Chapter 3 - Florence
Eight hours later, Flight 912 landed in Florence.
I had not slept.
Trinity barely spoke to me after Nathan returned to his seat.
Dakota remained professional until every passenger had left the aircraft.
I waited.
When the cabin was almost empty, she approached.
“Your transportation is outside.”
“My transportation?”
“Nathan arranged it.”
“Are you coming?”
“No.”
The answer hurt more than it should have.
“Where are you going?”
“To my hotel.”
“Dakota, please stop talking to me like I’m a passenger.”
Her eyes met mine.
“Today you are.”
Then she walked away.
Outside the terminal, Nathan waited beside a black Mercedes.
Trinity appeared behind me with her suitcase.
Nathan frowned.
“Ms. Cross wasn’t invited.”
Trinity crossed her arms.
“Then somebody should have mentioned that before I flew four thousand miles.”
She looked at me.
“I’m getting my own hotel.”
“Trinity—”
“No.”
For months, I had thought Trinity wanted me.
Standing there, I realized she had wanted the version of me I manufactured for her.
Available.
Powerful.
Almost divorced.
None of him existed.
She climbed into a taxi.
Nathan and I rode in silence.
Twenty-five minutes later, Florence opened around us in warm afternoon light.
We crossed the Arno.
Then the Mercedes stopped outside Palazzo Vieri.
I recognized the building from acquisition documents: a Renaissance palazzo Bellweather planned to convert into its European flagship.
Inside, attorneys and executives gathered around a conference table.
My CEO, Charles Bell, stood near the windows.
He did not shake my hand.
“Mason.”
“Charles.”
“You’ve created quite a mess.”
“I can explain the expenses.”
“I hope so.”
“Where’s Dakota?”
Before he could answer, a door opened.
An elegant woman in her late sixties entered.
Silver-streaked dark hair.
Black dress.
Pearl earrings.
She carried herself with effortless authority.
Nathan stood.
“Evelyn.”
She looked at me.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then she said, “You have your grandfather’s eyes.”
I stared at her.
“I’m sorry?”
The door behind her opened again.
Dakota walked in.
Not in uniform.
She wore a simple cream dress and carried the envelope.
“Dakota?”
Evelyn turned toward her.
“Darling.”
Darling.
My wife kissed Evelyn on both cheeks.
I felt the room tilt.
“What is happening?”
Dakota approached the table.
“Sit down, Mason.”
I didn’t.
“Who is she?”
Dakota’s gaze held mine.
“My grandmother.”
Silence.
I actually laughed because the alternative was believing her.
“Your grandmother lives in Savannah.”
“My maternal grandmother does.”
Evelyn stepped closer.
“My son was Dakota’s father.”
I stared at Dakota.
Her father, Daniel, had died before we met.
She rarely spoke about his family.
I knew he had been Italian-American.
I knew he had spent years in Europe.
I knew almost nothing else because whenever Dakota tried to tell me stories about her father, I was usually checking emails.
A sick realization formed.
“Vieri?”
Dakota nodded.
“Daniel Vieri.”
Evelyn continued.
“My son walked away from this family’s business. He wanted an ordinary life in America. After his death, Dakota wanted the same.”
I looked around the palazzo.
“You own this?”
Evelyn smiled faintly.
“My family does.”
Charles Bell stepped forward.
“And Dakota holds the controlling voting interest in the property trust.”
I slowly sat.
Bellweather had spent nearly eighteen months negotiating the acquisition.
I had personally attended twelve meetings.
Dakota had never appeared at one.
“How?”
“Different representatives,” Nathan said. “Different holding entities.”
My mind raced.
Then I looked at Dakota.
“You knew I was working on this acquisition.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“You never asked.”
“That’s not fair.”
The words left my mouth before I understood how ridiculous they sounded.
Dakota’s face changed.
“Not fair?”
I closed my eyes.
She placed the envelope in front of me.
“Open it.”
Nathan sat beside me.
Evelyn sat across the table.
I broke Dakota’s initials across the flap.
Inside were photographs.
Hotel receipts.
Corporate-card statements.
Copies of Cross Creative invoices.
And screenshots of messages between Trinity and me.
There was also a legal document.
I picked it up.
PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
My hands went numb.
“You filed for divorce?”
“Yesterday.”
I looked at the photographs.
“How did you get these?”
“Some I found. Some your company discovered independently.”
“You investigated me?”
“No, Mason.”
Her voice cracked for the first time.
“I trusted you.”
That was worse.
She pushed another document toward me.
It was a forensic accounting report.
Several Cross Creative invoices had been altered after Trinity submitted them.
Amounts increased.
Expenses recategorized.
Approval codes bearing my credentials.
“I didn’t do this.”
Nathan nodded.
“We know.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“We know you didn’t alter those invoices.”
Relief lasted less than a second.
“Then who did?”
Charles Bell answered.
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
A new photograph slid from Dakota’s envelope.
A man leaving Trinity’s apartment.
I knew him.
Everyone at Bellweather did.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Caleb?”
Caleb Bell.
Charles’s younger brother.
Bellweather’s chief financial officer.
Dakota watched my face.
“You thought this envelope was about your affair.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“It isn’t?”
“Not entirely.”
Nathan folded his hands.
“Mason, somebody used your affair to route money through Trinity’s company and attach the approvals to you.”
“How much?”
Nobody answered immediately.
“How much?”
Charles finally spoke.
“Not $184,000.”
My stomach tightened.
“That was only what we wanted the person responsible to think we’d found.”
Nathan opened a second folder.
“The actual amount is $8.7 million.”
I stared at him.
Then at the photograph of Caleb entering my mistress’s apartment.
May you like
And suddenly my affair looked less like the biggest betrayal in the room.
It looked like bait.
