Chapter 2 - The Man in the Rain
The stranger looked at Mave for several long seconds.
Rain gathered in the silver at his temples.
He was somewhere in his mid-forties, maybe older, though there was something about his posture that made age seem irrelevant. He wore power differently from Brandon. Brandon performed it. He checked whether people were watching before lowering his voice or making someone wait.
This man didn't need an audience.
Behind him, two men lifted the figure from the cobblestones.
Mave backed against the wall.
“What happened to him?”
“An unfortunate disagreement.”
“That sounded like a gunshot.”
His expression barely changed.
“You should go home.”
“I don't have one tonight.”
That changed something.
Not sympathy.
Attention.
He returned the ultrasound.
“What is your name?”
“Mave Callahan.”
The man's eyes sharpened.
“Callahan?”
She almost laughed.
Apparently even terrifying strangers knew her family's embarrassing little name.
“Yes.”
“Patrick Callahan's daughter?”
“My father died eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
The words stopped her.
“You knew my father?”
The stranger glanced toward the alley entrance.
“Get in the car.”
“No.”
For the first time, he seemed surprised.
Mave tightened her fingers around the ultrasound.
“You've already admitted knowing my dead father, there may be a dead man behind you, and you haven't even told me your name. Getting into your car would be a spectacularly stupid decision.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
Not quite a smile.
“Roman Vescari.”
Her stomach tightened.
She knew that name.
Everyone in Chicago did.
Officially, Roman Vescari controlled a private investment group, three luxury hotels, a shipping company, and enough commercial property to make city councilmen return his calls before their wives'.
Unofficially?
People lowered their voices when they said his name.
Mave stared toward the men near the car.
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
“You shot him?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“The man who tried to rob him.”
Mave blinked.
Roman nodded toward the pavement.
Only then did she see the second figure—a young man sitting against the wall, holding his shoulder while one of Roman's men called what sounded suspiciously like an ambulance.
The first man wasn't being carried away.
He was helping.
Mave closed her eyes.
“Great. I'm hallucinating now.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Roman opened the rear door himself.
“I knew your father. You're alone, soaked, and holding proof that someone betrayed you. Those are enough reasons for me to make sure you reach somewhere safe.”
“I don't want charity.”
“Good. I don't give it.”
Mave looked at him.
“What do you give?”
“Options.”
Twenty minutes later, she sat in the back of Roman Vescari's Maybach.
She hadn't intended to accept.
Then her phone had buzzed.
BRANDON: Where are you?
Immediately afterward:
GEMMA: Babe??? Are you awake? Emergency. Call me.
Mave switched the phone off.
Roman watched without comment.
They drove north instead of toward her hotel.
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“No.”
“My attorney is there.”
That caught her.
“Why?”
“He was reviewing a contract.”
Roman's gaze settled on her business notebook.
“You're worried about papers you signed.”
Mave went still.
“How did you know?”
“You've touched that notebook six times since entering the car. Each time you look frightened, not heartbroken.”
She hated how accurately he'd read her.
Mave explained the insurance forms.
Roman listened without interrupting.
“What does Brandon do?” he asked.
“Commercial development. His family owns Roads-Hale Urban Partners.”
“Hale?”
“Brandon Hale.”
“And Gemma Roads.”
Mave saw the connection a second before Roman said it.
“The Roads family and Hale family are business partners.”
“Yes.”
“What do you own?”
“My bridal design company.”
“Anything else?”
“My father's building.”
Roman became very still.
“The Callahan building on West Monroe?”
“Yes.”
It was an old six-story property Patrick Callahan had bought before the neighborhood became fashionable. Mave's studio occupied the first two floors. The remaining spaces were leased.
Developers had been trying to buy it for years.
Including Brandon.
She had always refused.
Roman looked out the window.
“Those weren't insurance forms.”
Her stomach dropped.
“You can't know that.”
“I can suspect it.”
His house stood behind iron gates overlooking Lake Michigan.
It wasn't a mansion pretending to be a palace. It was worse.
Quiet.
Old.
