Chapter 4 - The Woman Dion Refused to Hide
Christa opened the door before Dion could stop her.
The hallway was empty.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
Then she saw the phone.
A cheap burner phone lay on the carpet.
Its speaker was playing Arthur's recorded voice.
Christa's hope collapsed.
Dion picked it up.
A message appeared.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT ELENA BACK.
An address followed.
Christa recognized it.
The same address her mother had written.
An abandoned bakery on the South Side.
Her father's bakery.
The place where he'd taught six-year-old Christa to knead bread.
Dion read the screen.
"We're not going alone."
"The message says—"
"I can read."
"It's my mother."
"And that's exactly why Vincent expects you to stop thinking."
Christa hated that he was right.
They returned to Dion's penthouse.
Samuel was waiting.
Christa immediately confronted him.
"Did my father return three years ago?"
Samuel froze.
That was answer enough.
"You knew."
"Christa—"
"You all knew!"
Dion turned toward Samuel.
"I didn't."
Samuel sighed.
"Arthur contacted me once."
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"Why?"
"He believed Vincent had discovered Christa."
Christa laughed bitterly.
"Everybody discovered me except me."
Samuel looked ashamed.
"Arthur made me promise."
"I'm getting very tired of my father making people promise things on my behalf."
Dion walked toward the windows.
Christa watched him.
Something had changed.
"You really didn't know?"
"No."
She believed him.
She wasn't sure when that had happened.
Maybe trust didn't arrive dramatically.
Maybe it accumulated in small moments.
A door he didn't block.
An elevator he didn't enter.
An apology without excuses.
Dion turned.
"Vincent knows we're investigating him. Tomorrow's board meeting will be his next move."
"What board meeting?"
"The Henderson Foundation."
Christa understood.
"The charity accounts."
"Exactly."
Vincent needed access to destroy whatever remained.
"So we go."
Dion shook his head.
"You don't."
Christa stared.
He immediately seemed to realize his mistake.
"Try that sentence again."
"Christa."
"Try it."
Dion exhaled.
"I would prefer that you didn't."
"Better."
"It's dangerous."
"My mother is missing."
"I know."
"My father may be alive."
"I know."
"And Vincent has spent eight years standing beside me because he thought someday I might lead him to a ledger."
Dion's jaw tightened.
"Which is why—"
"I'm going."
Silence.
Samuel looked between them.
Then Dion nodded.
"Fine."
Christa blinked.
"Fine?"
"You expected an argument?"
"Yes."
"I'm learning."
Despite herself, she smiled.
The next morning, Christa entered the Henderson Foundation boardroom beside Dion.
She wore the purple gown's confidence without the gown itself.
A tailored plum suit.
No hiding.
No shapeless black blazer.
Vincent sat at the far end.
His smile vanished when he saw her.
"Christa."
"Vincent."
"I heard last night was eventful."
"Very."
His eyes flicked toward Dion.
"You shouldn't involve employees in private business."
Christa sat down.
"I'm not his employee."
Dion took the chair beside her.
Vincent smiled.
"Of course."
Other directors entered.
Whispers followed.
Christa knew what some of them saw.
A woman who didn't belong in their polished room.
Years ago, she would have tried to disappear.
Today, she opened her folder.
The meeting began.
Twenty minutes later, Dion interrupted the financial presentation.
"Page forty-seven."
Vincent's face tightened.
The CFO stopped.
Dion continued.
"There's a twelve-million-dollar discrepancy between foundation transfers and beneficiary receipts."
Vincent leaned back.
"Accounting delay."
Christa looked at him.
"Interesting."
He turned.
"What?"
"My father called it that too."
Silence swallowed the room.
Vincent's face changed.
Barely.
But enough.
Christa saw it.
So did Dion.
After the meeting, Vincent cornered Christa near the elevator.
"You don't understand the people you're involving yourself with."
"Apparently I've been involved since I was six."
"Arthur made terrible decisions."
"My father trusted you."
Vincent smiled without warmth.
"Your father was weak."
Christa stepped closer.
"No."
She looked him directly in the eyes.
"He was afraid."
"Same thing."
"No. Weak people don't scare men twenty years after disappearing."
Vincent's smile vanished.
Dion appeared at the end of the corridor.
Vincent stepped away.
Before leaving, he whispered:
"Ask Dion what his father did the night Arthur disappeared."
Christa watched him go.
Then turned toward Dion.
"What did your father do?"
Dion's silence told her there was another secret.
That night, he finally revealed it.
Richard Henderson had driven Arthur to the train station.
He had given him cash.
A false identity.
And instructions never to return.
"My father helped him disappear," Dion said.
"To protect him?"
"Partly."
"What's the other part?"
"To protect the company."
Christa looked away.
"So Vincent was right."
"About my father? Maybe."
"About you?"
"No."
She looked at him.
"How do I know?"
"You don't."
That answer surprised her.
Dion continued.
"You shouldn't trust me because I want you to. Trust me when I've earned it."
Arthur's letter.
Make him earn it.
Christa sat quietly.
Then Dion placed something on the table.
A contract.
"What is this?"
"Your event agency."
She stared.
"I bought Vincent's controlling interest this morning."
Anger flashed through her.
"Dion—"
"Keep reading."
She did.
Ownership transfer.
Not to Henderson Holdings.
To Christa Flores.
One dollar.
She looked up.
"You bought my company and you're giving it to me?"
"No."
"You literally are."
"I'm returning something Vincent used to control you."
"I don't need rescuing."
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because you should own what you built."
Her anger softened.
Not disappeared.
Softened.
"I can't accept this."
"Then don't."
"You'd lose millions."
"I've survived worse."
Christa looked at him.
"Why are you doing this?"
Dion's voice became quiet.
"Because somewhere during the three years I was supposed to be investigating Arthur Flores, I started paying attention to his daughter."
Christa didn't move.
"I knew which bakery you visited on Sundays. I knew you stayed late to help employees even when nobody thanked you. I knew you quietly paid for Elena's mother's surgery."
"How?"
"Background investigation."
She glared.
"You're making that sound worse again."
He almost smiled.
Then seriousness returned.
"I didn't fall for a photograph, Christa. I fell for the woman who kept showing up for everyone when nobody showed up for her."
Her throat tightened.
"Don't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because I might believe you."
Dion stepped closer.
"But he stopped before touching her."
That mattered.
Christa closed the distance herself.
She kissed him.
Briefly.
Softly.
When she pulled back, Dion looked stunned for the first time since she'd met him.
Christa smiled.
"Don't make me regret that."
"I'll devote significant resources to preventing it."
She laughed.
Then every light in the penthouse went out.
Darkness.
A second later, the security alarm died.
Dion's expression changed.
"Stay close."
A phone began ringing somewhere inside the dark study.
Not Dion's.
Not Christa's.
They followed the sound.
On the desk sat a burner phone neither had placed there.
Christa answered.
"Hello?"
Her mother whispered:
"Chrissy, don't trust Samuel."
Christa turned.
Behind her, the penthouse door opened.
May you like
Samuel stepped inside.
And he was holding Arthur Flores's missing recipe book.
