted by the high-rise glass, casts long, precise shadows across the polished marble. The air smells, as always, of quiet ambition and expensive cleaning products.

She walks with steady strides, her low heels soft against the floor, but the conversation with Sophie and Calloway and Wallingham's voice, smooth as silk and just as dangerous, still coils in the base of her spine.
A whisper she can’t shake, no matter how straight she stands.

At the reception desk, Holly Beck is a bright, cheerful island, her headset nestled against her ear as she taps at her keyboard.
She glances up, offers a smile. "Good afternoon, Ms. Sinclair."

Erica offers a curt nod in return, her gaze already fixed on Claire Messner's desk down the hallway.
Claire, ever efficient, is bent over a stack of files, her pen moving with rhythmic precision.
The hum of her computer, the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee, creates a small, focused bubble around her.

Erica stops beside the desk, her shadow falling over Claire's work.
Claire looks up - and in the half-second before she masks it, Erica sees it: the flicker of concern, the instant recognition of something off-kilter in her boss's posture.
The usual crispness around Claire softens. "Erica," she says, her voice low, a question held within the single word.

"Claire," Erica replies, her voice pitched just above a whisper, "can you come to my office? Now, if possible."

Claire doesn't hesitate.
She caps her pen, slides her chair back, and gathers her notepad without a word, her movements economical and swift as she follows Erica, a silent, intuitive presence.

Erica pushes open the heavy door to her personal office – a sanctuary of mahogany and black leather, the panoramic city skyline spread out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like a vast, indifferent tapestry.
She walks directly to her polished desk but doesn't sit. Instead, she turns, leaning back against the edge, arms crossed.
Claire takes a seat in one of the black leather client chairs, her notepad open, pen ready, her gaze unwavering.

"Things have... escalated, Claire," Erica begins, her voice low, the words carefully chosen. “Wallingham’s making moves - no longer just at us. He’s leaning on the DA, and even City Hall is feeling his breath.”

Although her assistant needs to be informed, she cannot scare her by letting her in on every last detail.
As founder and senior partner of this law firm, the weight - and the responsibilities – rest on her shoulders.
There is no need to explain further besides telling her that time – now more than before – is a crucial factor.

Claire's brows furrow, but she doesn't interrupt.
She simply watches, absorbing.

A beat of charged silence hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of the unspoken.

“Now: I’d like you to call Lucy Arden and Chrstine Allison and ask them to come here today at 5 PM. I will head back out to Giovanna Versini and try to get her to make a statement and to sign an affidavit.”
Erica's jaw tightens, a flicker of resolve in her blue eyes. “We need to get this as watertight as possible.”

Although Christine’s statement about her experience with Gary Loudon is powerful in itself, only the sole eye-witness of the tragic incident can turn the ship around and give Calloway political cover to drop the current charges and reduce them to the illegal carrying of a firearm, a Class F felony punishable up to four years in prison, but in her case with a very good chance of getting the penalty reduced significantly.

“Understood,“ Claire confirms.

"Then let’s get to it," Erica continues, pushing off the desk and slinging her handbag over her shoulder. “You can reach me on my cell if the office is on fire.” She pauses. “And if anyone calls asking about Lucy - don’t say a word until I get back.”

Claire nods slowly, her eyes meeting Erica's.
There's a shared understanding there, a silent acknowledgment of the task ahead.
She closes her notepad with a soft snap. "I'll make the calls."

"Thank you, Claire," Erica says, a hint of something akin to gratitude in her voice.
The silence that follows them to the door is not peaceful.
It is the pregnant quiet before a storm, forty-eight hours ticking down like a fuse.

