“Daniel Hayes speaking.”
Olivia took a slow breath. “Hi, Mr. Hayes. It’s Olivia Carter. I… I think I need your help.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by a shift in tone—sharper, more attentive. “Olivia? Of course. What’s going on?”
She glanced at her suitcases, then at her mother standing in the doorway.
“I’ve just been told to leave my house,” she said softly.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“I see,” Daniel replied, his voice now calm but precise. “Are you there right now?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
The call ended.
Rebecca let out a small, impatient sigh. “Olivia, there’s no need to make this dramatic. Calling a lawyer—really?”
Olivia slipped her phone back into her pocket, her expression unreadable. “I’m just making sure I understand everything,” she said quietly.
The next thirty minutes stretched on, thick with tension.
Neither of them spoke much.
Rebecca paced inside the house, occasionally glancing out the window. Olivia remained on the porch, sitting beside her suitcases, her hands resting in her lap. The night air was cool, brushing gently against her skin, but she barely noticed.
Her mind drifted back—to her father.
Jonathan Carter.
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