Chapter 16 - Say Please
At twelve fourteen in the morning, four hundred guests became one hundred and twelve.
At twelve forty, one hundred and twelve became thirty.
At one ten, only foundation staff, security, investigators, and a handful of stubborn donors remained in the ballroom.
Senator Shaw was one of them.
She stood beside the dessert table eating chocolate cake while federal agents carried evidence boxes through the service corridor.
“If anyone asks,” she told Camille, “I stayed for oversight.”
Camille looked at the cake.
“Of course.”
“Public service requires stamina.”
Across the room, Nico sat in a chair with his bow tie hanging loose around his collar.
Lucian stood beside Marco speaking to Detective Morales.
He looked exhausted.
Camille realized she had never seen him exhausted in public before.
He did not hide it.
That, too, felt like progress.
Senator Shaw followed her gaze.
“You like him.”
Camille nearly choked on her water.
“I am his consultant.”
“That was not my observation.”
“My contract ends tonight.”
“Then my timing is excellent.”
Camille smiled despite herself.
The senator’s expression softened.
“He has been trying to become less like his father for years.”
Camille looked at her.
“You knew his father?”
“Everyone in my generation knew Antonio Moretti.”
“Was he as difficult as people say?”
“More.”
The answer came without drama.
“He believed fear was proof of order. Lucian believes order prevents fear. Those sound similar until you live with the difference.”
Camille considered that.
“And Nico?”
“Nico believes people prevent fear.”
“That sounds like him.”
Senator Shaw nodded.
“The brothers need each other. Lucian gives Nico structure. Nico gives Lucian reasons the structure matters.”
She took another bite of cake.
“And you?”
Camille raised an eyebrow.
“What about me?”
“You make Lucian notice the door has a handle on both sides.”
Camille looked across the room.
Lucian had finished with Morales.
His eyes found hers almost immediately.
Senator Shaw smiled.
“There. That.”
Then she walked away.
Lucian approached.
“What did she say?”
“That elected officials gossip.”
“Accurate.”
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“Etiquette lesson: do not respond to a woman saying you look tired by saying she looks tired.”
“Why?”
“Because survival matters.”
His mouth twitched.
“I withdraw the observation.”
“Accepted.”
He stood beside her.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Camille asked, “Any news on Vale?”
“His phone is off. Car was found near his office.”
“Airport?”
“Police are checking.”
“Home?”
“Empty.”
“Family?”
“His ex-wife and children are in Europe.”
Camille frowned.
“You know a lot.”
Lucian looked at her.
She raised one eyebrow.
“Legally.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Nico called from his chair.
“You have created a monster.”
Lucian turned.
“Go home.”
Nico pointed at Camille.
“See?”
Camille called back, “He said it without menace.”
“That is debatable.”
At one thirty, Warren Hale arrived.
Nobody expected him.
Marco met him at the ballroom entrance.
Warren held a leather briefcase in one hand.
“I called Detective Morales,” he said.
Lucian approached slowly.
“Why are you here?”
“To give her this.”
He lifted the briefcase.
“What is it?”
“Everything.”
Warren looked ten years older than he had at breakfast two days earlier.
“Emails. Personal notes. Copies of messages with Vale. Draft acquisition proposals. The consulting contract.”
Nico stood.
“You had all that?”
“Yes.”
“And you waited?”
Warren looked at him.
“I spent nine years believing I was the adult in the room.”
Nico’s face hardened.
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
Warren swallowed.
“The answer is cowardice.”
Lucian went still.
Camille thought of Elias.
The word was one Lucian had used about himself.
Warren continued.
“I thought Vale was a businessman making an aggressive offer. Then I realized Daniel was using information to intimidate tenants. By then, admitting what I had done meant admitting I had endangered the foundation.”
“So you hid it,” Nico said.
“Yes.”
“Which endangered the foundation more.”
“Yes.”
Nico laughed bitterly.
“Excellent strategy.”
Warren nodded.
“I know.”
Lucian looked at the briefcase.
“Why now?”
“Because I watched your speech.”
Lucian’s face changed.
Warren continued.
“You said if the foundation had done something wrong, it should be found.”
“That was not permission to destroy evidence before.”
“No.”
Warren looked down.
“But it reminded me the institution I claimed to protect only matters if it can survive the truth.”
Camille watched Lucian.
He could humiliate Warren.
He had reason.
He could remind him of loyalty, nine years, betrayal.
Instead, Lucian said, “Give it to Detective Morales.”
Warren nodded.
He took two steps.
Then stopped.
“Lucian.”
“What?”
“I am sorry.”
Lucian’s face remained unreadable.
Warren waited.
Camille knew what he wanted.
Forgiveness.
Release.
A receipt.
Lucian did not give it.
“I believe you,” he said.
Warren’s eyes filled.
“That is not the same as forgiveness.”
“I know.”
