Chapter 13 - THE LAST PAGE
We didn’t walk into that building alone.
Elena gave investigators the invitation and everything that had led to it.
The meeting went forward with a plan they directed.
I was told where to stand.
What not to touch.
When to leave.
Luca disliked every second of it.
For once, he kept that to himself.
The unfinished lobby smelled like concrete dust.
Plastic covered the front windows.
I knew the space by heart.
I had argued over the placement of the reception desk. Chosen the stone. Reworked the accessibility plan.
Vanessa stood beside a folding table in heels completely wrong for a construction site.
Ryan waited near the service corridor.
He looked at me, then away.
“You brought company,” Vanessa said when Luca entered behind me.
“You invited him.”
“I meant lawyers.”
“Elena stays on the phone.”
Vanessa’s mouth tightened.
On the table sat the missing folder.
And Natalie’s backup drive.
My pulse kicked.
“Where did you get that?”
She glanced at the drive.
“Martin’s cleaning up.”
Ryan turned.
“You said he wasn’t involved today.”
Vanessa ignored him.
“Sign the acknowledgment, Claire. Then you get the original transfer schedule. It proves Martin took the biggest share.”
“And leaves me admitting I approved the money.”
“You did approve budgets.”
“Not payments to fake vendors.”
She shrugged.
“That distinction could take years to prove.”
Luca spoke quietly.
“Was any of it real?”
Vanessa looked at him.
For a second, I thought she might soften.
Instead, she said, “You were never home.”
“That’s an explanation for being lonely. Not this.”
She looked away first.
Ryan stepped toward the table.
“What’s my share?”
Vanessa exhaled.
“Not now.”
“No. Now.”
I watched his face as I said, “Check the distribution sheet.”
Vanessa reached for the folder.
Ryan got there first.
He flipped through it.
Stopped.
“You told me half.”
“Of what I received.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“You heard what you wanted.”
His face crumpled.
For one second, he looked like the man who had stood beside my kitchen counter asking me to believe in him.
Then he looked at me.
“Claire—”
“No.”
Behind us, a door slammed.
Martin entered from the service corridor.
His eyes went straight to the folder in Ryan’s hand.
“Put that down,” he said.
Ryan backed away.
May you like
Martin took another step.
“This was never supposed to become a conversation.”