And Erica knows, with a chilling certainty, that she stands on the precipice of the fight for Lucy Arden’s life.


~~~


The black Volvo glides seamlessly through the afternoon traffic, a sleek, silent hunter weaving through the city's concrete canyons.
The hum of the engine a low thrum beneath Erica’s hands on the steering wheel, a stark contrast to the high-frequency tension that still vibrates in her bones from the City Hall meeting.

Park Avenue gives way to the Bronx, the grand, polished facades replaced by the vibrant, lived-in chaos of Morris Park Avenue.
The familiar grit returns - buses roaring past, the sharp scent of exhaust mingling with frying street food and the distant, metallic shriek of a train.

Erica stops in front of the walk-up, drawing a deep breath.
The thoughts going through her mind send a small, cold ripple through her spine.

This is it.

No more strategizing.

Just action.

The door is still open, allowing easy access to the building.
She locks the black Volvo with a little beep, the sound swallowed by the street's ambient noise.

Each flight of stairs she climbs up is a rhythm, a slow ascent into Giovanna’s world.
The air thickens slightly, carrying faint echoes of cooking, of distant televisions, of lives lived in close proximity.

Fourth floor, just below the roof.
She doesn’t have to look for the right door now.

Raising her hand to rap on the door, Erica exhales, steadying herself.
Her pulse holds steady - barely.
Beneath it, anticipation scratches like a wire under skin: cold, precise, impossible to ignore.

The time it takes for Giovanna Versini to come to the door stretches unbearably.
Then, the lock clicks and the door gets opened slowly, carefully.
"You?" Giovanna asks, her voice a surprised, guarded whisper, her eyes wide with apprehension. It is obvious, she hasn’t expected Erica to return – or anyone to visit, for that matter.

“Giovanna,” Erica says - soft, careful. “I know this is unexpected. But I need to talk to you.”
She keeps her posture open, her hands loose at her sides, radiating an unthreatening stillness. "It's important."

Giovanna’s eyes search Erica's face, a flicker of uncertainty battling with fear.

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken questions.

Erica doesn’t move.
Doesn’t press.
The door could still close.

She lets the silence hold, lets Giovanna make the decision.

Then, the young woman steps aside, allowing Erica to enter. "Okay. Whatever…"

Without speaking, she closes the door behind them and walks toward her living room where she has been folding clothes.
“I was just in the middle of… something,” she says as if feeling the need to explain her chores.

“Don’t worry,” Erica says with a little smile as she lowers herself into the familiar armchair while Giovanna retreats to her metal-legged barstool. “I’m glad that you were in.”

"I already told you everything. And the police. The DA. It's all in my statement."

Erica nods in affirmation. Her voice holding no judgment, only a deep, quiet resolve as she says “There’s something I need to tell you, though: while we spoke this morning, Gary Loudon’s father decided to change the rules.”

“I don’t understand…”

Leaning forward, Erica rests her forearms on her knees.
“He hired someone who doesn’t follow rules - bending them until they scream. And now the system’s listening to him. Now all that can get Lucy Arden a fair trial – the justice she deserves – is you, Gio. I’m not saying that Lucy will walk, I’m saying that you can make sure that she gets a fair shake. Isn’t that the least thing anyone should get?”

Giovanna’s fingers rise to touch the delicate gold cross at her neck.
Her gaze flickers around the room, avoiding Erica's. "I… I don’t know. What could I do if you can’t…"
Her jaw clenches, her breathing grows shallow.

"I'm not asking you to lie, Gio. I'm asking you to revisit that night. To think about it with a fresh mind, away from the pressure, away from the police reports."

Now is the moment of truth.

“Please, come with me to my office. We sit down and you tell me, in your own words, everything you remember from that night. Every detail. Every feeling. Like you're seeing it again for the very first time. We'll go through it slowly, no rush."

Giovanna's eyes, haunted and conflicted, search Erica's face.

The silence stretches, filled with the internal battle raging within her.
Fear.
Loyalty.
The desperate need for clarity.

She worries her bottom lip.
The offer of a quiet, unpressured re-telling, away from the police station, away from the DA, seems to appeal to her.

Gio looks down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Shoulders curled inward, her fingers dig into her palms.
Then, slowly, she nods.
A small, almost imperceptible movement – not agreement, but surrender to what she knows is the right thing to do – landing like a thunderclap in the room. "Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Okay. I'll come."

Erica's breath hitches, a silent victory.
She doesn't smile, doesn't gloat.
Just a deep, profound sense of relief. "Thank you, Giovanna," she says, her voice sincere, genuinely moved. "This might save Lucy’s life."
Erica stands.
No smile. Just a quiet readiness.
The clock’s still ticking - but now she has a fighting chance.
“Anytime you’re ready.”


~~~

[LunaDog]

A small, almost imperceptible movement – not agreement, but surrender to what she knows is the right thing to do – landing like a thunderclap in the room. "Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Okay. I'll come."

