Chapter 2 - The Signature She Never Gave
Dante did not speak during the drive home.
That was how Mara knew the situation was bad.
His driver took Lake Shore Drive north while Chicago blurred beyond the tinted windows, but Dante spent the entire journey staring at the photograph.
Mara sat opposite him.
“Who took it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who knows where we live?”
“Too many people.”
“That’s comforting.”
His eyes lifted.
“I’m sorry.”
“For which part?”
Dante folded the photograph.
“The office.”
“That wasn’t you.”
“I should have known.”
Mara laughed without humor.
“You were supposed to know Preston Hale was making jokes about my body?”
“I should know when someone is hurting you.”
“That isn’t your job.”
“It is absolutely my job.”
“No. Loving me is your job. Managing every unpleasant person around me is not.”
Dante looked away.
There it was.
The argument they had been having in different forms for seven years.
Dante protected.
Mara resisted.
Sometimes they met in the middle.
Sometimes they collided.
Their home occupied the top two floors of a restored building overlooking the lake. Dante had bought it before they married, but Mara had redesigned almost every room.
Tonight it felt less like home and more like a fortress.
Two security men waited downstairs.
Another stood near the private elevator.
Mara noticed immediately.
“You called additional security.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“From the car.”
“Dante.”
“Mara.”
She glared at him.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Inside, she kicked off her heels and headed directly toward the kitchen.
Dinner had been prepared.
Their anniversary dinner.
Two plates.
Wine.
Candles.
She had forgotten completely.
Dante noticed her looking.
“Happy anniversary.”
She closed her eyes.
“Oh God.”
“Not our best.”
A laugh escaped her despite everything.
He walked toward her.
For a moment, the frightening man from the office disappeared.
He touched her cheek.
“I had a speech.”
“You hate speeches.”
“I had notes.”
“That I believe.”
“I was going to tell you marrying you was the smartest decision I ever made.”
“Was?”
“Still is.”
She leaned into his hand.
Then she remembered the photograph.
“What did you do?”
His hand dropped.
“Eleven years ago.”
“The message said I would learn what you did.”
Dante walked toward the windows.
“B17 belonged to my father.”
“You said that.”
“He used it for records.”
“What kind?”
“Transactions. Names. Payments.”
“Criminal?”
“Yes.”
Mara’s stomach tightened.
Dante rarely lied to her directly.
But there were rooms in his past whose doors he kept closed.
She had accepted that.
Tonight one had opened itself.
“Three men died there.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Fire.”
“Accident?”
Dante looked at her.
“No.”
Mara went still.
“Did you kill them?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
She believed him.
“Did your father?”
“I never proved it.”
“Then what did you do?”
Dante took a breath.
“I destroyed part of the archive.”
Mara stared.
“Why?”
“Because one of the names inside belonged to someone I was trying to protect.”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dante.”
“My mother.”
That stopped her.
Dante rarely spoke about Sofia Bellini.
She had died when he was twenty-three.
Publicly, cancer.
Privately, a woman who had spent decades trying to pull her children away from the Bellini organization.
“What was her name doing there?”
“She was feeding information to federal investigators.”
Mara sat down.
Dante continued.
“My father discovered it. Before he could act, the warehouse burned.”
“You think your mother started the fire?”
“No.”
“Your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you destroyed evidence.”
“Anything connecting her to the investigation.”
“Why?”
“Because my father was alive.”
That answer needed no explanation.
Mara stared at the photograph again.
“And somebody knows.”
“Yes.”
“Why would that connect to Aurelia?”
“That is what I intend to find out.”
“No.”
Dante turned.
“What?”
“That is what we intend to find out.”
“Mara—”
“My forged signature is on those plans.”
“Which makes you a target.”
“Which makes it my problem.”
His eyes hardened.
“You received a photograph taken outside our home.”
“And hiding me upstairs while your people investigate isn't happening.”
“Mara.”
“No.”
He approached.
She stood.
They faced each other across the kitchen island.
Dante could frighten rooms full of powerful men by lowering his voice.
Mara had once thrown a pillow at his head because he ate the tiramisu she had saved.
Marriage changed the scale of intimidation.
“I will not let you walk into danger because you need to prove you’re independent.”
Her face changed.
