“Don't be. It's not your job to apologize for other people.”
Caleb pushed a printed document across the table.
Hannah examined it.
The proposed sale involved Bridge House and several neighboring properties.
A real estate company called Crane Development planned to acquire the land for a luxury residential complex.
The price was thirty-eight million dollars.
Hannah looked up.
“That's a lot of money.”
“The independent appraisal was substantially higher.”
“Seventy-one million.”
Her eyes widened.
“That's almost double.”
Caleb nodded again.
He continued signing:
“The charitable trust owns the building and part of the surrounding land. My mother's estate established restrictions protecting its community use.”
Hannah studied him.
“Then how can it be sold?”
“Certain trustees can propose a sale, but major decisions require specific approvals.”
“Including yours?”
She looked down at the document.
“And somebody says you approved it.”
“But I didn't.”
Hannah took a slow breath.
“Have you hired independent counsel?”
“You sound like a lawyer.”
“What do you do besides work at Bellissimo?”
“I'm finishing a graduate program in nonprofit management.”
His expression brightened.
Hannah looked across the street.
“Because organizations that help people can still fail them when nobody asks where the money goes.”
Caleb followed her gaze toward Bridge House.
Then looked back.
Hannah continued.
“My father used to work there.”
Caleb went still.
“Daniel Mercer.”
His hands stopped.
For several seconds, he stared.
Then signed slowly:
“Daniel taught me woodworking when I was eleven.”
Hannah blinked.
“He showed me how to build a little wooden bookshelf.”
“My dad still makes those.”
Caleb's expression became serious.
“He disappeared from the center when I was eighteen.”
“He was dismissed.”
“Someone accused him of mishandling program funds.”
“I remember hearing that. My father said the matter was settled.”
Hannah looked toward the building.
“Dad says he never took anything.”
Caleb remained quiet.
Then he signed:
“I want to hear his account.”
Hannah studied him.
“You believe him?”
“I don't know everything yet.”
He took a breath.
“But I know you don't discover the truth by refusing to listen.”
For several seconds, Hannah simply looked at him.
Then she smiled.
“Would you like to meet him?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“For professional reasons?”
A faint smile appeared.
He leaned forward slightly.
“And because I'd like to know you better.”
Hannah's cheeks warmed.
She looked down at her coffee.
THE CHAMPAGNE VERDICT: A LEGACY OF SHATTERED GLASS AND STOLEN PROMISES
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The Arrogant Billionaire Mocked the Humiliated Maid — Until She Cleared...
For the first time, the son of Chicago's most intimidating businessman seemed more interested in an ordinary conversation than in proving how much power his family possessed.
And Hannah found that unexpectedly attractive.
Caleb's attorney was named Lena Duarte.
She was thirty-seven, Deaf, and had spent more than a decade representing clients in disability rights, trust disputes, and nonprofit governance cases.
She had dark curly hair, sharp eyes, and a calm expression that rarely revealed what she was thinking.
When Dominic Vale's office requested a meeting, Lena agreed under one condition.
Caleb would participate directly.
The meeting would not proceed as though his father could speak for him.
At two o'clock, Caleb entered Lena's conference room.
Dominic arrived several minutes later with his financial adviser, Victor Raines.
Victor was sixty-one, silver-haired, polished, and accustomed to making complicated decisions sound simple.
He had worked with Dominic for almost twenty years.