The Name on the Ledger

"Don't call him," Brielle said when the line went dead.

Matteo looked up.

"I wasn't going to."

"You looked like you wanted to."

"I want him in a room where he has to answer me. Calling would give him time to prepare."

She understood then that his calm had edges. He was holding it together because something useful required him to.

He let go of her hand reluctantly.

"You'll be told when we confirm anything."

She went upstairs with the sensation of his thumb still against her wrist.

The next morning, Celia arrived with a second folder.

She put it on the table in front of Brielle and Matteo together.

"The invoices Mara copied weren't just about her father's company."

One name appeared repeatedly beside Dawson Freight.

Moretti Distribution.

Brielle touched the page.

"That's yours."

"It was my father's," Matteo said.

"And now?"

"Mine. The division was folded into another business years ago."

Celia pointed to a series of payments.

"These were routed through contracts described as foundation deliveries. Some shipments never reached any foundation property. Mara appears to have noticed the mismatch while handling her father's invoices."

Brielle looked at Matteo.

"Did you know?"

"About this arrangement? No. I knew my father used legitimate contracts to hide other business. I didn't know about your sister."

"You make it sound like paperwork."

His mouth tightened.

"It wasn't."

She pushed away from the table.

The kitchen felt different now. The warm room, the clean bandage, the man whose hand she had reached for. She had allowed herself to imagine the danger existed outside the gates.

"My sister ran to your mother's shelter because she thought someone there could protect her."

"Yes," Lucia said from the doorway.

"And people using your family name sent her away."

Nobody contradicted her.

That made the anger worse.

Matteo stood, but didn't approach.

"I'll give Celia access to the company records. The originals. She can bring in whoever she needs to examine them."

"Even if they show your father knew?"

"Yes."

"Even if they show you should have known?"

His eyes held hers.

"Yes."

Brielle wanted to believe him. Wanting had become dangerous.

She went upstairs and put her few things back into the damaged canvas bag. Lucia had lent her a sweater and trousers; she folded the sweater on the bed, then put it on again because her own uniform was torn and stiff with blood.

Matteo waited at the bottom of the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere I can think without wondering who paid for the chair I'm sitting in."

He looked at the bag.

"I won't pretend I like that."

"You don't have to."

"The men who attacked us haven't told the police everything they know. If Vale arranged it, he knows about you now. Your apartment isn't secure."

"Then help me find somewhere that is. Somewhere I can lock my own door."

He breathed out through his nose. For a moment she thought he would argue.

"Celia knows short-term rentals used for clients," he said. "You can choose one through her."

"And the information about Mara comes directly to me. I don't want to hear it after everyone decides whether I can handle it."

"Agreed."

"I'm not agreeing to let you disappear from this, Matteo. Your name is in those papers."

His expression changed, almost imperceptibly.

"I wasn't trying to leave."

There was something in his voice she would think about later, when she could bear to.

Elena appeared on the landing above them.

"Are you going home?"

Brielle turned.

The child held the rabbit so tightly its head bent sideways.

"I'm going to stay at another apartment for a while."

"Did I wake you up too much?"

"No, honey. You didn't do anything wrong."

Brielle climbed two steps and sat, bringing them closer to eye level.

"I'm having a hard day. It isn't because of you."

Elena looked at her father, then back at Brielle.

"Will you still come for pancakes?"

"I'd like that. I'll tell your papa when I can come."

"Not a pretend promise?"

Brielle's throat hurt.

"A real plan. We'll pick a day."

The child nodded, accepting the part she understood.

That afternoon, Celia drove Brielle to a furnished apartment above a quiet courtyard. Sloane explained the entrance arrangements and gave her a number to call. Nobody stood inside while she unpacked.

The door closed. The room was hers for the month.

She sat on the edge of the bed and cried, furious with herself for missing a house she had spent only two nights in.

At seven, a message arrived from Matteo.

Elena would like to know whether Saturday counts as a real plan. I would too.

Brielle read it twice.

Then she typed, Saturday at ten. No fancy breakfast. She promised pancakes.

His reply came a minute later.

I'll warn the chef that his career depends on it.

She smiled, then set the phone down.

At eight, Celia called with the first useful news from the farmhouse papers.

"The woman with the church badge was Margaret Ellis. She's dead, but a community worker named Ana Morales remembers her. Ana says she may have known Mara under a different name. She's agreed to meet us."

Brielle reached for a pen.

This time, nobody had decided to keep the possibility from her.