Three Starbucks cups, two stained with her red lip stain. Two cheeseburger wrappers, one from In-and-Out and the other from Burger King, sat discarded on opposite sides of the desk. On the other hand, each file folder was stacked neatly per each client. Angela couldn’t stand chaos on her desk. Wrappers, crumbled-up notes, pens, and empty drink cups were all okay. But files? She couldn’t handle that.

Her phone’s red light blinked at her. “This is Angela. How may I help you?” Sitting down, she pulled off her left running shoe, having come home from a 3-mile run. She sipped a drink she picked up from a health food store a few doors down from her home. The concoction was a rich, green color chocked with vitamins and minerals. She forgot what was in it but knew it was better than a bacon cheeseburger from In-and-Out. “No!” She threw the shoe across the room. “I told you it was a done deal. Everything’s already been worked out, including,” she reached down to untie the right shoe, “the non-compete agreement.” After taking another sip of the green drink, she rummaged through the miscellaneous stacks of files on her desk, pulling up a thick three-inch stack of folders and papers. Digging through the stack, she found what she was looking for, “I have it right here in my hand, signed by both parties, their attorneys and you and me, Jared. The court has it in their possession. What is the garbage you’re telling me now? The court is reversing the decision we all agreed to?” She threw it on the desk. “It’s total bullshit! And you know it!”

She flopped back into her highbacked leather chair, specially reserved for presidents and CEO’s of large corporations or banks. Special orders sent in from all over the world came to rural Germany, so she was told by her personal assistant. These handcrafted chairs were sought out by the richest of the rich people. Not even the President of the United States had access to this brand of chair. But she did. “Jared, you need to get me in front of that judge,” Angela said, looking back to the desk and the paper sitting askew on the stacks of folders. “Judge Leimbach. Judge Dennis Leimbach.” She reached for her other shoe, pulling it off instead of untying it. “I don’t care if it does. You make the calls. Either get him on the phone, or I will go down to his courtroom and sit in the back until he’s. . .” Her voice trailed off. Outside was a figure wearing Carhartt bib overalls and what Angela assumed were gardening gloves. “Jared, someone is outside my house. If I don’t call you back in five minutes, call the police. Okay. Bye.”

She laid her iPhone on the desk. Whoever was outside, and she could see them now, was wearing sunglasses, not unusual for the California coast. He was looking through the windows but couldn’t see her. The tinted glass was reflective from the outside, making it extremely difficult to look inside, one of many reasons she opted for the glass in the first place, not to mention she hated the look of blinds or curtains. Good thing for Angela. She was light on her feet, one of the perks of being a runner. She’d outrun three separate potential assaults on her in broad daylight, even in six-inch heels. This one would be no different, but her curiosity was heightened, wanting to know why someone was stalking her.