Whilst it's absolutely clear that Giovanna is a decent person, the fact remains that she was pressurised by some VERY powerful people into doing to 'wrong' thing, issuing that initial damning statement. People who, quite understandably, still scare her. Can she find the courage to stand up to them, i'm certain that Erica will give her any support she can here.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, imagine you're a young woman in your early 20s, you just saw the man you're madly in love with getting shot by the girl you have considered your best friend, all hope of a great future gone. Then the police questions you, half putting words in your mouth, while you're confused, sad, angry...
Maybe she wasn't even aware of what is going on behind the scenes.
In this story, it sucks to be Gio.
Or Lucy.
Or Christine.

However, I'm so happy to see how much my story has reeled you in.
Your responses as well as the notes other readers send me by DM are what inspires me to add more stories to the Ericaverse.

Thank you so much, y'all.

[LunaDog]

Maybe she wasn't even aware of what is going on behind the scenes.
In this story, it sucks to be Gio.
Or Lucy.
Or Christine.

Fair point. At the end of the day, to the likes of Loudon and Wallingham, they are just insignificant 'little people' who just don't count at all. And in the case of Loudon, his son has just died at the hands of one of them, just because she couldn't see that he has the RIGHT to abuse her in life. ( Loudon's opinion, definitely NOT mine. ) She must therefore be punished to as much degree as she can be, her life utterly ruined, and from his point of view, if that means tricking or coercing others into doing his bidding, then so be it. No matter what the cost is, both short and long term, to them.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, let's see if Erica can prevent that extensive punishment. Today's episode is going to crank up the heat a little.

[Jenny_S]

During the ride to Park Avenue, the silence inside the cabin is dense, almost sentient.
Erica keeps her eyes on the road, but every gear shift, every flick of Giovanna's hand, registers like radar blips in her peripheral awareness.

The young woman sits stiffly, her arms crossed, her eyes wide, taking in the rapid transformation of the cityscape from the familiar chaos of the Bronx to the increasingly polished facades of Midtown.
She doesn't speak, but the rigid set of her jaw, the way her fingers pick at an unseen thread on her jeans, betray tension coiling like wire just beneath her skin.

The Volvo is an extension of Erica’s professional armor - sleek, silent, engineered for safety and control.
Giovanna feels every inch of that control pressing down on her.

Erica pulls her black Volvo off the street, down the ramp and into the hushed, subterranean garage beneath Sinclair & Associates.
The air here is cool, sterile - concrete, ozone, and the faint scent of waxed metal.
Erica’s Volvo is the humblest machine in the row, but still the one that brought the fight.

They take the elevator, whisking them upwards with a gentle, swift ascent that seems to stretch the silence until it feels structural, as if part of the building itself.

Having reached the 25th floor, the door slides open with a slight chime, revealing the elegant, hushed lobby of Sinclair & Associates on Park Avenue.
The natural light, even at this hour, bathes the polished marble floors in a soft glow.
At the reception desk, Holly Beck is an island of immaculate professionalism.
Her smile is practiced but warm as she looks up from her screen.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Sinclair," Holly says, her voice clear and bright, then her gaze flickers to Giovanna, a brief, curious pause. "And… welcome."

Giovanna offers a small, uncertain nod, her eyes wide as she takes in the gleaming surfaces, the tasteful art, the distant, murmuring hum of a thriving office.
She hugs her bag to her chest - a barrier stitched together from canvas and survival instinct.

Claire Messner emerges from the hallway, her movements as fluid and precise as ever.
Her skirt suit is well tailored, her hair pulled back into a sleek, disciplined bun.
She carries a discreet notepad and a calm, knowing expression that misses nothing.
Voice low and even, her eyes acknowledge Giovanna with a brief, polite nod.
"Hello, Ms. Versini.”

She motions at one of the frosted glass doors to her left. “Erica, the large conference room is ready. I've set out water and coffee, if anyone would like some."
Their eyes meet, and in that flicker of silence passes an entire battle plan.