Lucian’s voice softened slightly.
“But it is where we start.”
Warren nodded.
Then he walked away.
Camille looked at Lucian.
“What?”
“That was good.”
“I did not do it for a grade.”
“Still good.”
His gaze softened.
At two, the last donors left.
At two twenty, the foundation staff began dismantling signage.
At two forty-five, Camille walked into the empty ballroom.
The stage lights were off.
Half the tables had been cleared.
The room looked smaller without people.
Lucian followed.
“Your contract ended at midnight,” he said.
Camille looked at her watch.
“So I have been working for free for almost three hours.”
“I owe you overtime.”
“You owe me emotional damages.”
“Invoice me.”
She smiled.
Then both became quiet.
The moment they had postponed was here.
No contract.
No professional excuse.
No reason to pretend the question between them belonged to work.
Lucian put his hands in his pockets.
Camille almost laughed.
He looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
“What?” he asked.
“You.”
“What about me?”
“You look like you are waiting for a disciplinary hearing.”
“I am considering my wording.”
“Dangerous.”
He stepped closer.
“Camille Brooks.”
“That sounds formal.”
“I am trying.”
“Poorly.”
His mouth twitched.
Then he took a breath.
“Would you have dinner with me tomorrow?”
Camille pretended to think.
Lucian’s eyes narrowed.
She smiled.
“Where?”
“A restaurant I do not own.”
“Verified?”
“Yes.”
“Security?”
“At a reasonable distance.”
“Who decides reasonable?”
“We negotiate.”
“Good.”
His gaze stayed on hers.
“Is that a yes?”
Camille stepped closer.
“You forgot something.”
He stared.
Then understood.
His face shifted with disbelief.
“You are making me say it?”
“Yes.”
“After this entire week?”
“Especially after this entire week.”
Lucian looked at the empty ballroom as if searching for witnesses who might save him.
None did.
Camille waited.
Finally, Chicago’s most feared crime boss looked directly at the woman who had spent nine days teaching him that asking did not make him weak.
“Would you please have dinner with me tomorrow?”
Camille smiled.
“Yes.”
Relief crossed his face.
She laughed softly.
“You really hate uncertainty.”
“I do.”
“Get used to it.”
He put one hand at her waist.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
This time there was no contract in the room.
No question of professional boundaries.
No photographer outside the window.
No brother interrupting.
Only two people choosing.
Lucian’s other hand rose to her face.
Camille felt the difference immediately.
He was not restrained because he was afraid.
He was careful because care had become natural.
When they separated, she rested her hands on his chest.
“Technically excellent,” she whispered.
His forehead touched hers.
“If you say socially acceptable, I am leaving.”
“Socially promising.”
He laughed.
The sound echoed in the empty ballroom.
Then every phone in the room buzzed.
Lucian closed his eyes.
Camille laughed harder.
“Of course.”
Marco’s message appeared.
ADRIAN VALE LOCATED. UNION STATION. POLICE MOVING IN.
Lucian’s face hardened.
He stepped away.
Camille watched the old instincts arrive.
Movement.
Control.
Finish it.
Then he stopped himself.
He looked at the message again.
“What?” Camille asked.
“I want to go.”
“I know.”
“I want him to look at me when this ends.”
“I know.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
Camille said nothing else.
This choice had to be his.
A full minute passed.
Then Lucian typed a reply.
KEEP ME UPDATED. WE ARE NOT INTERFERING.
He put the phone away.
Camille smiled.
“That was difficult.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“That is a terrible philosophy.”
“Growth is inconvenient.”
“Also yours.”
Before they left the ballroom, Detective Morales called.
Vale had not boarded a train.
He had gone to Union Station to meet someone.
A reporter.
He was planning to hand over a packet accusing the Morettis of planting the cash themselves in order to frame Vantage.
But the reporter had contacted police first.
Vale was detained for questioning.
The packet contained documents.
Several were forged.
One included a signature that belonged to a man who had been dead for three years.
Camille stared at Lucian.
“That is embarrassingly bad.”
“Desperation reduces quality control.”
“Do not sound like you admire the attempt.”
“I admire nothing.”
“Better.”
At four in the morning, Agent Kim called.
Daniel had begun cooperating.
The photographer had begun cooperating.
Warren had handed over records.
Vale would not disappear into the city.
The story he built was collapsing under the weight of too many people finally telling the truth.
Lucian sat on the edge of the ballroom stage.
Camille sat beside him.
For the first time since she arrived at the estate, nobody needed anything from him.
He looked almost lost.
“What happens now?” he asked.
Camille leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Now you go home.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Dinner.”
“And after that?”
She smiled.
“Uncertainty.”
Lucian groaned softly.
Camille laughed.
May you like
And as dawn began to lighten the hotel windows, Lucian Moretti did something he had once believed was impossible.
He let the future exist without controlling it.
