Chapter 3 - A Meeting I Could Refuse

By nine that morning, Sophie had stopped answering my calls.

By ten, the bar owner had texted me not to come in until he reviewed an incident involving a guest.

Incident.

That was what they called the moment my rent money disappeared and my life became something strangers could discuss without me.

Ben called again just before lunch.

"There's someone willing to talk to you," he said. "You don't have to go."

"Adrian?"

"His lawyer. And him, if you want. He suggested a public café. I'll be there if that helps."

I almost said no. Then my phone buzzed with another unknown number, and I decided I was finished letting other people tell me what was happening in my own life.

"Tell them I choose the place."

The café I picked had uneven chairs and terrible coffee, but it was busy at noon and two blocks from the police station. I arrived early. Ben came in ten minutes later. A woman in a charcoal suit introduced herself as Nadia Hart, an attorney who advised several Moretti companies.

Adrian Moretti followed her.

In daylight, he seemed less like a rumor and more like a man who hadn't slept enough. He still wore a black suit and white shirt without a tie. He paused beside my table instead of taking the empty chair.

"May I sit?"

It was an ordinary question.

It was also the first thing he'd asked me that I knew I could refuse.

"Yes," I said.

He sat across from me. Ben took the chair at my side. Nadia stayed close enough to hear but let us speak.

"You owe me an apology," Adrian said.

My face heated.

"I know. I kissed you without permission. My friends dared me, but I chose to do it. I'm sorry."

He studied me. The coldness in his eyes was still there, but it no longer felt directed at me.

"Thank you," he said. "Don't do it again."

"I wasn't planning to."

For the first time, his mouth almost curved.

Then he looked at Nadia.

She placed a tablet on the table, screen angled toward me. It showed a silent still photograph from the bar. I was behind the counter. Sophie stood beside me. A man in a camel-colored jacket sat at the far end, pointing a phone toward Adrian's corner booth.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"Paul Rusk," Adrian said. "An events contractor. He used to work for a man named Victor Ferraro."

I knew Ferraro's name from newspaper stories about hotels and political fundraisers. I didn't know why it mattered to me.

"Mr. Rusk was recording before you approached," Nadia explained. "He moved when the men came through the front door. That gave him a clear view of their reaction."

"Why would anyone want footage of that?"

"Adrian's company is seeking approval to operate a new riverfront hotel and entertainment venue," she said. "Ferraro is competing for the same development agreement. Bad publicity can affect financing and a licensing review."

I stared at the photograph.

"So he paid someone to make me kiss you?"

"We suspect that," Nadia said. "We don't know it yet."

I appreciated that she said suspect.

People with money seemed used to presenting theories as facts. I wanted the difference preserved.

"What about the men who rushed in?" I asked Adrian.

"They were my security team. Two had been inside since I arrived. The others came when our driver reported a crowd gathering at the entrance. They should not have made the room feel unsafe. I've spoken to them about that."

"One reached inside his jacket."

"I know."

He looked at me without asking me to excuse it.

"I stopped him."

"After I thought he might hurt my coworkers."

"Yes," he said. "After."

The admission unsettled me more than an excuse would have.

Nadia slid a business card across the table.

"You should speak to an attorney who doesn't work for us," she said. "If you decide to make a statement, do it with someone whose only obligation is to you."

"Are you offering to pay?"

"We can provide a list of independent services. No one needs to accept anything from Adrian to get advice."

Adrian didn't interrupt her. He had the kind of money that could buy half the block, and for once he seemed willing to let somebody else explain the limits of his power.

I told them about the messages.

Nadia asked whether I'd kept the originals. When I said yes, she advised me to report the threats and not delete anything. She didn't ask me to hand over my phone.

"Do you think Ferraro sent them?" I asked.

"We don't know," she said again.

A waiter brought our coffee. I found myself gripping the mug so tightly it hurt.

"I need my job," I said. "I have rent due, and my brother needs therapy. Whoever did this knew I would take five hundred dollars."

Adrian's expression changed.

Not pity.

Something more difficult to read.

"I could have the owner put you back on the schedule," he said.

"Please don't."

He stopped.

"I don't want to owe you my job. I want to know whether I still have one because I haven't been treated fairly."

"Understood."

It was a small word. He didn't look happy saying it. But he said it, and that mattered.

After the meeting, I walked with Ben toward the street.

"Do you trust him?" I asked.

"I trust him to protect his business. I don't know what else he wants."

That was more useful than reassurance.

My phone rang before we reached the corner. Sophie.

"Mara," she said, sounding as though she'd been crying. "I'm sorry. I didn't know those men would come."

I stopped walking.

"What men?"

"The ones in the suits. The man who paid me said it would only be a joke, and he'd film a funny reaction. He said the customer wouldn't mind."

"Who paid you?"

She hesitated.

"The man in the camel jacket."

I looked back through the café window. Adrian and Nadia were still sitting at the table.

"How much?" I asked.

"Seven hundred," she whispered. "Five hundred for the dare. Two hundred for me."

I closed my eyes.

She had sold my desperation for two hundred dollars.

"I need you to tell the police," I said.

"I can't. Grant says I'll lose my job if I say another word."

"Sophie, Grant doesn't get to decide whether someone threatens me."

There was a long silence.

May you like

[COMPLETED] “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DRESS! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN OLD SEAM...

[COMPLETED] At the Mafia Boss's Engagement Party, I Served His Hungry So...

[COMPLETED] The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Tried to Dismiss His Father’s Loyal...

Then she told me something I hadn't expected.

"Grant knew," she said. "He told us exactly which booth to use."