"Thank you, Claire," Erica replies, her voice steady, providing a quiet anchor for Giovanna.
She places a reassuring hand on Giovanna's elbow, a gentle guide. "This way, Giovanna."


~~~


The conference room is spacious, filled with muted light filtering through the high floor to ceiling windows.
A long, polished table dominates the center, surrounded by sleek, ergonomic chairs.
Cool air hums from the vents, spiced faintly with citrus.
Claire takes a seat at one end of the table, her pen poised over her open notepad.
Erica gestures Giovanna to a chair beside her, near the head of the table, facing the door.
She takes the anchor seat - symbolic, protective, and subtly defensive, a wall of calm between Giovanna and the door.

Erica leans forward, hands steepled, her voice calm and measured. "Giovanna, thank you again for coming. Claire is my assistant. She has been with me for many years and will be taking some notes. This is a safe space and whatever we do here – whatever you will say – remains confidential. Just tell us what you remember from that night. Everything you can. From the very beginning, please."
She offers a small, encouraging smile. “There’s no right version. Just the one that belongs to you.”

Giovanna’s eyes dart around the imposing room, then finally settle on Erica.
She takes a deep, shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the gold cross at her neck.
Her gaze drops to the polished surface of the table, then lifts again, meeting Erica’s.
She opens her mouth, a faint tremor in her lip.
"Gary and I… were spending the evening in his apartment,” Giovanna begins, her voice thin, fragile, like something brittle being bent just past the breaking point.
"I stood on top of the stairs, the landing, inside the apartment. I followed Gary when we heard the doorbell. I thought it was the food he had ordered earlier..."

Erica glances at her Rolex, a quick, almost imperceptible flick of her wrist. The time reads just shy of 5:00 PM.
A beat later, the soft knock of the conference room door cuts in. Holly's face, polite and efficient, appears in the doorway. "Ms. Sinclair, your other appointments are here."

Giovanna flinches.
Her voice snags, cuts out like a signal lost, eyes widened, fixed on the doorway.

“One moment, please, Holly.” Erica turns towards the young woman. “Gio,” she says, her voice low but steady, “I brought two women who matter. They don’t know you’re here. But I feel that you have a lot to discuss.”
She motions at Holly to show Lucy and Christine in.

And then they step in.
Lucy Arden, her face still carrying the shadows of trauma but her gaze resolute, walks beside Christine Allison, who stands tall, radiating a quiet, fierce strength.
They look directly at Giovanna, their expressions unreadable.
The silence between them is awkward – though dense with recognition, as if each woman sees the same wound in the others, stitched with different thread.

The air in the conference room crackles.

"Gio," Lucy whispers, her voice catching.

Erica stands, lifts a hand, calming the sudden static between the three young women.
"Gio, I need to be honest with you. I brought Lucy and Christine here because I believe - no, I know - this meeting needed to happen. I couldn’t tell you beforehand because I realize that you are scared."

Giovanna doesn’t speak.
Her eyes move from Lucy to Christine, then back to Erica.

"I understand you might feel betrayed," Erica continues, her voice softer. "But I think something important can happen here. Lucy and you were friends. Something broke over Gary Loudon. And I believe it can be repaired, if not fully, then enough to let the truth rise above the damage."

She gestures to Christine. "This is Christine Allison. She knew Gary Loudon too. Not the charming version. The real one. She has something to share."

Giovanna swallows hard. Erica sees the flicker of pain.
Recognition.
Shame.
Hope.

"Before I leave you," Erica says, steadying her breath, "there’s something else you need to know: Messmore Loudon, Gary’s father, has hired one of the most connected defense attorneys in the country. He’s leaning on the DA’s office, City Hall, and more judges than I care to count. Justice and truth doesn’t matter to them."

Erica steps closer, meets Giovanna’s eyes.
"Only you can anchor the truth. Only you can say what really happened. What you saw, what you didn’t. And that decision will determine whether Lucy is convicted of murder... or walks out with a weapons charge."

She pauses.
Her voice lowers to a whisper.

"Take as much time as you need. Talk woman to woman. No lawyers, no notes. I’ll be outside."
Then Erica turns to Claire and nods.
Together, they step out, leaving the door softly closed behind them.


~~~

[LunaDog]

WOW! Your writing is so superb, but here you're REALLY excelled yourself @Jenny_S I'm absolutely captivated!

