Chapter 2 - The Contract Hidden Behind the Wedding
Roman Calder locked the front door of Bellamy Blooms at 5:12.
I noticed the time because normal details suddenly mattered.
The clock.
The rain.
The smell of eucalyptus.
Anything my mind could hold onto instead of the possibility that the man I had planned to marry had spent a year dating me for a building.
Roman closed the blinds.
“You have somewhere else to stay tonight?”
“My apartment is upstairs.”
He looked toward the ceiling.
“That’s not somewhere else.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You should.”
“My mother built this place.”
“Your mother also probably preferred you alive.”
I folded my arms.
“No one has threatened me.”
Roman looked at the blacked-out shop windows.
“The car outside wasn’t delivering flowers.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because I know the driver.”
That silenced me.
Roman pulled out his phone.
“Who?”
He typed a message.
“A man named Victor Sane.”
“Should that mean something to me?”
“No.”
“Wonderful. I’m accumulating terrifying names at a very efficient rate.”
Again, the almost-smile.
Then it vanished.
“He works for Graham’s largest investor.”
“Who?”
“Elias Voss.”
That name I knew.
Everybody in Boston knew it.
Voss Development had changed half the waterfront in ten years.
Luxury towers.
Hotels.
Restaurants where a salad cost more than my electric bill.
“He wants my flower shop?”
“He wants the block.”
“Why?”
Roman looked at the floor.
“What’s beneath this building?”
“Concrete?”
“Basement?”
“Yes.”
“Old access tunnels?”
I frowned.
“My mother mentioned something. Storage passages from when the block was warehouses.”
Roman went still.
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“When was the building constructed?”
“1891.”
He muttered something under his breath.
“What?”
“Your building isn’t valuable because of the storefront.”
“Then why?”
“The Harbor Crown sits one block north.”
I waited.
“So?”
“Ballroom A isn’t just a ballroom.”
“You’re becoming extremely dramatic.”
“It was built over the former Calder Maritime offices.”
I stared.
“Your family?”
“My grandfather’s.”
“And?”
Roman moved toward the back office.
“Twenty-six years ago, federal investigators spent six months searching for financial ledgers belonging to my grandfather.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of ledgers?”
“The kind families like mine prefer not to discuss at weddings.”
There it was.
Confirmation without confession.
I leaned against the counter.
“Are you in the mafia?”
Roman’s face remained expressionless.
“That word is used too easily.”
“That is the most mafia answer imaginable.”
He actually laughed.
Quietly.
Once.
Then he became serious.
“My family has businesses. Some are cleaner than others.”
“Are you dangerous?”
He considered the question.
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“To Graham?”
Roman’s silence answered.
I stepped closer.
“I don’t want anything happening to him.”
“Even after today?”
“I want him exposed.”
I swallowed.
“I don’t want him buried under a highway.”
Roman looked mildly offended.
“My family hasn’t buried anyone under a highway in years.”
I stared.
He held the expression another second.
Then said, “That was a joke.”
“Terrible timing.”
“I’m learning.”
The rain intensified against the windows.
Roman’s phone buzzed.
He read the message and looked at me.
“Your refinancing papers were filed three weeks ago.”
My chest tightened.
“How do you know?”
“I had someone check.”
“Someone?”
“A lawyer.”
“In five minutes?”
“A motivated lawyer.”
“And?”
Roman’s jaw hardened.
“There’s a lien against Bellamy Blooms.”
I felt the room hollow out.
“How much?”
“Eight hundred and forty thousand dollars.”
I laughed because my body apparently no longer knew how to process disaster.
“My shop isn’t worth eight hundred thousand.”
“The land is.”
“I never borrowed that.”
“The documents say you did.”
“No.”
“They include your signature.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You said Graham brought papers.”
“He told me they were refinancing documents.”
“They were.”
Roman paused.
“Just not your refinancing.”
I sat.
He continued carefully.
“The money went to a shell company registered two months ago.”
“What company?”
“Bellamy Renewal Partners.”
I looked up.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You own forty-nine percent.”
“What?”
“On paper.”
“And the other fifty-one?”
Roman turned his phone around.
Graham Vale.
I closed my eyes.
The year with Graham replayed again.
The first date.
The first time he brought me dinner at the shop.
The first time he said he loved me.
The proposal beneath Christmas lights in the Public Garden.
Had he rehearsed all of it?
How long did you have to pretend to love someone before pretending became harder than simply being decent?
“I’m stupid.”
Roman’s expression changed.
“No.”
“I signed papers I didn’t read.”
“You trusted someone you were marrying.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not stupidity.”
“It feels remarkably similar.”
Roman leaned against the counter.
“You know why scams work?”
“Because people are stupid?”
“Because people are human.”
I looked at him.
“They don’t usually exploit greed first. They exploit trust.”
There was history in the way he said it.
“You sound experienced.”
“I am.”
“Someone betrayed you?”
His eyes cooled.
“Several people.”
I didn’t push.
At 5:40, someone knocked.
Three short taps.
Roman immediately moved between me and the door.
“Who is it?”
“Anthony.”
Roman unlocked it.
A man in his mid-thirties entered carrying a laptop and wearing a navy suit damp with rain.
He looked at me.
Then my dress.
Then Roman.
“I’m going to need context.”
“No,” Roman said.
Anthony nodded.
“Fine.”
He opened the laptop on my counter.
“Ms. Bellamy, I’m Anthony Rizzo. Attorney.”
“My condolences.”
He smiled.
“I like her.”
Roman ignored him.
“What did you find?”
