The Price of Taking It Back

"Because someone put it there," Daniel said.

Vincent examined the paper without answering.

I stepped back, but Daniel had already seen me.

"You must be Elena."

I hesitated.

"Yes."

"I owe your daughter a thank-you. Apparently everyone else thinks I owe them three million dollars."

His humor did not disguise the tightness around his mouth.

"Where did this come from?" Vincent asked.

"Arthur sent it to the board counsel this afternoon. His cover note suggests I arranged the payment and used Sophia to engineer a dispute."

"What payment?" I asked before remembering I had no business asking.

Daniel gestured toward the sheet.

"An authorization to reimburse a consulting company for arranging the Bellini alliance. Which is an impressively vague way of describing a very expensive crime."

Vincent laid it flat.

"An authorization isn't proof the money moved."

Daniel stared at him.

"You believe me?"

"I believe we need the underlying records."

The answer disappointed him. I saw it before he hid it.

Vincent saw it too.

"And I believe you would have come to me if you needed money."

"You would have made me fill out six forms."

"Eight."

Daniel let out a breath that almost became a laugh.

Mrs. Russo arrived behind me with a key for the guest room. She glanced at the document, then leaned closer.

"That is your old signature."

Daniel turned.

"What?"

"Before you broke your wrist. You used to make that ridiculous loop under the surname. I remember because you signed Christmas cards on my kitchen table."

He looked at his brother.

"She's right."

Vincent photographed the document and called the outside accountant.

I slipped away while they spoke.

For the first time since entering the conference room, I allowed myself to imagine that the worst might be over.

It was a mistake.

The next morning, Sophia went to her examination. Daniel stayed in the study with the accountant. Lily helped Mrs. Russo make toast, a task she performed by eating the first slice.

I returned to the upstairs rooms because doing ordinary work seemed safer than waiting to be summoned.

One guest bedroom had been left unlocked.

Inside stood three large boxes, a folded blanket, and a wooden crib partially assembled on the carpet.

I stopped with the clean towels against my chest.

The blanket was pale yellow.

Vincent appeared behind me.

"I meant to have this room closed."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

I moved toward the door. He did not step aside immediately.

"It was supposed to be a surprise."

His voice sounded different in that room.

I looked at the boxes.

"Were you furnishing three nurseries?"

A faint crease appeared between his brows.

"I couldn't decide which one was suitable."

"So you bought three cribs."

"I was going to return two."

The laugh escaped before I could stop it.

He looked offended for half a second. Then his mouth shifted.

"I gather this isn't the usual approach."

"Most people begin with a tape measure."

"I had one. Marco used it."

I pressed my lips together, and he finally smiled.

It changed his face enough to make me look away.

On the dresser lay a small knitted hat.

He picked it up with two fingers, as carefully as though something living were inside it.

"She sent me a picture from an ultrasound," he said. "I kept it in my desk."

I put the towels down.

"You don't have to tell me."

"I know."

He looked at the hat.

"I wasn't in love with Sophia. I thought we could make a marriage work. We had known each other for years, and there was going to be a child. I thought that was enough to begin with."

I understood the shame beneath his restraint. He thought wanting a baby had made him foolish.

"Buying a hat wasn't the mistake," I said.

He looked at me then.

"No?"

"Someone using it against you was."

For a moment, his eyes stayed on mine. I became sharply aware of the narrow space between us and the faint scent of soap at his open collar.

Then his phone rang.

He read the screen.

"The examination is finished."

I waited.

His jaw tightened.

"She isn't pregnant."

I touched his sleeve before I could think better of it.

"I'm sorry, Vincent."

It was the first time I had used his name.

His gaze dropped to my hand.

I withdrew it, but he caught my fingers lightly, held them for one heartbeat, and let go.

That afternoon I went out to collect Lily's medicine from our apartment. Marco offered to drive me. I declined because I needed twenty minutes in which nobody knew what had happened in the Moretti house.

Arthur was waiting in the small café beside my building.

He stepped outside when he saw me.

"Elena. We should speak."

I stopped several feet away.

"I don't think we should."

"You misunderstand your position."

His manners had changed now that there was no one important to impress.

"My daughter misunderstood nothing," I said.

"Children are suggestible. She heard a conversation about an earlier test. Her mother panicked. A simple correction would protect everyone."

"Your daughter was examined this morning."

A muscle jumped in his cheek.

"The pregnancy is no longer the point."

"It was the point when you wanted him to sign."

He moved closer. I stayed where the café window reflected both of us.

"You earn very little," he said. "You have a child. You have rent. Those concerns can become easier, or considerably harder."

"Are you threatening my daughter?"

"I am offering you an opportunity to stop involving her."

He held out a thick envelope.

I did not touch it.

"Take your money back inside."

"You haven't even asked how much."

"I heard enough."

I walked past him and into my building. My hands shook so badly that I dropped the keys twice.

Upstairs, I sat on Lily's bed and called Vincent.

He did not answer.

I left a message asking him to call me privately. I should have explained everything. Instead I stared at the water stain above my daughter's pillow and tried to make my breathing sound normal.

When I returned to the mansion, Lily ran to meet me. I held her longer than usual.

Vincent waited at the foot of the stairs.

His face gave me nothing.

"I got your message," he said. "We need to talk."

I followed him into the study.

On the desk lay a photograph of me outside the café, facing Arthur's outstretched envelope.

Beside it was a copy of a deposit slip bearing my name.

Twenty-five thousand dollars.

Vincent looked at me.

"Arthur says you asked him to pay you before Lily entered the meeting."