[Caesar73]

"The young woman sits stiffly, her arms crossed, her eyes wide, taking in the rapid transformation of the cityscape from the familiar chaos of the Bronx to the increasingly polished facades of Midtown.
She doesn't speak, but the rigid set of her jaw, the way her fingers pick at an unseen thread on her jeans, betray tension coiling like wire just beneath her skin."

A precise description. Which captures the Atmosphere perfectly. That the Mood in the Conference Room is strained does not surprise. We will see what comes of this Conversation. The Stakes are high and rising. Erica´s Oppenents are no Cannon Fodder. What will Erica do?

Well done @Jenny_S

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, thank you soo much. This is one of the kindest comments I have ever received for a story.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, indeed, the tension is high and in tomorrow's episode, we will see what happens behind the closed door of the conference room.
Will Gio run away? She didn't expect to see Lucy.
Lucy and Christine didn't expect to meet Giovanna either.
This meeting has the potential to go South in a major way.
Let's hope that Erica knows what she's doing.

[Caesar73]

I have high Hopes in Erica, dear @Jenny_S

[LunaDog]

I have high Hopes in Erica, dear @Jenny_S

Makes two of us, and i'm sure we're not alone here. Let's face it, she's nobody's fool.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, dear @LunaDog, let's see what happens in the conference room at Sinclair & Associates.

[Jenny_S]

The door clicks shut with a soft finality, sealing the three women inside a silence that feels louder than any shout.
The scent of citrus and fresh coffee still lingers in the air, but now it feels oppressive, trapping them.

Giovanna is the first to move, a jerky, almost frantic motion.
Her eyes, wide and raw, dart from Lucy to Christine, then back to the closed door where Erica just stood.
“She lied to me,” Giovanna whispers, her voice breaking under the weight of betrayal. “She said it’d be just her. Just us.” Her hands clench into tight fists in her lap, her knuckles white.

Lucy, seated across the table, watches Giovanna with a quiet, patient gaze.
Her own pain is a deep, familiar ache, but a flicker of hope, fragile yet persistent, stirs within her.
She doesn't speak, knowing words might only exacerbate Giovanna's initial shock.
Still, she wants to reach out to the girl who used to be her best friend but doesn’t know how.

Christine Allison, however, breaks the silence.
Her posture is ramrod straight, her expression calm despite the storm stirring inside her.
She looks directly at Giovanna, her dark eyes steady. “No, Giovanna. She didn’t trick you. She trusted you. She brought you here because the truth deserves to be shared - with the only people who can understand you.”
Her voice is low, resonant, holding a quiet authority that commands Gio’s attention. "And a chance for Lucy to get justice."

Giovanna shakes her head, a violent, bewildered gesture. "Justice? What justice? I told them what I saw! He... he just opened the door. And then she shot him!"
Her voice rises, thin and strained.

"Did he?" Christine asks, her voice still level, relentless in its quiet pursuit.
She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. "Did he just open the door, Gio? Or did he step forward? Did his shoulders tense? Did his eyes change?" She pauses, her gaze unwavering. "Did he grab her like he was about to do something terrible?"

Giovanna flinches, her body recoiling slightly, as if struck.

The question hangs in the air, pulling at the carefully constructed denial she has lived with.
Christine continues, her voice unwavering, a steady drumbeat of revelation.
"My name is Christine Allison. And Gary Loudon raped me, too."

Giovanna freezes. Her eyes, wide with a dawning horror, snap to Christine. "What?" The single word is ripped from her, barely audible.

"You heard me. Before he met Lucy. The same pattern."
Christine's voice grows softer now, empathetic, but the underlying steel remains. “He charmed me. Said he loved my art. He took me out… made me feel special. Said he loved me.”

A shadow crosses Christine's face, a brief, haunted memory. " We ended up in his house. There he became something else. Violent. Ruthless. He wouldn't let me go. Tied me up and gagged me. Kept me prisoner for two full days."

Giovanna's face is a canvas of shifting emotions: disbelief, then a terrible, dawning recognition.
Her hands, still clenched, begin to tremble.
She swallows hard, her throat working. "He... he loved me," she whispers, the words almost a plea for reassurance. "He said he loved me. He was so good to me."

"He said he loved me too, Gio," Lucy says, her voice quiet, finally breaking her silence.
Her eyes, filled with a deep sadness, meet Giovanna's. "He said it meant something. He made me believe it." Lucy's gaze drops to her own hands, resting on the table. "And then he dropped his mask."

