Chapter 10
DANTE
Iwatch them from the second-floor window of my office. A strange feeling flutters through my chest. It’s warm. Fuzzy almost as it spreads out.
What’s wrong with me? Why am I enjoying the scene before me?
Hannah sits cross-legged on the grass, her red hair catching the afternoon sunlight like fire.
Mila is pressed against her side, both of them bent over a book.
I have the window open just so I can eavesdrop.
I can hear my daughter's delighted laughter floating up. I can’t make out everything they’re saying, but Mila is clearly enamored with our house guest.
I don’t blame her.
It's been a week since Hannah arrived. In that time she's managed to do something I thought was impossible—she's made this house feel like a home instead of a fortress.
"Read it again," Mila demands. "Please?"
"Again?" Hannah's voice carries the mock exasperation of someone who's already read the same story five times and will happily read it five more. "Don't you know this one by heart already?"
"But you do the voices better than anyone."
Hannah laughs. The sound makes that warm and fuzzy feeling spread like lava through my veins.
It's bright and unguarded, nothing like the careful control she maintains around me. With Mila, she's different—softer, more open, like she's forgotten she's supposed to be my prisoner.
She's forgotten because my daughter makes her forget.
In the past week, I've watched Hannah transform from a furious captive into something dangerously close to a mother figure. She helps Mila with her drawings, listens to her endless chatter about everything and nothing, tucks her in at night when I'm stuck in meetings that run late.
She's filling a role that's been empty for five years, and Mila is blooming under the attention.
It's about control, I tell myself. Having Hannah here gives me leverage over her father.
But that's a lie, and I know it.
The truth is more complicated, more dangerous than simple strategy. The truth is that Hannah Quinn has managed to slip past my defenses. Watching her with my daughter is unraveling something I've kept carefully buried for years.
My phone buzzes, jarring me from thoughts I have no business thinking. Alexei's name flashes on the screen. I answer without looking away from the window.
"Tell me you have good news," I say.
"Define good." Alexei's voice is grim. "I've been going through Quinn's accounts with a magnifying glass, and you're right to be suspicious. The money trail is too clean, too obvious."
Finally.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning someone with serious computer skills set this up. The transactions are real, but they're designed to point directly at Quinn. Every digital fingerprint, every access code, every timestamp—it's all perfectly incriminating."
I close my eyes, feeling the pieces of a larger puzzle starting to click together. "Partner."
"Professional level. Whoever did this knows our systems inside and out. I would bet Richard is being set up to take the fall, but he’s not the only one involved.”
"Inside job."
"Has to be."
The words hit me like ice water. Bad enough that someone stole from us. The idea that it's someone within our own organization, someone I trust...
"How many people have this kind of access?" I ask.
"Maybe a dozen. Senior members, people who've been with us for years."
"I need names," I say.
"I'll have them to you tonight."
I end the call and stare down at Hannah and Mila who are now talking about the flowers that are in full bloom all around the garden.
The domestic scene should feel wrong. Hannah is here because she's leverage, because her father's situation requires insurance. She's not a guest or a girlfriend or a potential stepmother for my daughter.
But watching them together, seeing how naturally they fit, how Mila lights up around her... it's getting harder to remember why that should matter.
"Papa!"
Mila's voice carries up from the garden. She waves up at me.
I wave back, noting how Hannah's expression changes when she realizes I'm watching. The openness disappears, replaced by irritation. She knows what I represent in her life.
Good. One of us should maintain perspective.
I turn away from the window and call Bogdan, needing to set wheels in motion. I have no doubt he’ll uncover the rat. I want to be ready when he does.
"Cousin," Bogdan answers. "How's our houseguest settling in?"
"Fine. I need you to do some additional investigation."
"Into Quinn?"
"Into Quinn's associates. Alexei thinks there might be someone else involved."
A pause. "What kind of someone else?"
"The kind with access to our systems. The kind who might be using Quinn as a fall guy."
"Interesting theory." Bogdan's tone is calm. "Any particular direction you want me to look?"
"Start with recent hires, anyone with financial access who might have a grudge. And Bogdan? Keep this quiet. If someone inside the organization is involved, I don't want them spooked."
"Of course. I'll have something for you soon."
