Victor Kane requests the pleasure of your company at his residence. Ten o'clock. Friday evening.
No signature.
No explanation.
Isabella read the card twice.
Victor had finally noticed her.
She could have ignored the invitation. She could have disappeared, moved to another city, and continued the investigation from a distance.
But the photograph of her grandmother's apartment had changed everything.
Someone was closing in.
If she ran now, she might lose the only opportunity she had to discover what had happened to Elena.
So she accepted.
On Friday evening, Isabella arrived at Victor's penthouse in a black car.
The building was guarded by men who wore expensive suits and watched every visitor with suspicion. She passed through security without offering more than her name.
Victor was waiting in the private dining room.
He stood beside the window, looking down at the city.
When he turned around, he studied Isabella for several seconds.
"You look familiar," he said.
"People often say that."
"I don't mean your face."
"Then perhaps you should explain what you mean."
Victor gestured toward the chair opposite him.
Isabella sat.
A bottle of red wine stood on the table. She accepted a glass, thanked the server, and waited until they were alone.
Victor remained standing.
"Your name appeared in a report concerning one of my businesses."
"Then your investigators should learn to read reports more carefully."
His eyes narrowed.
"You're very confident."
"I prefer to be prepared."
He walked around the table.
"Who sent you?"
"No one."
"Who are you working for?"
"Myself."
Victor studied her face, searching for signs of deception.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yes."
"And you're not frightened?"
Isabella lifted her wineglass.
"Should I be?"
Victor's expression became darker.
He had heard stories about her over the previous few days. She had contacted former employees. She had asked questions about businesses that had been dormant for years. She had obtained documents that several people had spent considerable effort concealing.
He knew she was looking for something.
He simply did not know what.
"You're investigating my organization," he said.
"I'm investigating the truth."
"The truth is often expensive."
"So is ignorance."
Victor stared at her.
Then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pistol.
He pointed it across the table.
The movement was sudden, but Isabella did not recoil.
She looked at the gun.
Then at Victor.
Then she raised her glass and took a measured sip of wine.
Victor's finger tightened around the grip.
"You're either incredibly brave," he said, "or incredibly stupid."
Isabella placed her glass on the table.
"Neither."
"Then explain why you came here."
She leaned forward slightly.
"Because I wanted to see whether you would ask me a question before reaching for a weapon."
"And what have you learned?"
"That you're still making the same mistake you made twenty-three years ago."
For a moment, Victor looked as though the entire room had gone silent around him.
"What did you say?"
Isabella reached into her handbag.
Victor raised the gun.
"Slowly."
She withdrew a photograph and placed it on the table.
It showed Elena Moretti standing beside Victor and Adrian Cross.
Victor stared at the image.
His expression changed so quickly that Isabella knew she had found the wound beneath his armor.
"Where did you get that?"
"From someone who remembered my mother."
Victor looked at the photograph again.
Then he looked at Isabella.
"Who was your mother?"
Isabella's voice remained steady.
"Elena Moretti."
The gun did not move.
But Victor's face had lost its color.
Chapter 7: The Name He Had Buried
For twenty-three years, Victor had avoided thinking about Elena.
Whenever her name surfaced in an old document, he dismissed it. Whenever someone mentioned the early days of the organization, he changed the subject.
He had convinced himself that Elena had left because she could no longer tolerate the life he had chosen.
He had believed that she had taken her daughter and started over somewhere else.
Now her daughter was sitting across from him.
And she had come carrying questions that he had never been willing to answer.
"Your mother left," Victor said finally.
Isabella's expression hardened.
"That's what you told yourself."
"She disappeared."
"Because you allowed it to happen."
"I didn't know where she went."
"You never looked hard enough."
Victor lowered the gun a fraction.
"You don't understand what happened back then."
"Then explain it to me."
He looked away.
For the first time in many years, Victor appeared uncertain.
"Your mother worked for me. She was intelligent. She knew how the organization operated."
"She discovered that Adrian was stealing money."
Victor looked sharply at her.
"Who told you that?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Why? Because you're afraid I know something you don't?"
Victor said nothing.
Isabella removed another document from her handbag.
It was a copy of a financial report dated shortly before Elena disappeared.
Several transactions had been marked in red. Each one led to a company associated with Adrian Cross.
Victor examined the document.
He recognized the account numbers.
He had seen them before.
At the time, Adrian had explained that the transfers were part of an expansion project. Victor had approved the transactions without examining them closely.
Now, for the first time, he wondered whether the explanation had been a lie.
"Where did you get this?"
"From the records your organization failed to destroy."
Victor looked up.
"Your mother stole confidential documents."
"She copied evidence of crimes."
"She should have come to me."
"She did."
Victor froze.
Isabella continued.
"She warned you that Adrian was stealing from you. She asked you to investigate him. You told her she didn't understand how the organization worked."