“That is not what this is.”
“I didn't mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
“Mara.”
“I have spent nine years making sure nobody could say I got something because of you. Today I found out someone is literally putting my name on work I didn't approve. If I disappear now and you solve everything, what do you think happens?”
“I don't care what they think.”
“I do.”
Silence.
Dante rubbed his face.
“What do you want?”
“Access to everything you find about Aurelia.”
“No.”
She stared.
He sighed.
“Reasonable access.”
“All of it.”
“Anything that doesn't put you in danger.”
“That sentence is suspiciously flexible.”
“So is my patience.”
She smiled despite herself.
“Deal.”
The next morning Mara arrived at Whitmore & Cole at 6:15.
Dante hated it.
She went anyway.
The office was nearly empty.
She opened the project server.
Aurelia.
Revision history.
C-17.
Her credentials showed approval at 11:43 p.m. six nights earlier.
Impossible.
She had been home.
With Dante.
She checked remote login records.
Nothing.
Someone had approved it from inside the office.
Using her account.
Mara pulled security access logs.
Her badge had entered the building at 10:58 p.m.
She stared at the screen.
Her badge had been inside her purse.
At home.
Unless—
She opened her desk drawer.
Her spare access badge was gone.
Mara's heartbeat accelerated.
Only three people knew she kept one there.
Her assistant Noah.
Richard.
And Evelyn Price, the senior architect Mara had considered her closest friend at work.
She called IT.
“Can you restore deleted project versions?”
The technician hesitated.
“Depends.”
“I need every Aurelia file from the last thirty days.”
“That's a lot.”
“Do it.”
At 8:40, Evelyn arrived carrying two coffees.
She stopped when she saw Mara.
“You're early.”
“So are you.”
Evelyn smiled.
“After yesterday? I figured you'd need caffeine.”
She placed a cup on Mara's desk.
Mara studied her.
Twelve years older.
Sharp gray eyes.
Short black hair.
Evelyn had defended Mara when she was a junior designer.
Had attended her wedding.
Had hugged Dante.
She knew exactly who he was.
“Did you tell Preston who my husband is?”
Evelyn blinked.
“No.”
“Anyone?”
“Of course not.”
Mara nodded.
“Okay.”
Evelyn sat.
“What happened after you left?”
Mara didn't mention the photograph.
Instead, she asked, “Did you approve C-17?”
Evelyn froze.
There.
Tiny.
But there.
“No.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
Another lie.
Mara knew because Evelyn's eyes moved toward the project monitor.
Not the drawing table.
The monitor.
“What's going on?”
“Someone used my credentials.”
Evelyn leaned back.
“That's serious.”
“Yes.”
“You should tell Richard.”
“I will.”
Mara watched her.
Evelyn picked up her coffee.
Her hand trembled.
At noon, IT called.
They had restored an autosave.
The original C-17 metadata listed another author before the file had been overwritten.
Mara opened it.
Creator:
EPRICE_ARCH.
Evelyn.
Mara sat very still.
Then another file appeared.
An email attachment recovered from the server cache.
Sent from Evelyn to Preston.
Mara opened it.
Only one sentence.
She still doesn't know who owns the land beneath Aurelia.
Mara read it twice.
Then a third time.
Her phone rang.
Dante.
She answered.
“I found something.”
“So did I.”
His voice was different.
“What?”
“The Aurelia site was assembled through six shell companies.”
“So?”
“Five belong to Hale.”
“And the sixth?”
Silence.
“Dante?”
“The sixth belongs to Bellini Holdings.”
Mara stopped breathing.
“What?”
“I didn't know.”
“How do you not know your company owns part of my project?”
“Because I don't control that company.”
“Who does?”
Dante hesitated.
“My uncle.”
Mara looked at Evelyn's email again.
She still doesn't know who owns the land beneath Aurelia.
Her office door opened.
Evelyn stood there.
No coffee now.
No smile.
“Mara,” she said quietly, “before you call Dante again, there is something you need to understand.”
Mara slowly lowered the phone.
Evelyn closed the door behind her.
“Your husband isn't investigating Aurelia because of you.”
Mara's stomach dropped.
May you like
“He's investigating because the building is sitting on top of something his family buried twenty-two years ago.”
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