Christine continues, her voice a low, steady current of truth. "He knew how to manipulate. He knew how to make you believe that you were the one who mattered. All he wanted was to lure you into his place. He was always the same. And he would have done it again, Giovanna. To you. To any other girl he wanted."

Giovanna's breath comes in ragged gasps.
She stares at Christine, then at Lucy, her gaze travelling between their faces.
The polished table, the quiet room, seems to tilt.
The carefully constructed version of Gary Loudon, the one she had clung to for comfort, for safety, for the hope of a grand, romantic love, begins to crack.
She sees the undeniable echoes, the chilling parallels, in Christine's steady eyes, in Lucy's quiet pain.

The truth, ugly and undeniable, begins to seep through her defenses.

A single tear tracks a path down Giovanna's cheek, then another. "I... I saw him," she whispers, her voice raw, choked with emotion. "When Lucy came to the door. He... he wasn't just opening it. They spoke… He moved so fast. Like a... like a strike. He grabbed her throat…"
She squeezes her eyes shut, a shudder running through her. "I couldn't say it. I couldn't. I wanted to believe... I needed to believe he truly loved me. That he would never do me any harm." The words are a desperate confession, wrung from the deepest part of her soul. "I just wanted to believe he was good."

Lucy pushes her chair back slightly, a soft scrape against the floor.
She reaches across, slowly, cautiously - like approaching a wounded animal.
Her fingers brush Giovanna’s, and when they touch, it’s a quiet truce.
Giovanna flinches, then her fingers curl, almost imperceptibly, around Lucy’s.

Christine watches the two women, a small, knowing nod.
The initial betrayal has melted away, replaced by a raw, painful understanding.

This is where healing begins.
This is where strength is forged.

Lucy's eyes, still glistening, meet Giovanna's. "He played us, Gio. All of us."

Giovanna nods, the tears now flowing freely. "I know," she whispers, the word a confession, a surrender to the truth. "I know now."

A quiet, determined resolve begins to set in around the table.
The three women, survivors linked by a predator, sit united.
The fragile hope in Lucy's eyes solidifies.
The quiet strength in Christine's posture deepens.
And the raw honesty in Giovanna's tear-streaked face shines through.

