Chapter 2 - THE READING ROOM
I did not call Luca.
That mattered.
I called police.
Then building security.
Then Claire.
Only after that, when the officer asked whether anyone involved might have reason to intimidate me, did I say Ryan’s name.
And Luca Moretti’s company.
Not because I thought Luca sent the message.
Because accuracy mattered more than comfort.
The officer took screenshots.
Requested camera footage.
Asked whether Ryan had threatened me.
“Vaguely.”
“Describe.”
I did.
The officer’s face changed at:
You think leaving me means you go back to your little life?
“Document everything.”
“I will.”
Claire sat beside me.
“You’re not going home alone.”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“Congratulations.”
“I can—”
“You can choose where you sleep. I am offering my guest room.”
Right.
Offer.
Not order.
“Thank you.”
At noon, Luca returned.
He saw the police officer.
Stopped.
“What happened?”
I watched him.
No immediate demand.
No grabbing phone.
No “who did this?”
He waited.
Good.
“Someone photographed me outside.”
His face hardened.
“Threat?”
“Yes.”
“Ryan?”
“Unknown.”
“What do you want from me?”
That question.
Interesting.
“Information.”
“About?”
“The financing.”
He nodded.
“My office?”
“No.”
“Conference room?”
“Yes.”
Professional.
We sat with Claire and one of Luca’s attorneys.
I showed him the text.
His face did not move.
The attorney asked for a copy.
I sent it.
Luca looked at the photograph.
“Car reflection.”
“What?”
He enlarged one corner.
A storefront window showed part of the vehicle.
Silver SUV.
“Recognize it?”
“No.”
He looked at his attorney.
“Pull parking cameras.”
I held up a hand.
“Legally.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
Good.
Then:
“Grayson financed the block acquisition through a bridge facility.”
“English.”
“Short-term debt while permanent financing was arranged.”
“Ryan handled it?”
“He was on the team.”
“Did he know the reading center was protected by lease?”
“He should have.”
“What about Vincent?”
Luca’s face changed.
“My cousin pushed the acquisition.”
“Why?”
“Location.”
“That is not an answer.”
He almost smiled.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep giving bad answers.”
Claire pretended to read a memo.
Luca continued.
“Vincent wants a luxury residential conversion.”
“The nonprofit doesn’t fit.”
“No.”
“And you?”
“I bought into the block because I wanted the commercial frontage and existing apartments preserved.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Stable tenants produce stable neighborhoods.”
That sounded almost civic.
I remained suspicious.
“You are a mafia boss with opinions on mixed-use development.”
His attorney made a choking sound.
Luca looked at me.
“That is one description.”
“Accurate?”
“Yes.”
Claire looked like she wanted popcorn.
I continued.
“Does Ryan’s firm lose money if the nonprofit stays?”
“Potentially.”
“How?”
“The permanent lender valued the project assuming larger redevelopment square footage.”
“So the protected lease reduces value.”
“Yes.”
“And someone may have hidden that.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Unknown.”
“Ryan?”
“Possible.”
“Vincent?”
“Possible.”
“You?”
“No.”
Quick.
Confident.
I believed he believed that.
Not same as proof.
“Show me.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
“The acquisition documents.”
His attorney started.
“Ms. Hart—”
Luca raised a hand.
Then looked at me.
“You want access.”
“Yes.”
“You are not a party.”
“I’m the project designer whose client could lose its space because your deal may have been based on false assumptions.”
Silence.
Then Luca nodded.
“Redacted copies.”
His attorney looked at him.
“Luca.”
“Anything privileged stays out. Everything affecting lease assumptions she sees.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because you asked.”
Dangerous answer.
Not because it was wrong.
Because I liked it.
I looked away.
At three, police identified the SUV.
Registered to Grayson Development Finance.
Company fleet.
My stomach dropped.
Ryan’s firm.
Not necessarily Ryan.
Still.
I called him.
Claire objected.
I did not meet him.
I called.
He answered immediately.
“Finally.”
“Did you send someone to photograph me?”
Silence.
Then:
“No.”
“Your company car was there.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t control every car.”
“Who does?”
“Facilities.”
“Give me a name.”
He laughed.
“You’re interrogating me now?”
“Yes.”
“Because Moretti told you to?”
There.
“You keep making him responsible for my decisions.”
“Because you were never like this before.”
That sentence did something.
Not hurt.
Clarified.
Maybe I had been.
Just quieter.
“Facilities contact.”
“Emily.”
“I’ll get it from police.”
His voice hardened.
“You reported the car?”
“Yes.”
“You’re trying to create a problem at my job.”
“No.”
“You’re being vindictive.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because someone threatened me.”
Silence.
He lowered his voice.
“You’re making this bigger than it is.”
The old phrase.
My hand tightened.
“Goodbye, Ryan.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“The reading room.”
My stomach dropped.
“What about it?”
“You need to walk away.”
“Why?”
“Because Moretti’s acquisition is not clean.”
“Meaning?”
“I can’t say.”
“Then why call it?”
“I’m warning you.”
“About Luca?”
“About all of them.”
“Does that include you?”
Silence.
There.
“Ryan.”
“Just stay out of it.”
“No.”
He swore.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Act like your little projects matter more than reality.”
I almost smiled.
“Goodbye.”
