Chương 9
“Had?”
Silence again.
I wrote the word down on a notepad beside the bed.
Vanessa heard the scratch of the pen.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re taking notes.”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God.”
“You called me at midnight to accuse me of leaking a photograph.”
“I should never have called.”
“Probably not.”
“Adrian was right about you.”
The sentence came too quickly.
“What was he right about?”
She stopped.
I waited.
“What did he say?”
“That once you decided somebody was against you, you could become cold.”
I stared at the wall.
There was an old photograph hanging there of my mother and father in Italy, both of them younger than I was now.
My father had his arm around her shoulders.
She was laughing at something outside the frame.
“Vanessa.”
“What?”
“Did Adrian tell you anything about the Bennett trust before this week?”
She did not answer.
“Vanessa.”
“He said it was passive.”
My pulse slowed.
“What else?”
“That you had no involvement with company decisions.”
“What else?”
“That the provisions were obsolete.”
I wrote each phrase down.
Passive.
No involvement.
Obsolete.
“He told you that before Northline was hired?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I closed my eyes.
“Good night, Vanessa.”
“Wait.”
I hung up.
At seven the next morning, I sent Margaret my notes.
She called within three minutes.
“Do not contact Vanessa again.”
“She contacted me.”
“Then do not answer.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means nothing yet.”
“Margaret.”
“It means we verify.”
I heard papers moving.
“Her statement about Adrian describing the trust as passive could matter if it predates the vendor agreement.”
“Because?”
“Because it may show he considered the trust’s enforcement rights when making decisions.”
“Or he was gossiping about his wife.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Evidence rarely arrives wearing a name tag.”
I stood and walked to the kitchen.
My mother was making coffee in a silk robe and reading a newspaper made of actual paper because she distrusted screens before breakfast.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Margaret’s tone shifted.
“Martin sent documents to the review counsel this morning.”
“What documents?”
“Northline invoices and internal approvals.”
“Adrian’s approvals?”
“One of them.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does it say?”
“Nothing dramatic.”
“That somehow sounds worse.”
“It says, ‘Vanessa has confidence in them, proceed.’”
I leaned against the counter.
My mother looked up from the newspaper.
“Was there diligence?”
“Not much that we’ve seen.”
“Conflict disclosure?”
“None attached.”
“Was Vanessa involved in approving payments?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Margaret.”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Daniel Cross’s company registration.”
“What about it?”
“Northline was formed eleven days before Whitmore’s first engagement letter.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“Eleven days?”
“Yes.”
“That can’t be normal.”
“It isn’t automatically improper.”
“But?”
“But it raises questions.”
My mother folded the newspaper.
I turned away from her.
“Does Adrian know?”
“Martin is meeting with him at nine.”
“And the board?”
“They meet at eleven.”
I looked at the kitchen clock.
It was seven twelve.
For nearly two hours, somewhere in Chicago, Adrian was probably preparing to explain how a newly formed company owned by his mistress’s brother had received a six-figure contract on his approval.
I should have felt triumphant.
Instead I felt sick.
“Margaret, if this gets worse, what happens to the firm?”
“That depends on what they find.”
“And my shares?”
“The value could take a hit.”
“So Adrian was right about that.”
“He was right that actions have financial consequences.”
I laughed without humor.
“He’s going to enjoy hearing you say that.”
“I suggest you never tell him.”
I poured coffee and forgot to add milk.
My mother watched me take one sip and make a face.
“You hate black coffee.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you drinking it?”
“I forgot.”
She took the mug from me, added milk, and returned it without comment.
Margaret kept speaking.
“The review is no longer just yours.”
“What does that mean?”
“The independent directors can continue investigating even if the trust withdraws its request.”
I stared at the window.
“So I can’t stop it now.”
“Not completely.”
The realization should have relieved me.
Instead it frightened me.
For days, Adrian had accused me of holding a weapon over his company.
Now the weapon was no longer in my hand.
“What if I wanted to?”
“Wanted to what?”
“Stop it.”
Margaret went quiet.
“Do you?”
I thought of Noah asking whether I was trying to ruin his father.
I thought of Sophie saying she did not want anything terrible to happen to him.
I thought of Vanessa’s voice changing when I mentioned Northline.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s an acceptable answer.”
“It doesn’t feel like one.”
“Most honest answers don’t.”
At nine thirty, Adrian texted me.
I need to see you.
I did not respond.
At nine thirty-two, another message arrived.
Please, Claire.
At nine thirty-five, my phone rang.
I let it go to voicemail.
Then Martin called.
I answered.
His voice sounded different from the day before.
Not tired.
Shaken.
“Claire.”
“What happened?”
“We met with Adrian.”
“And?”
“He says he didn’t know Northline was formed right before the engagement.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does he say Vanessa told him?”
“That her brother had been consulting independently for years and incorporated when Whitmore needed a formal vendor.”
“That’s possible.”
“Yes.”
“But you sound like you don’t believe it.”
Martin inhaled.
“There’s another problem.”
I closed my eyes.
“What now?”
“The review team checked the address on Northline’s invoices.”
“And?”
“It’s Vanessa’s condo.”
The coffee mug stopped halfway to my mouth.
“What?”
“Northline’s business address is her home address.”
“Maybe her brother uses it for mail.”
“Maybe.”
“But.”
Martin was silent long enough that I heard somebody speaking in the background.
Then a door closed.
“The bank account receiving Whitmore’s payments was opened jointly.”
My hand tightened around the mug.
“Jointly with whom?”
“You already know.”
May you like
I did.
I simply did not want to say her name.
