As soon as Atticus and Maggie walked in, they made a beeline for Patricia, showering her with concern and questions about how she was doing.
Maggie glanced around the living room, her eyes landing on the coffee table. She bent down and brushed her finger across it.
“This place is spotless. Did you hire someone to clean?”
Chelsea grinned. “Of course I did. I’m swamped with work. When would I ever have time to clean up?”
Maggie gave her a look. “Just making sure you haven’t gotten so lazy you won’t even bother hiring help.”
Chelsea let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m lazy, but not that far gone, okay?”
While the mother and daughter bantered, Patricia and Jackson just sat back, quietly observing, not getting involved.
It was too late to cook at home, so the four of them headed out to a little family-run restaurant nearby to grab dinner.
Atticus pulled Jackson aside as soon as they sat down, his concern obvious. “I heard you hurt your hand. Are you alright now?”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah, it’s much better.”
Atticus frowned. “How do people like that even get through border control? What are those guards doing?”
Jackson answered honestly, his tone stiff and respectful—he was Atticus’s subordinate, after all. “Most cases are illegal crossings. But after this incident, I’m sure the higher-ups will come up with new measures.”
Atticus took a sip of tea, his expression serious. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow, see if I can put some pressure on the right people. There’s no way this is getting swept under the rug.”


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