Anthony’s expression sharpened.
“Vale’s company is collapsing.”
I blinked.
“Graham’s?”
“Debt everywhere. Three major projects underwater. Banks pulled financing last month.”
“So he wanted my building.”
“He needed your building.”
Anthony turned the screen.
“There’s more.”
A redevelopment proposal appeared.
HARBOR SOUTH RESIDENCES.
Luxury apartments.
Retail.
Private parking.
Projected value: $186 million.
My block sat in the center.
Bellamy Blooms was marked demolition.
I stared at it.
“They were going to tear down my mother’s shop.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
Roman said nothing.
I scrolled.
Then saw another name.
Voss Development.
Graham Vale.
And—
Calder Maritime Holdings.
I stopped.
“Roman.”
His eyes went to the screen.
“Why is your company listed?”
Anthony frowned.
“It shouldn’t be.”
Roman stepped closer.
The partnership document showed Calder Maritime Holdings owning twenty percent.
Roman’s expression turned frighteningly calm.
“I never approved this.”
Anthony searched another document.
“Digital authorization came from your corporate office.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
Roman’s gaze hardened.
“Who processed it?”
Anthony hesitated.
“Your uncle.”
Roman said nothing.
Anthony continued.
“Sebastian Calder.”
For the first time all evening, Roman looked genuinely surprised.
I almost wished he hadn’t.
Because if Roman Calder could be surprised, then whatever we had found was bad enough to frighten the man Graham had warned me about.
“Who is Sebastian?” I asked.
Roman didn’t answer immediately.
“My father’s younger brother.”
“Does he work for you?”
“He works beside me.”
“Could he do this without your permission?”
“He just did.”
Anthony looked between us.
“There’s another problem.”
Of course there was.
“Graham transferred the lien package to Voss this afternoon.”
“What does that mean?”
“If the loan defaults, Voss can foreclose.”
“When?”
“Thirty days.”
My knees weakened.
“One month?”
“Potentially less if they trigger the acceleration clause.”
“I don’t have eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“No one expects you to.”
Roman looked at Anthony.
“They expect her to lose.”
“Yes.”
I pressed my palms against my eyes.
My wedding day had begun with missing place cards.
It was now ending with organized real-estate fraud.
Then the shop phone rang.
Not my cell.
The old landline.
I answered before Roman could stop me.
“Bellamy Blooms.”
Silence.
Then Graham.
“Jun.”
I gripped the receiver.
“What do you want?”
“To fix this.”
“You can start by telling me why I owe eight hundred and forty thousand dollars.”
Another silence.
“You talked to Calder.”
“Yes.”
“Get away from him.”
“You lost your right to give me instructions when you left me standing in front of two hundred people.”
“Jun, you don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Then explain it.”
Graham exhaled.
“I was going to protect the shop.”
“By stealing it?”
“I had investors pressuring me.”
“You lied to me for a year.”
“That part wasn’t planned.”
I froze.
“What?”
His voice softened.
“When I met you, yes, I knew about the property.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
Graham continued.
“But I didn’t expect to love you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Don’t.”
“It’s true.”
“You humiliated me.”
“I left because I was trying to stop something.”
“What?”
“Sebastian.”
Roman stepped closer.
Graham apparently heard movement.
His voice tightened.
“He’s there, isn’t he?”
I said nothing.
“Put Roman on.”
“No.”
“Jun.”
“No.”
“Listen to me. Sebastian Calder arranged the entire Harbor South deal. I was supposed to marry you, get the final property transfer signed, and bring it upstairs.”
My throat closed.
“Why upstairs?”
“Because the closing was happening during the other wedding.”
Roman took the phone from me.
“Graham.”
Silence.
Then:
“Roman.”
“Where are you?”
“You’ll never believe me.”
“Try.”
“Your uncle is cleaning out your family from the inside.”
Roman’s expression became stone.
“You expect me to believe you discovered loyalty this afternoon?”
“No. I discovered fear.”
“For yourself?”
“For Jun.”
I stared at the phone.
Graham continued.
“The deal wasn’t just about her building.”
Roman glanced at Anthony.
“What else?”
“The tunnels.”
Roman’s hand tightened around the receiver.
“What tunnels?”
“The old Calder tunnels beneath Bellamy’s block connect to Harbor Crown service foundations.”
Roman went very still.
Graham lowered his voice.
“There’s something hidden beneath Jun’s basement.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Sebastian thinks your grandfather put it there.”
Roman’s face changed.
Anthony whispered, “The ledgers.”
Graham heard him.
“Yes.”
Roman said, “Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then this conversation is finished.”
“Roman, wait.”
“What?”
Graham spoke slowly.
“Ask Jun what her mother’s maiden name was.”
I frowned.
Roman looked at me.
“What?”
“Graham—”
“Ask her.”
The line went dead.
Roman lowered the phone.
I stared at him.
“My mother?”
“What was her maiden name?”
“Marconi.”
Anthony’s head lifted sharply.
Roman looked as if someone had struck him.
“What?” I demanded.
Neither man answered.
“Roman.”
He finally spoke.
“Jun, twenty-six years ago, the accountant who disappeared with my grandfather’s financial records was named Samuel Marconi.”
The shop seemed suddenly too small.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What was your grandfather’s name?”
I swallowed.
“Samuel.”
Silence.
Roman looked toward the basement door.
Then back at me.
“Your mother didn’t just leave you a flower shop.”
And beneath our feet, something heavy made a quiet metallic click.
All three of us turned.
The basement door was open.
May you like
I was certain I had closed it.
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