The next morning, Bogdan arrives earlier than usual, his expression grim as he enters my office. He jerks his head toward the door. “Downstairs.”
I immediately get to my feet. I knew he worked fast but this was truly impressive.
I followed him through the heavy steel door that led to the basement. The place was soundproof. Cement floors. Cement walls. Cold. Damp. And everything a dungeon should look like with chains fixed to the walls and several very small cells.
And in the hot seat, which often is very literally hot when the battery cables are hooked up to it, is a man.
"Meet Pavel Komarov," Bogdan says without preamble. "Computer specialist. Very talented with financial systems."
I study the young man, noting the way his eyes dart around the room like he's looking for escape routes. "Mr. Komarov. I understand you've been busy."
"I—I don't know what you're talking about."
His accent is thick, distinctly Russian. He’s tied to the chair, and it looks like Bogdan has roughed him up a bit. Whatever Bogdan told him on the way here, it was enough to scare him badly.
"The Cayman accounts," I say quietly. "The shell companies. The five million dollars that disappeared from our books."
Pavel's face goes white. "I never—I mean, I don't—"
"Let's try again." I move to stand just a few inches in front of him. "Someone with considerable skill has been manipulating our financial systems. Someone who knows our security protocols, our account structures, our transfer procedures. Someone exactly like you."
"Please, I swear I didn't—"
"Bogdan found evidence of your involvement on your personal computer," I continue, cutting through his protests. "Transaction logs, account passwords, communication with offshore banks. Very thorough evidence."
I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m going to assume Bogdan found something. I’m bluffing.
Pavel's eyes widen in what looks like genuine confusion. "That's impossible. I never—someone must have planted—"
He stops mid-sentence, understanding dawning in his eyes. Too late, but he's finally grasping the full scope of his situation.
"You're being framed," I say quietly. "Just like Richard Quinn. The question is, by whom?"
"I don't know!" The words explode out of him. "I work freelance, I do legitimate consulting work. I've never stolen anything from anyone, I swear!"
I study his face, looking for tells. The fear is real. The confusion seems genuine. Alexei's words echo in my mind: The money trail is too clean, too obvious.
Pavel could be useful. If he's really a computer expert, he might be able to trace the real source of the theft. I open my mouth to offer him a deal—
"Finish it," Bogdan says from behind me. I'd almost forgotten he was there, watching from the shadows. "We don't have time for games. The council expects swift justice."
I hesitate. Something about this feels wrong. But Bogdan is watching, and word travels fast in our organization. If I show doubt now, if I appear weak or indecisive, it will get back to Radimir. To the elders. To everyone who's been waiting for me to prove I'm not fit to lead.
"Wait!" Pavel throws up his hands. "I can help you find who really did this! I can trace the real source!"
"He's lying," Bogdan says smoothly. "Buying time. You know how this works, cousin."
I do know. That's the problem. I know exactly how this works—how convenient scapegoats appear when someone needs to cover their tracks. But I can't voice that suspicion. Not here. Not with Bogdan's eyes boring into my back.
Later, I tell myself. Alexei is still investigating. I'll find the truth another way.
I raise the gun. Pavel's eyes go wide with betrayal—he knows I don't fully believe he's guilty.
I pull the trigger anyway. Because in front of Bogdan, I have no other choice. Pavel crumples to the floor, his protests cut off mid-sentence.
I step back and check my shirt.
I shouldn’t have stood so close. I’ll have to change before we go.
"Clean this up," I tell Bogdan.
"What do you want me to tell the family?" Bogdan asks.
"I don’t give a shit what you tell them. If they have a problem with me, they are free to tell me.”
Bogdan smirks.
I head upstairs, slipping into the narrow corridor that leads to my room without requiring me to move through the main hallway.
It’s not exactly a secret passage, but it is an escape route should I ever need it.
The panic room is down here. Mila knows where it is.
Her handprint will open the door should there ever be a reason to need it.
I pray that reason never happens.
I slip into my bedroom and take off the blood-spattered clothes. I leave them in a heap to be disposed of later. My staff is very aware of things that happen. They may never witness it with their own eyes, but the housekeeper will understand the clothes go to the burn pit—not the laundry.