Chương 6
And this was one of them.
Rachel gathered her things.
“We will need both of you to remain available.”
“Are we free to go?”
“For now.”
She looked at Elena.
“But I would suggest you think carefully about who knew you were reviewing those records.”
The words stayed behind after she left.
The front door closed.
The mansion became quiet again.
Adrian stood in the center of the room.
Elena watched him.
Waiting.
“What?”
He looked at her.
“You should have told me about the call.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because it was fourteen seconds.”
“That is not the point.”
“No.”
Her voice became sharper.
“The point is that every time something happens, you ask why I did not tell you sooner.”
Adrian looked away.
“Because I need to know what is happening.”
“And I need to know whether telling you will make things worse.”
The sentence hit harder than she intended.
But it was true.
He sat down slowly.
For the first time since the night before, he looked tired.
Not powerful.
Not untouchable.
Just tired.
“I spent my entire life watching people around my father hide things.”
Elena softened slightly.
“I know.”
“No, you know the version I told you.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“The truth is, I got good at reading danger because I grew up around people who never said what they meant.”
She sat across from him.
“And now?”
“Now I do not know if I am protecting you from them or protecting them from what I might find.”
The honesty surprised her.
Before she could respond, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
This time, it was not Claire.
It was Marcus Bell.
Elena stood immediately.
“That is impossible.”
Adrian answered.
Neither of them spoke.
The call lasted three seconds.
Then a voicemail notification appeared.
Adrian pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then Marcus’s voice.
Quiet.
Breathing hard.
“Adrian.”
A pause.
“If you are hearing this, they already found out.”
Elena moved closer.
The recording continued.
“I made a mistake.”
A sound in the background.
Something like a door closing.
“I thought I could fix it before anyone noticed.”
Marcus’s voice shook.
“You need to understand something.”
Another pause.
“The money was not stolen.”
Adrian looked at Elena.
The recording continued.
“It was moved because someone was trying to cover up a different crime.”
The message ended.
Neither of them moved.
The silence afterward felt louder than the recording.
“The money was not stolen,” Elena repeated.
Adrian looked at the phone.
“Then what was it covering?”
A new notification appeared.
A message.
Unknown number.
Adrian opened it.
This time, the image was not a photograph.
It was a document.
A scanned page from a foundation file.
At the bottom was a signature.
Elena recognized it immediately.
Her own.
“No.”
Adrian looked at her.
“What?”
“That is not possible.”
The document showed an approval form for a transfer.
The signature looked identical.
The date was from two weeks earlier.
“I was not there.”
Adrian stared at the paper.
The room felt colder.
“You signed it.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“I did not sign that.”
He looked at the document again.
The signature was hers.
The handwriting was hers.
Even the small curve she always made at the end of her name was there.
A perfect copy.
Someone had forged her approval.
And somehow, they had made it look like she was responsible.
Adrian placed the phone down.
“Who had access to your signature?”
Elena’s mind moved through possibilities.
Foundation paperwork.
Contracts.
Event documents.
Internal approvals.
Too many people.
Too many opportunities.
Then she remembered something.
A small detail from three days earlier.
Something she had ignored because it seemed insignificant.
“The birthday invitations.”
Adrian frowned.
“What?”
“The foundation office needed copies of my signature for the donor packets.”
“Who prepared them?”
She looked at him.
“Claire.”
Neither of them spoke.
Because the answer was not proof.
Not yet.
But it was the first time the suspicion had a direction.
And direction was dangerous.
Adrian picked up his phone.
“We need to talk to her.”
Elena stopped him.
“Not yet.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because if Claire did this, she already knows we are looking.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“Then what do you suggest?”
Elena looked at the document again.
At her own name beneath a decision she never made.
“We find out what she thinks we know.”
For the first time since the ballroom, Adrian did not immediately take control.
He listened.
And that frightened Elena more than his anger ever had.
Because it meant he was finally accepting that the person standing beside him might not need protection.
She might be the only person who could help him survive what was coming.
Adrian did not call Claire.
That decision alone told Elena how much had changed.
A few hours earlier, he would have walked into any room and demanded answers.
He would have used his name, his influence, and the quiet fear that followed him everywhere.
Now he stood in the middle of his own kitchen holding his phone and doing something that looked almost unnatural.
He was waiting.
“Where do we start?” he asked.
Elena looked at the document again.
“With the person who made the copy.”
“That could be anyone.”
“Yes.”
She picked up her coffee, took a sip, and immediately regretted it.
It had gone cold.
She stared at the cup for a moment.
Adrian noticed.
“You hate cold coffee.”
“I hate wasting things.”
“That is not the same.”
“It is close.”
A small silence followed.
It was the kind of silence they used to share easily.
Before secrets.
Before the ballroom.
Before they both started wondering what parts of themselves they had been keeping hidden.
Adrian walked to the counter and poured her a fresh cup without asking.
He still remembered how she liked it.
A little cream.
No sugar.
May you like
The fact that he remembered almost made it worse.
“You know,” she said quietly, “this would be easier if you were angry with me.”
