Chapter 6 - The Night the Penthouse Went Dark
Arthur closed the hotel-room door.
Christa stood across from him.
"Who gave the order?"
Arthur looked exhausted.
"Chrissy."
"No."
She placed Dion's phone on the table.
"Twenty years of lies are enough."
Elena sat silently beside the window.
Samuel had arrived ten minutes earlier.
Dion stood near Christa.
Arthur finally spoke.
"Vincent moved the money."
"We know."
"But he wasn't acting alone."
"Who?"
Arthur looked at Samuel.
Then Elena.
Finally Christa.
"Richard Henderson."
Dion went completely still.
Christa turned toward him.
He looked as shocked as she felt.
Arthur continued.
"Richard originally approved the accounts."
Dion's voice was low.
"My father?"
"He believed they were legitimate offshore investments. When he discovered Vincent had redirected them, he tried to stop him."
"So why cover it up?"
"Because exposing Vincent would have exposed Richard's authorization."
Dion looked away.
The father he had spent years defending had not been innocent.
But he hadn't been the mastermind either.
People, Christa realized, were rarely the simple villains or heroes families turned them into.
Arthur continued.
"Richard helped me escape because he regretted what he'd done."
"Then who sent the message?" Christa asked.
Arthur looked troubled.
"I don't know."
The answer arrived sooner than expected.
Samuel's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
"What?"
He listened.
Then lowered the phone.
"Vincent disappeared."
Dion frowned.
"From where?"
"His lawyers can't find him."
Arthur looked toward the window.
"He'll go after the backup."
"What backup?" Christa asked.
Arthur looked at her.
"The original bank authorization."
"Where is it?"
Arthur hesitated.
Elena stood.
"Arthur."
He sighed.
"Christa has it."
She stared.
"I what?"
"The recipe book."
They opened it.
Inside the back cover, beneath twenty-year-old cardboard, was a folded document.
Richard Henderson's authorization.
Vincent's handwritten amendments.
Both signatures.
The missing proof.
Christa stared at her father's cookbook.
All those years.
The truth had sat inside her kitchen.
Her phone rang.
Vincent.
She answered.
"Hello?"
"Christa."
He sounded different.
No confidence.
No smugness.
"Bring me the authorization."
"No."
"Then everything you've built disappears."
She almost laughed.
"Vincent, you've already taken everything you could use against me."
"Not everything."
A pause.
"Check your company account."
Christa did.
Frozen.
Her business accounts had been locked.
Vincent had filed an emergency ownership dispute.
For eight years, he'd structured contracts so he could challenge her ownership.
Dion looked over her shoulder.
"I'll fix it."
Christa shook her head.
"No."
She understood suddenly.
This was exactly how Vincent survived.
He made people dependent.
Afraid.
He convinced them only somebody more powerful could rescue them.
Christa looked at Dion.
"I need to do this."
He understood.
"What do you need?"
"A lawyer."
"I know twelve."
"One."
He nodded.
"And coffee."
"That may be more difficult at this hour."
She smiled.
By morning, Christa had filed her own claim.
By afternoon, three former employees came forward with records proving Vincent had diverted agency funds.
By evening, the accounts were temporarily restored.
Christa had won the first round without Dion buying, threatening, or controlling anything.
She had done it herself.
That mattered.
Late that night, she stood on Dion's balcony overlooking Chicago.
He joined her.
"You were magnificent today."
"Don't sound surprised."
"I'm not."
She looked at him.
"You really meant what you said?"
"Which part?"
"That you wanted me before you knew whether I could help find the ledger."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Dion considered.
"The first time I saw you, you were arguing with a hotel manager."
Christa frowned.
"What?"
"Three years ago. Palmer Hotel."
She remembered.
"A dishwasher had been fired because he broke a tray."
"You spent forty minutes proving the tray rack was defective."
"He had three kids."
"I know."
"You were there?"
"Across the lobby."
Christa stared.
"That's incredibly unromantic."
"I thought it was compelling."
She laughed.
Dion smiled.
"I liked that you weren't intimidated."
"I didn't know you were watching."
"Exactly."
Christa looked over the city.
"For years I thought men didn't choose me because of how I looked."
Dion said nothing.
"And sometimes they didn't."
He still didn't interrupt.
"But I think I made their opinions into my identity."
She looked at him.
"I'm done doing that."
"Good."
"And if we do this—"
"We?"
"Don't get excited."
"Too late."
She smiled.
"If we do this, you don't get to control my life."
"Agreed."
"You don't buy my apartment."
"Agreed."
"You don't investigate me."
"Agreed."
"You don't make decisions for me."
"That one sounds inefficient."
"Dion."
"Agreed."
She laughed.
Then kissed him.
This time neither was surprised.
When they separated, the penthouse lights flickered.
Christa groaned.
"Seriously?"
Dion frowned.
The security panel went dark.
Again.
But this time they were ready.
Arthur entered from the study.
"Backup generator."
Nothing happened.
Samuel checked his phone.
"No signal."
Christa heard a sound near the service entrance.
Click.
The door opened.
A shadow moved through it.
Dion stepped forward.
Then stopped.
A woman entered.
Elegant.
Silver-haired.
Christa recognized her from old Henderson photographs.
Dion whispered:
"Aunt Victoria?"
The woman looked at Arthur.
Then at Christa.
She placed a second ledger on the table.
May you like
"You've all been chasing the wrong fifteen million."
And then she opened it.
