The Order: Hit and Run by Emma Cole Page 0,11

had gone to.

Finish all courses with a B+ average.

Receive a monthly allowance as well as room and board at the school.

Comply with all clauses of the contract.

If any clauses are broken, it is considered voluntary withdrawal, and the offer is null and void.

If the contract is accepted and then subsequently violated or the Plaintiff declines, there will be no other offer extended.

There’s more in detail, but I ignore them for now. This is it. Either I take the deal, or I’ll be tied up in court for months, if not years, and I can’t afford it. They have to know that as well.

I hang my head in defeat. If my parents would be half-decent human beings and help at least somewhat by letting me stay with them, as uncomfortable that would be on both our parts, I could have a chance to get caught up. Instead, they didn’t even extend their condolences, only reminded me that I was persona non grata to them when I'd swallowed my pride to ask for help.

I weigh my options, even as I fight the tears. Stay here and be in debt and poor as poor gets, struggling for years to at least make it somewhere. Or, and it’s a hard pill to swallow— take the offer, get a professional education at an excellent, exclusive university, and have an allowance I can save up. If needed, I can choose a major that can keep me there for years, as long as I can hack it.

With my situation, it’s really a done deal, and I’m sure Drake's dad and his attorneys know it. I keep reading through all the details of the document. Some things I’ll have to consult my own attorney about. There are items that void it on their end as well, and if they do, it results in an astronomical payout. That’s something to consider at least. The other things are somewhat odd. Participation in club and school events, specific ones required. It goes on with a dress code at those events, ect. Hopefully, I can get some of this revised since it’s absolutely ridiculous.

I make a call to my attorney, glad he can fit me in first thing in the morning. Sleep is slow to come, and the ever-present nightmares plague me with an added twist of masks and robes and altars. I jerk upright in bed at a particularly gruesome one, covered in sweat, and decide to take a shower after giving up on trying to sleep.

***

Sitting on a straight-backed chair, fingers twisting together in nervousness, I wait for my attorney to finish perusing the papers Drake had brought me.

“Well, Cordelia. You can try to propose some of the minor changes you’re concerned about, but if they stick to them, there really isn’t a lot to be done. Do you have a year for them to stall? I can eventually force them into court, but until then, can you survive?” My attorney, Mr. Basham, is kind and middle-aged, but he’s very clear-cut.

The answer? No. I can’t make it another year. Not like this. Not without being homeless in the meantime.

“No, but can you put the changes in there, and I’ll do the filing or whatever to avoid the extra charges? Sorry, but you’re right. I’m nearly tapped out.” I can feel the flags of color high on my cheekbones at having to admit it, and my twined knuckles clench, but pride doesn’t supply food, clothing, or a roof over my head.

“Of course, and I’ll add my retainer to it as well. Most likely they’ll pay for it, and I can refund you whatever is left over.” I can’t decide if that’s a boon or not. My insurance refused to continue paying after they covered the victims that my truck had hit and the legal fees for those. I had hit the cap, and there wasn’t anything leftover to cover going after Damien’s insurance company.

Our history together didn’t help either. They were trying to say I’d provoked him by having Kael tell Jaeger, my step-brother, knowing it would get back to Damien. Blah, blah, blah. It was a ridiculous but very realistic spin his attorneys (yes, plural) were trying to put on the incident.

Leaving the office, I head to theirs and deliver the changes. The receptionist asks me to wait, and while I do, my palms start to sweat, and I'm actively trying to keep my hands separated so they don't give away how uncomfortable I am. I didn’t anticipate them going