Chapter 4 – The Paper He Was Forced to Sign

“The restaurant?”

Grandma nodded.

I looked at the key hanging around my neck.

“Adrien owns Lavelle.”

“He does now.”

“What does that mean?”

She seemed to be weighing how much she could tell me without exhausting herself.

“The building was part of his mother’s estate. After she died, Adrien inherited her interest in it. He was only twenty when the trouble happened.”

“And somebody wanted to take it from him?”

“Somebody wanted him to give up control.”

I thought about Adrien’s scar.

The narrow white mark around his wrist.

“Did he sign?”

“I don’t know.”

“You were there.”

“Not when they started. By the time I opened the door, the folder was on the floor.”

She looked at me.

“I saw enough to know he hadn’t been given a choice.”

A nurse came in to check Grandma’s blood pressure.

I moved back and waited.

The reading wasn’t what the nurse wanted.

Grandma needed rest.

I knew it.

But I was afraid that if I left, we’d both become frightened enough to pretend the conversation had never happened.

“Go home, Lena,” Grandma said after the nurse left.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know.”

She squeezed my hand.

“But you’re no use to me if you fall over from exhaustion.”

I kissed her forehead.

“I’m going to find that coat.”

“Be careful.”

“Grandma—”

“Please.”

There was something in her voice that stopped me.

“I will.”

By noon, I was back at Lavelle.

I’d slept less than three hours.

But the brass key had become impossible to ignore.

The restaurant looked different in daylight.

Without the late-night music and expensive perfume, it seemed almost ordinary.

Workers were polishing glasses.

Somebody was arguing about a seafood delivery.

A dishwasher was laughing at something a cook had said.

For a moment, I wondered how much of the building’s history those people knew.

Adrien was in his office above the dining room.

His two guards stood outside.

When Rafe saw me, he glanced at the clock.

“Your shift doesn’t start until six.”

“I know.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes.”

He studied me, then stepped aside.

Adrien looked up from his desk when I entered.

He’d removed his suit jacket.

His sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms.

There were faint marks along both wrists.

I tried not to stare.

“Miss Reyes.”

“My grandmother didn’t lock you inside.”

His expression changed immediately.

I told him what she’d said.

About the service door.

The duplicate key.

The offer of forty thousand dollars.

And the papers the men had tried to make him sign.

Adrien listened without interrupting.

When I finished, he stood and walked toward the window.

For a long time, he said nothing.

Then he asked, “Did she remember the folder?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say was in it?”

“Documents about your mother’s restaurant.”

He closed his eyes.

I watched his jaw tighten.

“You remember something,” I said.

“A little.”

He turned.

“I remember a pen. Somebody was holding my wrist. They wanted me to sign something, and I kept telling them I needed to read it.”

I looked at him.

“What happened?”

“One of them told me reading wasn’t necessary.”

His voice was flat.

“After that, it’s difficult to separate what actually happened from the things I dreamed while recovering.”

I wanted to ask about the nightmares.

Instead, I said, “Grandma kept a letter from Evelyn.”

Adrien looked sharply at me.

“What letter?”

“An offer to pay her forty thousand dollars if she’d sign a false statement.”

He remained perfectly still.

“Does she have it?”

“She thinks so. It’s in an old coat at her apartment.”

Adrien nodded.

“We should preserve it.”

“We?”

He looked at me.

“You’re right. It’s hers. You decide whether she wants to show it to me.”

I hadn’t expected that answer.

He noticed my surprise.

“You’ve already had enough people deciding things for you.”

Something in my chest softened.

Then the office door opened.

A woman entered without asking permission.

She was in her early fifties, beautifully dressed in a cream suit, her silver-blond hair swept into a smooth knot.

Her expression was pleasant.

Until she saw me.

“Adrien,” she said. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

He straightened.

“Evelyn.”

My stomach dropped.

She looked toward my uniform.

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs?”

Adrien’s expression hardened.

“Lena is here at my request.”

Evelyn smiled.

“Of course.”

She turned toward me.

“You’re one of the new waitresses, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lena Reyes.”

The smile disappeared.

Only for a second.

But I saw it.

“Reyes,” she repeated.

Adrien watched her.

“Alma Reyes’s granddaughter.”

Evelyn looked back at him.

“Alma?”

“The woman who worked at the old club.”

Her expression became carefully neutral.

“That was a long time ago.”

“Apparently not long enough,” Adrien replied.

She folded her hands.

“What is this about?”

I watched Adrien make a decision.

He didn’t mention the letter.

Instead, he asked, “Do you remember the forty-thousand-dollar payment recorded after the attack?”

Evelyn nodded slowly.

“A settlement.”

“With Alma Reyes?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“Her involvement. The family wanted the matter resolved.”

Adrien studied her.

“She says she never accepted the money.”

Evelyn gave a small sigh.

“Adrien, people remember difficult events differently.”

“Either she received the money or she didn’t.”

“I would need to review the records.”

“Then review them.”

She glanced at me.

“Perhaps this conversation should take place privately.”

Adrien didn’t move.

“Lena has a reason to be here.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.

Then she nodded.

“Very well.”

She left a few minutes later.

Adrien returned to his desk.

“Something’s wrong,” I said.

“Yes.”

“You believe Grandma?”

“I believe there are questions nobody answered properly.”

He opened a locked drawer and removed an old file.

Inside was a copy of an agreement dated fourteen years earlier.

Its title read:

Emergency Management and Voting Authority Transfer.

Adrien showed me the signature page.

His name appeared at the bottom.

I looked at him.

“Is that yours?”

He stared at the ink.

“I don’t know.”

“What does it mean?”

“It gave Evelyn authority to make decisions about part of my mother’s business interests while I was recovering.”

“For how long?”

He turned the page.

Then his face changed.

I watched him read the same paragraph twice.

“What?”

He looked up.

“The agreement didn’t end when I recovered.”

I felt cold.

“How long does it last?”

He pointed to a line near the bottom.

Until voluntarily revoked by the designated managing representative or superseded by unanimous consent.

“Your aunt,” I whispered.

Adrien nodded.

Then he opened the attached financial summary.

For fourteen years, Evelyn had retained voting authority over a substantial part of the company.

The same company that now owned Lavelle.

The same company employing me.

Adrien looked toward the door she’d just walked through.

“Lena, if your grandmother is telling the truth, Evelyn didn’t merely hide what happened to me. She built fourteen years of power on a signature somebody forced me to give.”

Share