Chapter 4 - The Photograph in Dante’s Office
Dante ended the gala twenty-three minutes early.
Officially, a malfunction in the hotel’s fire-control system had forced the charity event to conclude for safety reasons.
Unofficially, every member of Cavalari security received the same order.
Nobody connected to Wexler Meridian left Chicago without being identified.
Mara objected.
“You’re treating this like a siege.”
“I’m treating it like somebody walked into a foundation archive using credentials from a company represented at my event.”
“And if Wexler’s innocent?”
“Then he gets an apology.”
“From you?”
“No.”
Mara looked at Finn.
“Does he ever apologize?”
Finn considered it.
“Not in complete sentences.”
They left through the private garage.
Dante’s driver opened the rear door of a black sedan.
Mara stopped.
“I’ll take a cab.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
“Neither was mine.”
She stared at him.
Finn opened the passenger door.
“I recommend surrendering. We’ve all discovered it saves time.”
Mara got in.
Dante sat beside her.
Chicago moved past the windows in cold November reflections.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Mara said, “Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not staying at your house.”
“Someone just called you by a name you buried seven years ago.”
“Exactly why I shouldn’t go somewhere predictable.”
“My home isn’t predictable.”
“You’re Dante Cavalari.”
“That proves you don’t know my home.”
Twenty minutes later the sedan passed through two security gates and entered a private property north of downtown.
Mara studied everything.
Stone walls.
Cameras.
Landscaping placed to eliminate blind spots.
Lighting.
Distance between structures.
Dante noticed.
“Still counting exits?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“From the main house?”
“Yes.”
“Seven.”
Finn looked back.
“There are six.”
“There are seven.”
Dante smiled faintly.
Finn frowned.
“What did I miss?”
Mara pointed to the conservatory.
“Service door behind the west greenhouse.”
Finn looked at Dante.
“There’s a service door?”
“Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“I assumed head of security knew.”
“I hate both of you.”
Inside, Dante led Mara into his study.
Dark wood.
Books.
A fireplace.
No photographs except one.
Mara stopped.
The frame sat on a shelf behind his desk.
Alessandro Cavalari stood beside a younger Dante at a foundation construction site.
But Mara was not looking at them.
She was looking at the woman in the background.
Blonde.
Late forties.
Wearing a gray coat.
Mara picked up the photograph.
Dante’s expression changed.
“Careful.”
“Who is she?”
He came around the desk.
“Why?”
“Who?”
“Dr. Evelyn Pierce.”
Mara stared at him.
“The pediatric surgeon?”
“You know her?”
“I know the name.”
“She helped establish the first Cavalari pediatric clinic.”
“When was this photo?”
“Eight years ago.”
Mara examined the background.
“What?”
“There.”
Behind Dr. Pierce stood a man.
Mostly obscured.
Dark coat.
Half his face visible.
Dante leaned closer.
Mara whispered, “That’s Adrian.”
Dante looked at her.
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“I know my brother.”
Finn entered with a laptop.
“Got Wexler.”
Neither answered.
Finn saw the photograph.
“What?”
Dante pointed.
“Apparently Mara’s dead brother attended a construction event with my father.”
Finn stared.
“Eight years ago?”
“Yes.”
Mara’s mind raced.
Adrian had never mentioned Chicago.
He had told her he spent that month in Budapest.
“He lied to me.”
Dante took the photo.
“About what?”
“Where he was.”
Finn set down the laptop.
“Wexler Meridian’s records show a consultant named A. Markovic.”
Mara turned sharply.
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
Her face tightened.
“What department?”
“Special projects.”
Dante looked between them.
“Your brother worked for Wexler.”
“I didn’t know.”
Finn rotated the laptop.
A scanned employment document appeared.
ADRIAN MARKOVIC.
Contract specialist.
Six-month agreement.
Mara sat slowly.
Dante had never seen her look overwhelmed.
“What did Adrian do at Northstar?” he asked.
“He didn’t.”
“You worked there, not him?”
“Yes. Adrian was an investigative journalist.”
Finn raised an eyebrow.
“A journalist working for Wexler Meridian?”
“He went undercover.”
“You know that?”
“No.”