Protected.
A gray-haired attorney named Theodore Shaw was waiting in a library.
Roman gave him Mave's name.
Theodore's eyebrows rose.
Then Mave explained.
“Can we find out what I signed?”
“If documents affecting Chicago real property were filed, yes.”
Theodore opened his laptop.
Mave paced.
Ten minutes later, he stopped typing.
Roman noticed first.
“What?”
Theodore looked at Mave.
“Ms. Callahan, when exactly did you sign those papers?”
“Sunday evening.”
“And you were told they were insurance documents?”
“Yes.”
Theodore rotated the laptop.
A scanned filing appeared.
Mave recognized her signature.
Her blood turned cold.
“What is that?”
“A transfer authorization attached to a conditional sale agreement.”
“I never agreed to sell.”
“The document says you did.”
“To whom?”
Theodore hesitated.
Roman stepped closer.
“Say it.”
“Lakefront Renewal Holdings.”
Mave swallowed.
“I've never heard of them.”
Roman had.
She could see it.
“Who owns it?”
Theodore searched.
Two holding companies appeared.
Then another.
Finally, a familiar name.
Roads-Hale Urban Partners.
Mave sat down.
Brandon hadn't merely cheated.
He had put papers beneath her hand while she was tired, poured her wine, kissed her forehead—
and tried to steal the building her father had left her.
“How much?”
Theodore examined the agreement.
“Your property is valued in this transaction at $2.1 million.”
Mave laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“Last year I rejected eight million.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“There's more,” Theodore said.
Of course there was.
A clause granted temporary management authority upon marriage, pending completion of transfer.
Tomorrow's wedding hadn't simply been a wedding.
It had been a deadline.
Mave stared at her signature.
“Can we stop it?”
“Probably. Fraudulent inducement, misrepresentation, possibly forgery elsewhere. But we'll need evidence.”
Roman walked to the window.
“What happens if she doesn't marry him?”
“The management clause never activates.”
“And the sale?”
“We challenge it immediately.”
Mave stood.
“I want to call the police.”
“You can,” Roman said.
She looked at him.
“But?”
“But Brandon will know you've discovered everything. Documents may disappear. Phones may disappear. People may coordinate stories.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
Roman turned.
“Go back.”
Mave stared at him.
“To Brandon?”
“To your wedding.”
“You're insane.”
“Possibly.”
“My maid of honor is pregnant with my fiancé's baby.”
“Yes.”
“He tried to steal my building.”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to put on a wedding dress?”
“I want Brandon Hale to believe until the last possible second that his plan worked.”
Mave's breathing slowed.
Roman crossed the room and stopped several feet away.
“Tomorrow, every person involved will be in one building. Brandon. Gemma. Their families. Their attorneys. Their investors.”
“And me.”
“And you.”
She looked at the ultrasound.
“What exactly are you offering?”
Roman's eyes hardened.
“Not revenge.”
“That's disappointing.”
Again, that almost-smile.
“Revenge makes people careless. I'm offering you the opportunity to learn how much they stole before you take it back.”
Mave looked down at the image of Gemma's unborn child.
The baby hadn't betrayed her.
Gemma had.
Brandon had.
Whatever happened tomorrow, Mave wouldn't use an innocent child as a weapon.
She placed the ultrasound carefully on Theodore's desk.
Then she looked at Roman.
“What do you need me to do?”
His answer was immediate.
“Smile.”
At 8:06 the following morning, Gemma Roads entered Mave's bridal suite carrying champagne.
Mave was sitting before the mirror in the wedding gown she'd designed herself.
Gemma smiled brightly.
“There she is.”
Mave looked at her best friend through the mirror.
Eight weeks pregnant.
Sleeping with Brandon.
Helping steal her father's building.
Gemma leaned down and kissed Mave's cheek.
“Ready to become Mrs. Hale?”
Mave smiled.
For the first time in her life, she understood exactly why dangerous people smiled before wars began.
“More than you know.”
May you like
Gemma reached for the champagne.
And Mave noticed her hand trembling.
