“It’s okay,” Sawyer said, giving her a nod. “The look on his face says we could use some coffee, though,” he said.
“I’ll bring it right in,” Marg said, nodding, but giving the guy a hard look to make it clear she didn’t appreciate being overstepped, then made her way out.
“My name is Cam Michaels. I’m the personal assistant for Miranda Coulter,” Cam said, taking a step in. “Of Coulter, Incorporated,” he added to our collective blank looks.
Sawyer’s gaze slid in my direction, knowing I was the one who knew the most about the private sector since, well, I’d banged damn near all the wives, girlfriends, and exes of all the big billionaires around.
“Coulter. Social media, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. And you’re the CEO’s personal assistant,” Sawyer concluded.
“Yes.”
“There’s an issue that needs to be investigated?” Sawyer asked, waving toward one of Tig’s seats, then moving to stand behind the desk beside Tig.
I stayed toward the side, watching.
Everyone knew it was Tig and Sawyer who really ran shit. They pulled me in on jobs when they needed me. Normally, I’d have just excused myself, but with the threat of Terry still lurking, I decided to stay put.
“Approximately thirty hours ago my boss was put on a 5150. Wrongly.”
“A 5150,” Sawyer repeated, brows pinching.
“A forced psychiatric hold,” Cam said, voice raising, getting agitated.
“I know what a 5150 is,” Sawyer said. “I’m confused how she accidentally got put on one.”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I can’t get in touch with her.”
“Then how did you know about it?” Tig asked.
“She sent me an emergency text via her smartwatch before they took that away.”
“What did it say?” Sawyer asked, reaching for one of Tig’s notebooks and a pen.
“Help. 5150. Didn’t do it.”
“Well, that sounds conclusive,” Sawyer said. “What didn’t she do?”
“From what I can tell from what I’ve stitched together… tried to kill herself.”
“And you’re sure she didn’t? Try that,” Tig clarified.
“One hundred percent sure. Randi is happy and successful and fulfilled.”
“There are a lot of successful and fulfilled people who only put on the charade of happiness,” Sawyer reasoned.
“That’s not Randi. Randi is genuinely happy. I don’t know what happened, but I know she didn’t try to hurt herself. And she herself said it. In desperation before being locked away against her will,” Cam insisted. “I have done everything I could to try to get this overturned.”
“Good luck,” Sawyer said, shaking his head. “It’s almost impossible. And even if you get someone to push the paperwork through, it is usually after the seventy-two hours have already passed. If she’s thirty hours into this, she probably only has a day and a half to go.”
“Weekend,” I mumbled.
“What?” Sawyer asked, looking over, not used to me piping in.
“It’s the weekend in a few hours. They don’t always count that toward the seventy-two hours. She could be there until Tuesday if that hospital doesn’t count the weekends.”
Sawyer’s brows pinched at that, but he kept his thoughts to himself as he looked back over at Cam.