I hung up.
Luca stood at the far end of the office.
He had returned without me noticing.
He did not ask what Ryan said.
Good.
I walked over.
“He told me to leave the project.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“Reason?”
“Said acquisition isn’t clean.”
“I know.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“I found a problem.”
Of course.
“What?”
He handed me a page.
Appraisal assumptions.
The nonprofit lease was listed as:
TERMINABLE WITH 90 DAYS NOTICE.
False.
My pulse jumped.
“Who supplied this?”
“Grayson.”
“Signed?”
He pointed.
Ryan Cole.
I stared.
Ryan knew.
He had certified a false lease summary in the financing package.
“He could claim mistake.”
“Yes.”
“Was it?”
“Maybe.”
Luca’s jaw said no.
“What happens now?”
“I disclose to lender.”
“You lose money.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“That was not the question.”
“Several million.”
I stared.
“You’re going to voluntarily tell them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at me like the answer was obvious.
“Because the document is wrong.”
People should not become attractive over basic ethics.
The bar was underground.
Still.
I felt it.
Annoying.
“Vincent?”
“Will be furious.”
“Ryan?”
“Possibly unemployed.”
I looked at the signature.
My ex-fiancé.
The man who told me nobody wanted design lectures.
The man whose career apparently depended on ignoring documents other people assumed he had read.
Interesting.
Then Luca said, “There’s more.”
I looked up.
“Of course.”
“Vincent approved the false summary internally.”
“So they both knew.”
“Likely.”
“Why?”
“To inflate redevelopment value.”
“Fraud?”
“Potentially.”
His attorney entered.
“Careful.”
Luca nodded.
“Potentially.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What does this have to do with the threat?”
“We don’t know.”
“Bad answer.”
“True answer.”
Fine.
That evening, I stayed at Claire’s.
At 9:17, someone knocked.
I froze.
Claire looked at the door camera.
Delivery man.
No order.
She did not open.
He left a package.
Police retrieved it.
Inside:
My engagement ring.
I had left it at Bellamy’s beside Ryan’s wine.
Now it sat in an evidence bag.
With a note.
YOU MADE A DECISION.
WE CAN MAKE ONE TOO.
Claire read over my shoulder.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“I officially hate this.”
“Same.”
Police asked who had access to the ring.
Ryan.
Restaurant staff.
Anyone he gave it to.
Luca called at 9:40.
I answered.
“How did you get this number?”
“Claire gave it to my attorney after police asked for ownership records.”
“Good answer.”
“What happened?”
I told him.
Silence.
Then:
“Do you want security?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Immediate.
Then:
“Do you want me to help pay for private security you choose?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“What do you want, Luca?”
Silence.
“Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“I want to put six men outside the building and break Ryan’s hands until he tells me what he knows.”
I almost laughed.
“But?”
“But you said no security.”
“And the hands?”
“Illegal.”
“Growth.”
“Painful.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Police are here.”
“Good.”
“You don’t need to come.”
“I know.”
Something in his voice made me pause.
“Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Working?”
“Yes.”
“On what?”
“The disclosure.”
Several million dollars disappearing because a document was wrong.
“Goodnight, Luca.”
“Goodnight, Emily.”
I ended the call.
Claire looked at me.
“You like him.”
“No.”
“You used his first name.”
“He requested it.”
“Yesterday you refused.”
“Circumstances evolved.”
“Dangerous phrase.”
I threw a pillow at her.
The next morning, the lender froze the entire redevelopment financing package.
By noon, Grayson suspended Ryan pending review.
At 12:17, Ryan called from a different number.
I answered because police were recording.
“You did this.”
“No.”
“You gave Moretti the file.”
“He already had it.”
“You ruined me.”
“You signed it.”
“You don’t understand what Vincent promised.”
My pulse changed.
“What did Vincent promise?”
Silence.
Then Ryan realized.
Too late.
“Ryan.”
“Nothing.”
“You said Vincent.”
“Forget it.”
“What did he promise?”
Ryan’s breathing changed.
Then:
“A partnership.”
“In what?”
“The redevelopment.”
“You altered the lease summary for an equity stake.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
It was exactly like that.
“Did Vincent send the threats?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Who has my ring?”
Silence.
“Ryan.”
“I don’t know.”
I believed him.
That was worse.
If Ryan was lying badly about fraud but sounded genuinely confused about the ring, someone else had it.
Then he whispered:
“Emily, Vincent is not the person you should be afraid of.”
“Who is?”
The call ended.
Police tried trace.
Burner.
Claire looked at me.
“Who?”
I looked toward the construction plans.
Moretti Urban Renewal.
Grayson.
Ryan.
Vincent.
Then I remembered the dinner.
Luca had been at the next table with three men.
Three.
I could picture two.
Vincent had not been there.
Different meeting.
Who was the fourth man?
The one who never spoke.
The one who left before I did.
I called Bellamy’s.
Asked for camera footage from police request.
An hour later, the detective showed me a still.
Luca at the table.
Two executives.
And the fourth man.
Claire frowned.
“Who is that?”
I didn’t know.
But when Luca saw the image, every bit of color left his face.
“My brother.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Gabriel.”
“Why does that look like bad news?”
May you like
Luca stared at the screen.
“Because Gabriel Moretti has been dead for seven years.”
