CHAPTER SEVEN
MATHIAS
To: Mathias Beaumont; Blackchapel Incorporated
From: Allison Fields
Subject: A Banking Error?
To Whom It May Concern:
I’m investigating the unexpected deposit of a large sum of money into my private checking account. The transaction went through sometime last night. I’m attaching a screenshot for reference.
Please let me know how we can rectify this situation.
Thank you!
Allison Fields
***
The surprise message from Allison steals my focus from the man indicating where I should sign to complete the Petit deal. She’s questioning the validity of one million dollars in her bank account?
I suppose it’s smart, but most people wouldn’t balk at such a windfall. They’d accept fate—whether from an error or not—and go on their merry way, but not my confounding guardian angel.
“One more signature here, sir.” Another document slides in front of me, and I scratch my name across the bottom, right next to Louis Petit’s flamboyant penmanship. Big swoops and exaggerated lines.
He hasn’t spoken much during this final meeting between our business attorneys to close the deal, but that isn’t to say he hasn’t gotten his message across. Muted glares and annoyed huffs have wafted across the long conference table the past forty-five minutes.
He’s pissed.
Losing one’s company due to outmaneuvering will do that to a person. Even if it does come with a sizable purchase price.
I type a quick message to the woman who checks Blackchapel Inc.’s corporate email account, telling her to ignore Allison’s message because I’ll deal with it personally, before opening a new email draft.
***
To: Allison Fields
From: Mathias Beaumont
Subject: RE: A Banking Error?
There wasn’t an error. The deposit is legal and final.
Mathias Beaumont
CEO of Blackchapel Incorporated
***
After weeks of working to uncover D’Amora’s motive for wanting Luca dead and closing the Petit deal, you’d think my time would be fully occupied, yet my thoughts continued to drift to Allison.
Especially after responding to her email and receiving nothing in return.
Except for the knowledge that she still hasn't spent the money I put in her bank account as payment for saving my life.
I don't like being indebted to people, and a life debt? That's untenable. A million dollars should be enough to make us even.
That's what I told myself, anyway, but it’s hardly doing its job while sitting untouched in her account.
Every day I check it, and every day it's the same.
She withdrew a minuscule $19,678 the first day, which went straight to the government for her student loans, but that’s it.
She could do anything with the money. Go on another trip, buy a house, get a new car. Anything . The world is her oyster. Yet she's done nothing, opting instead to use money earned from her job to pay for things.
And I don’t fucking understand—an uncomfortable sensation that’s become something of a habit with the woman.
“Back to checking your girl's bank account?” Luca asks as he enters the great room with a towel draped over his shoulder. He must be on his way to swim laps in the manor's indoor pool—his preferred way to relax because of the quiet underwater.
“I don't know what you're talking about.” I slam the laptop shut.
Luca chuckles. “You realize we’re capable of tracking each other's movements, right? So we know you sent Allison a fuckton of cash she’s leaving unused, and we know that you’re monitoring her not using it. Why don't you just go see her if you're that obsessed?”
“I'm not obsessed.” I’ve always had a penchant for puzzles, and Allison is a five-thousand piece Rembrandt I’m determined to solve. “Don't be ridiculous. She's an enigma. I'm trying to figure out how she fits into the drive-by.”
Liar .
Luca calls me on it.
“I thought we agreed she was a random civilian who got caught up in the moment, and you're lucky for it. You really think this girl—a former straight-A student, perfect attendance, no speeding tickets to her name—is part of a larger scheme to either swindle or kill you?”
No, but I’m not admitting that aloud. It'll confirm his false belief of my obsession with Allison.
I don't like loose ends, and that's what she feels like because she doesn't react normally to anything. Rather, she doesn't react how I believe a regular person, not raised in an assassin's manor, would behave.
Stretching to my full height, I tuck the laptop under my arm and walk towards the door, a vague plan beginning to form. Perhaps it’s time I gather intel up close and personal since distance has my mind spinning in circles.
“Have fun in Raleigh.” Luca smirks, and I flip him the bird because he's right about my destination.
A text to our pilot lets him know to fuel the jet for a short trip. The plan is to touch down in North Carolina in two hours.
I'm going to figure out what the hell is going on with my mystery woman and finally lay this fixation to rest.