Christine, seeing the shift, wipes a tear from her eyes and rises slowly from her chair.
She walks to the door, her movements no longer guarded, no longer hesitant.
When she opens it, Erica and Claire, waiting patiently in the hallway, look up immediately.
"Ms. Sinclair," Christine says, her voice sounds like a verdict. "I think Gio is ready to tell what happened…"


~~~

[LunaDog]

Erica has played an absolute blinder here, make no mistake. She has allowed Giovanna to see the truth, without any cajoling or pressure from herself, from the experiences of these other two girls. Who had been given the same promises by this monster, the same bullsh*t, and had also their feelings manipulated in the same callous manner.

And thankfully now, the possible feelings that Lucy was consumed by jealousy, was trying to deny her the love(?) of this animal, having blown her own chance, have been completely blown away. She can now see that, if anything, her friend, for that is EXACTLY what Lucy is, was trying to PROTECT her from this piece of offal, and it was HIS threatening behaviour that, indirectly admittedly, led to his demise.

And involving the unknown, to both of them beforehand, Christine was the real key here, it was HER that initiated the opening of Giovanna's eyes. Because she was completely neutral, and so she could make Giovanna see the reality of Gary Loudon's 'love.'

Lucy's chances have now vastly increased therefore, because from now on these young women will obviously be 'singing from the same hymn sheet,' they are now more than willing to work together, as a team. Time for Erica's expertise and legal competence to re-enter the frame, as this battle is far from over.

But at least now Lucy stands a chance.

[Caesar73]

@LunaDog

What shall I say dear Friend? Your extensive Summary is perfect! I share your Assessment.

Wonderful Work dear @Jenny_S !

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, dear @Caesar73, it seems that Erica's gamble has paid off. But this - I promise - is far from over.

[Jenny_S]

Claire is seated at the far end of the table, her legal pad now replaced by a laptop.
Her fingers hover over the keyboard, calm and ready.
She offers Giovanna a reassuring nod.
"Take your time," she says. "We’ll go slow. Just tell it like you did before. In your own words."

Giovanna squares her shoulders.
Her face is still blotched from tears, but there’s resolve behind the swelling.
Her voice doesn’t shake - not anymore.
Lucy sits beside her, Christine on the other side.
The three women form a line - unified, resilient, holding hands.

Erica remains standing for a moment, watching them.
Then she rounds the table and takes a seat beside Claire, giving her a brief nod.

As Giovanna begins to speak, her voice is steadier this time, not hurried, not scared.
“Gary said we’d order in. We were upstairs… fooling around. Then the doorbell rang. He didn’t want me to come down at first. But I followed anyway. Thought I could help. I stood on the landing, just above the door. That’s when I saw Lucy."

Claire types silently, her expression unreadable but gentle.
Lucy and Christine listen, their silence a shared support.
The process is painstaking, turning trauma into testimony, but Giovanna, fortified by their presence, holds strong.

"They spoke for a second. I couldn’t hear it all. But Lucy... she didn’t look angry. She looked scared. Sad. Like she was begging. Gary stepped forward. Like he was trying to scare her. And then he reached for her neck. She tried to fight him off. That’s when she pulled the gun. And then…"
Giovanna falters. Her hands tremble in her lap.
"He lunged. And she pulled the trigger."

The words land heavy but true.
The silence that follows is no longer filled with doubt - it is weighted with clarity.

Claire nods slowly. "That’s exactly what we needed. I’ll put it into an affidavit for you to review and sign. You’ll have full control before anything goes forward."

Erica leans forward now, her voice low, warm, resolute.
“All three of you – thank you. You just changed everything. With your testimony, I can go to the DA and push to drop the murder charge. That opens the door to a weapons plea - and real hope for Lucy.”

The young woman’s eyes widen.
She takes a shallow breath, her expression a complex mix of dawning hope and lingering fear.
The word "murder" has haunted her every waking moment, and the thought of it being lifted feels like a dizzying, impossible relief.
Yet, possession of an illegal firearm still carries the weight of a felony, the specter of prison.

Her mind races, trying to compute this new reality.
She glances at Giovanna, then at Christine, a flicker of bewildered relief at their re-kindled friendship, but the shadow of "prison" still looms, dark and cold.

Erica sees the calculation in Lucy's eyes, the tremor of fear.
As much as she would like to tell her client that she could get out of this battle unscathed – she can’t.
This is not how the law works.
"It won’t be easy,” she continues, her voice firm, injecting confidence, "but I believe we have enough to push for probation. No prison time. A chance for you to rebuild your life, Lucy."

Lucy swallows hard.
No prison.
Probation.
It’s a distant shore, a lifeline she hadn't dared to dream of.
The relief is immense, almost overwhelming, but the word "probation" still means a conviction, a mark on her record, a life forever altered.
The fear, though lessened, still knots in her stomach.

Giovanna stands without thinking.
Her chair scrapes back, and then she’s reaching for Lucy - pulling her into a hug that’s half-apology, half-promise.
Christine doesn’t wait either.
Her arms wrap around them both, steady and fierce.

"We won't leave you alone, Luce," Gio whispers, her voice thick with renewed friendship and fierce loyalty. "Not now. Not ever."
"That's right," Christine adds, her voice a low, steady rumble against Lucy's hair. "We're in this together. All three of us."
Lucy closes her eyes, tears finally escaping, soaking into Giovanna’s shoulder.

The fear is still there, a cold knot, but it’s no longer alone.
It’s embraced by the warmth of solidarity, held by the promise of women standing together and for the first time in a long while, she feels a fragile flicker of true hope.

Erica stands and looks at Claire. "Let’s draft that affidavit. Tonight, we fight back."

The air in the room is still heavy - but now it’s charged.
With motion.
With fight.
The truth isn’t just out - it’s on their side.


~~~


The silence in the conference room stretches, thick with the weight of the raw emotions that have just been laid bare.
Lucy, Giovanna, and Christine remain in their embrace, a tight, protective huddle.

Erica lets the moment settle, allowing the full impact of their shared vulnerability and newfound unity to resonate.
This is the pivotal point.
The breakthrough is critical, but now the legal machinery must be engaged, swiftly and decisively.

