Chapter 7 - The Recording
Bianca agreed to wear the recorder because she had run out of safer choices.
“No police,” she insisted.
Helen Cho folded her arms.
“You don’t dictate that indefinitely.”
“I’m trying to survive long enough to become useful.”
Mara looked at Bianca across Helen’s conference table.
“Useful is what Grant made you when you helped him.”
Bianca flinched.
“I know.”
Mara still hated her.
But hatred had become complicated by evidence.
The recorder was legal because New York allowed a participant to record a conversation without the other person’s consent.
Helen explained it twice.
Bianca understood the law.
What she feared was her husband.
Grant came home at 9:20 that evening to their penthouse overlooking Central Park.
Bianca sat in the living room drinking water because her hands shook too badly for wine.
The recorder rested inside a decorative brooch.
Grant dropped his keys onto the table.
“You saw Mara again.”
It was not a question.
Bianca forced herself not to look toward the brooch.
“She contacted me.”
“Lie better.”
“I’m tired, Grant.”
“So am I.”
He poured whiskey.
“Did she open the box?”
Bianca’s heart pounded.
“What box?”
He turned.
For the first time, anger cracked his calm.
“Do not become stupid when I need you functional.”
Bianca stood.
“I’m done helping you.”
Grant laughed.
“No, you aren’t.”
“I signed Briar Lane documents because you threatened me.”
“You signed because you enjoyed the money before you understood the cost.”
“I never agreed to forge Mara’s name.”
“No. You merely signed the certification confirming you had witnessed her consent.”
Bianca’s face tightened.
“You told me she had signed separately.”
“And that distinction will fascinate a prosecutor.”
“You lied.”
“I managed you.”
She stared at him.
“What did you do with Rosa’s original sewing case?”
Grant went still.
Bianca realized she had pushed too quickly.
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“No. Someone told you.”
He moved toward her.
Bianca resisted the instinct to retreat.
“Rosa knew about the trust sale.”
“She knew pieces.”
“She wrote to Mercer.”
Grant’s eyes sharpened.
There.
Bianca saw confirmation.
“You knew about the letter.”
Grant drank.
“I suspected.”
“Peter buried it for you.”
Silence.
“Two million dollars?” Bianca whispered. “That’s what a general counsel costs?”
Grant’s face changed.
“How do you know about that transfer?”
Bianca’s mouth went dry.
Grant stepped closer.
“Who have you been talking to?”
“No one.”
He looked at her brooch.
Bianca’s pulse stopped.
Grant reached toward it.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Mara.
Except Mara was sitting three miles away with Julian and Helen, watching Bianca’s apartment building from a parked car.
Helen had sent the call deliberately.
Grant answered.
“Mara.”
Mara swallowed.
“I want to talk about my mother.”
Grant turned away from Bianca.
“Finally.”
“What was the seventy-five thousand dollars for?”
Grant’s silence was almost satisfied.
“So you found the transfer.”
“Why did you pay her?”
“Ask Rosa.”
“She’s dead.”
“Yes.”
The cruelty was deliberate.
Mara gripped the phone.
“You went to her house the night before hospice.”
“I visited an old employee.”
“You left with her sewing case.”
Bianca’s recorder captured Grant’s breathing changing.
“Bianca has been telling stories.”
“No.”
“Then you have more surveillance photographs than you should.”
Grant looked directly at his wife.
Bianca’s face drained.
Mara heard him say, away from the phone, “You kept them.”
Bianca whispered, “Grant—”
He ended Mara’s call.
In the parked car, Julian immediately reached for the door.
Helen stopped him.
“Bianca hasn’t signaled danger.”
“She doesn’t need to.”
“She agreed to this.”
Inside the penthouse, Grant stood inches from Bianca.
“You followed me.”
“You were lying to me.”
“I have always lied to you.”
The admission stunned her.
Grant almost smiled.
“You simply preferred the lies when they came with houses.”
Bianca’s eyes filled.
“What did you do to Rosa?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you force her to sign?”
“I encouraged cooperation.”
“She was dying.”
“She was obstructing a transaction that affected hundreds of millions of dollars.”
“She was protecting workers.”
“She was protecting obsolete sentiment.”
Bianca whispered, “And Mara?”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“Mara was supposed to remain irrelevant.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Rosa naming her successor trustee created paperwork I didn’t need.”
“You forged her acceptance.”
Grant stared at her.
He did not deny it.
Bianca’s breathing quickened.
“You forged a pregnant hotel maid’s signature and then sent me to accuse her of adultery.”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant.”
“You knew after I called.”
“And I knew Mercer was there.”
Grant’s expression darkened.
“That changed things.”
“Because he’s the father?”
“Because if Mercer decides Mara matters personally, he audits everything.”
Bianca almost laughed.
“He already has.”
Grant froze.
Outside, Julian saw a light switch off in the penthouse.
Then Mara’s phone buzzed.
Bianca had sent one word.
NOW.
Julian and Helen moved.
Inside, Grant grabbed Bianca’s wrist.
“What did you tell them?”
“Enough.”
He tore the brooch from her coat.
The recorder hit the floor.
Grant stared at it.
Bianca stopped breathing.
His face became terrifyingly calm.
“Do you understand what you’ve done?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He crushed the recorder beneath his shoe.
Then leaned close.
“You’ve just given me a reason to destroy all three of you.”
The front doorbell rang.
May you like
Grant smiled at Bianca.
“Let’s see who came to save you.”