“Then you’re guessing.”
Mara looked at him.
“Yes.”
Again, that willingness to admit uncertainty.
Dante sat across from her.
“What was he investigating?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he ever mention my family?”
“No.”
“My father?”
“No.”
“The foundation?”
Mara hesitated.
That was enough.
“What?”
“One conversation.”
“Tell me.”
“Two months before Prague.”
She closed her eyes, reconstructing it.
“He asked whether Northstar ever investigated charitable foundations.”
“What did you say?”
“That we investigated whoever paid us.”
“And?”
“He asked whether wealthy families used nonprofits to hide payments.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“What did you tell him?”
“That sometimes they did.”
“Was he accusing us?”
“He never named you.”
Finn scrolled through the documents.
“There’s more.”
He opened another scan.
A payment ledger.
WEXLER MERIDIAN CONSULTING.
ADRIAN MARKOVIC.
Then another name.
Mara leaned forward.
EVELYN PIERCE.
Dante stared.
“Dr. Pierce worked for Wexler?”
“Consulting agreement,” Finn said.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
Dante stood.
“That makes no sense.”
“When did she receive it?” Mara asked.
Finn checked.
“Three weeks before Alessandro Cavalari hired Northstar.”
Mara looked at Dante.
“Your father found the irregularities because Pierce told him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But the timing fits.”
Dante walked to the window.
Dr. Evelyn Pierce had been a friend of his father.
A brilliant surgeon.
Sharp.
Private.
She disappeared from public work seven years ago after suffering what newspapers described as exhaustion.
Dante had not seen her since.
“Where is she now?”
Finn typed.
“No current medical license.”
“Address?”
“Property in Vermont.”
Mara shook her head.
“Too easy.”
“What?”
“If someone wanted her hidden, public property is camouflage.”
Finn searched deeper.
Then stopped.
“There’s a death certificate.”
Dante turned.
“For Pierce?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Finn’s expression became grim.
“Six years ago.”
“Cause?”
“Car accident.”
Mara stood.
“Show me.”
Finn turned the screen.
She read.
Dante watched her face.
“What?”
“This certificate was filed in Cook County.”
“Yes.”
“But the reported accident happened in Vermont.”
“So?”
“So why would a Vermont accident generate an original Cook County filing?”
Finn looked again.
“It could.”
“Could. But it’s strange.”
Dante said, “You think she’s alive.”
“I think too many dead people are attending conversations tonight.”
Silence.
Finn’s phone buzzed.
He read the incoming message.
“Security found the man from the fourth pillar.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Where?”
“South Loop.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
Finn frowned.
“Not Evan Rook.”
Mara looked at him.
“Then who?”
“His ID says Thomas Bell.”
Dante had never heard it.
Mara had.
She covered it well.
Not well enough.
“You know him,” Dante said.
“No.”
“Mara.”
She walked toward the fireplace.
Dante followed.
“Who is Thomas Bell?”
She turned.
“He was Northstar.”
Finn became silent.
“One of the five?”
“Yes.”
“So he died in Prague too.”
“Yes.”
Dante stared.
“And tonight he walked out of my basement.”
“Yes.”
“How many dead people worked at Northstar?”
Mara’s voice was barely audible.
“More than I realized.”
Dante’s phone rang.
His security chief.
He answered.
“Cavalari.”
The man spoke quickly.
Dante’s face changed.
Finn saw it.
“What happened?”
Dante ended the call.
“Thomas Bell asked for Mara.”
She became still.
“What did he say?”
“He says he’ll speak only to you.”
“Where is he?”
“A secure property.”
Mara picked up her coat.
Dante blocked the doorway.
“You’re not going alone.”
“I never said I was.”
“You were thinking it.”
She looked at him.
“Annoying, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“When someone reads you correctly.”
For the first time that night, Mara smiled.
It lasted half a second.
Then it disappeared.
An hour later, they would sit across from Thomas Bell, a man declared dead seven years earlier.
And the first thing he would tell Mara would destroy the one belief that had kept her alive since Prague.
The fire had not been an attack on Northstar.
May you like
It had been a rescue attempt.
And Mara had escaped from the wrong people.