With the affidavit approved and signed by Gio, Erica pulls her phone from her blazer pocket, the cool metal a familiar anchor in her palm.
The three young women, still entwined, slowly look up, their eyes, a blend of exhaustion, hope, and lingering fear, fixated on her.
Their anticipation is a palpable current in the room, almost a physical hum.

Erica's fingers fly across the screen, pulling up Sophie van Rey’s contact.
Her thumb hovers over the call button for a fraction of a second, a silent acknowledgement of the seismic shift she is about to initiate.
This isn't just a call. It's a declaration of war, a gauntlet thrown directly at Wallingham.

She presses "call."
The phone rings once, twice.
Each trill echoes in the silent room, a tiny, insistent chime counting down the forty-eight hours.
Giovanna squeezes Lucy's hand.
Christine’s gaze is steady on Erica.

"Erica," a crisp voice answers, precisely as expected.
No pleasantries.

"Sophie," Erica replies, her voice dropping to its lowest, most commanding register, every word a polished stone. "The situation has changed. Significantly."

A beat of silence from van Rey’s end, a subtle shift in the line's ambient hum. "Oh?"
The single syllable is flat, betraying nothing, but Erica senses the immediate tightening on the other end, a quickening of Sophie's own professional pulse.

"Yes. I'd like to meet you and ADA Calloway tomorrow. Your office? To discuss a plea deal for Lucy Arden."
Erica doesn't ask.
She states, projecting absolute certainty.

Another pause.
Longer this time. "A plea deal?" Sophie’s voice is edged with a skeptical frost, but tinged with a new, sharp interest. "I know you’re good, Erica, but I didn't expect a game changer like that. What cards are you holding?"

Erica allows herself a brief, almost imperceptible smirk.
She glances at Giovanna, then at Christine, a silent acknowledgement of their courage.
"I now have in my possession two sworn affidavits that comprehensively dismantle the prosecution's entire narrative. One from Ms. Christine Allison, detailing Gary Loudon's long-standing pattern of violent, predatory behavior towards women."

She lets that hang, a venomous thread.

"And another, newly acquired, from Ms. Giovanna Versini, the sole eyewitness to what happened in that apartment, clearly stating that Gary Loudon lunged at Lucy Arden before the shot was fired."

The silence on the line is no longer flat.
It's sharp, sudden, like a dropped mic.
Erica can almost feel the air go out of Sophie’s lungs, a stunned intake of breath.

"This," Erica continues, her voice unwavering, pressing the advantage, "is what ADA Calloway needs to stay in the clear, Sophie, and what gives City Hall the political cover your boss will greatly appreciate."
Her gaze flicks to the window, envisioning Wallingham's perfectly manicured, now-crumbling face. "And what even Loudon and his chain dog Wallingham can't dispute without collapsing their entire case."

The relief, when it comes in Sophie’s voice, is almost imperceptible, a faint, metallic rasp beneath her usual composure, quickly masked by professional efficiency. "Bring what you have," she says, the words a forced exhale. "I'll arrange it with Jennifer. Nine A.M. sharp. My office."
The line clicks dead.

Erica slowly lowers her phone.
She looks at the three women, their eyes still wide, still fixed on her, but now a fragile, incredulous hope truly flickers in their depths.
The raw emotions are still present, but now they are underpinned by a dawning sense of possibility.
The battle is far from over, but the first decisive strike has been made.
And the countdown to a new kind of reckoning has begun.


~~~

[LunaDog]

"And what even Loudon and his chain dog Wallingham can't dispute without collapsing their entire case."

Will this prove to be the reality here? Let's hope so, and if anyone can pull it off, it's our Erica Sinclair!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, we will find out. With this story just at halftime, there's more to come.

[Jenny_S]

Dear readers,
before we continue this story tomorrow, here's an exclusive message for you.
Merry Christmas!

[LunaDog]

And a Merry Christmas to you too Erica. And to you too Claire, and Holly as well.

And to all the readers here, obviously extending naturally to you @Jenny_S

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, since I'm in touch with Erica, I'm happy to say that she's having a quiet Christmas evening at home with the kittens, Claire is celebrating with her husband Richard and Holly is with her parents and sister.

By speaking of, you will meet the Beck family in story #19 "Erica Sinclair - Flight Plan". That much I can give away already.
But Erica will be back tomorrow in the next episode of the current story.