Nathaniel chose Laurent.
Of course he did.
Three days after Josie recovered the hidden drive, an envelope arrived at the hotel.
No return address.
Inside was a reservation card.
Laurent. 9:00 p.m. Come alone.
Below it, Nathaniel had written:
Let’s finish our anniversary dinner.
Mateo read the card twice.
“No.”
Josie folded her arms.
“You don’t decide.”
“No.”
“You just said no.”
“I’m expressing an opinion.”
“It sounded remarkably like an order.”
“I’m Italian. There’s often confusion.”
Despite the danger, Josie laughed.
Mateo did not.
“He wants control of the environment.”
“So do you.”
“Yes.”
“At least we’ve identified something you have in common.”
Mateo’s eyes narrowed.
“Never say that again.”
Josie smiled.
Then her expression became serious.
“I’m going.”
“Then you’re not going alone.”
“He specifically said alone.”
“I specifically don’t care.”
Eventually they compromised.
Josie would enter alone.
Mateo’s people would be nearby.
Mateo himself would remain out of sight unless she needed him.
At 8:57 that evening, Josie walked into Laurent.
The same chandeliers glowed overhead.
The same pianist played.
The same table waited beside the windows.
But this time the chair across from her wasn’t empty.
Nathaniel Miller sat in it.
Alive.
For twelve months, Josie had remembered him as he looked in photographs.
Seeing him move was different.
His hair was slightly longer.
He had lost weight.
But his smile was unchanged.
“Hello, Jo.”
She stopped.
Every instinct developed during seven years of marriage told her to prepare.
Watch his mood.
Read his eyes.
Avoid provoking him.
Then she remembered the woman who had hung up on him at Union Station.
She sat down.
“Nathaniel.”
His smile widened.
“You look good.”
There it was.
The old technique.
Compliment first.
Criticism later.
“You’ve gained confidence.”
And there it was.
She said nothing.
Nathaniel poured wine.
Josie didn’t touch it.
“You mourned me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Did you miss me?”
“No.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
Nathaniel smiled again.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.”
That surprised him.
Josie almost enjoyed it.
“You’ve been spending time with Bianchi.”
“I have.”
“He’s using you.”
“Maybe.”
“You always were naive about men.”
Josie leaned back.
“You faked your death using another man’s body.”
Nathaniel’s smile disappeared.
“So perhaps you shouldn’t be giving relationship advice.”
He looked at her for several seconds.
“You’re angry.”
“Very.”
“That’s understandable.”
“No, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Tell me which of my feelings are acceptable.”
His eyes hardened.
There he was.
The real Nathaniel.
“You don’t understand the situation.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Then explain it.”
Nathaniel lowered his voice.
“I got involved with people I shouldn’t have.”
“Mateo?”
“Bianchi isn’t a businessman, Jo.”
“Neither were you.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“You stole.”
“I created opportunities.”
“You stole.”
“I protected us.”
Josie laughed.
“You let me bury a stranger.”
Nathaniel’s jaw tightened.
“I knew you’d be taken care of.”
“Financially?”
“Yes.”
“Emotionally?”
“You’re stronger than you think.”
She stared at him.
For years, he had told her the opposite.
Now that it served him, she was suddenly strong.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Where’s the drive?”
There it was.
No more performance.
Josie placed her purse on the table.
Nathaniel watched it.
“You brought it.”
“Maybe.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
His expression changed.
“Jo.”
The old warning.
Her heart accelerated.
But she stayed seated.
“Who died in your car?”
Nathaniel looked toward the windows.
“Nobody you knew.”
“He had a name.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to someone.”
“Give me the drive.”
“Tell me his name.”
Nathaniel leaned forward.
“You have no idea what’s on that drive.”
“I know exactly what’s on it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I know about the accounts.”
His eyes sharpened.
“I know about the forged records.”
“Stop.”
“I know about the shell companies.”
“Lower your voice.”
“And I know you used my architectural plans.”
Nathaniel grabbed her wrist.
It happened so quickly Josie barely processed it.
His fingers tightened.
For one second, she was back in their marriage.
Small.
Careful.
Afraid.
Then a chair scraped behind them.
Mateo’s voice cut through the room.
“Take your hand off her.”
Nathaniel froze.
Mateo stood several feet away.
No jacket.
No visible weapon.
He didn’t need one.
Nathaniel released Josie.
“You were supposed to come alone.”
Josie rubbed her wrist.
“I changed my mind.”
Mateo approached.
Nathaniel smiled.
“So this is what you do now, Jo? Hide behind men?”
Josie stood.
“No.”
She stepped between them.
“I stopped hiding behind you.”
Nathaniel stared.
For once, he had no answer.
Mateo’s men appeared near the doors.
Nathaniel noticed.
Then he laughed.
“You think you won?”
Josie’s stomach tightened.
Nathaniel looked at Mateo.
“You should ask her what happens if that drive becomes public.”
Mateo’s expression remained neutral.
“What happens?”
“Half your organization becomes vulnerable.”
“That’s my problem.”
Nathaniel looked irritated.
“And several respectable Chicago families discover where their money actually went.”
“Also not her problem.”
Nathaniel looked at Josie.
“See? He doesn’t care what happens to you.”
Mateo answered before she could.
“I care enough to let her decide.”
The sentence landed heavily.
Nathaniel stared at him.
Josie did too.
Mateo stepped back.
“This is your conversation.”
He meant it.
He wasn’t going to rescue her by taking control.
Josie turned toward Nathaniel.
“Who died in the car?”
Nathaniel’s face became blank.
“His name was Aaron Keller.”
Josie memorized it.
“Why him?”
“He was homeless.”
Her stomach turned.
Nathaniel continued quickly.
“He was sick. Nobody was looking for him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He agreed to help me.”
“Did he agree to die?”
Silence.
That was enough.
Josie felt tears burn behind her eyes.
Not for Nathaniel.
For Aaron Keller.
A man Nathaniel decided nobody would miss.
“You’re going to answer for that.”
Nathaniel laughed.
“To whom?”
“The police.”
“You think Bianchi wants police looking through those records?”
Josie looked at Mateo.
He didn’t move.
Nathaniel smiled.
“Exactly.”
Mateo spoke quietly.
“If she wants to give them everything, she gives them everything.”
Nathaniel’s smile faded.
“You’d risk yourself for her?”
Mateo looked at Josie.
“I’d risk inconvenience.”
That almost made her laugh.
Nathaniel stood.
“This isn’t finished.”
“Yes,” Josie said.
“It is.”
She picked up her purse.
Nathaniel caught her arm again.
This time Josie reacted instantly.
She pulled free and stepped backward.
Mateo moved, but she raised one hand.
She had it.
Josie looked directly at her husband.
“Never touch me again.”
Nathaniel’s face twisted.
“You think you’re somebody because Bianchi tells you you’re talented?”
“No.”
Her voice was steady.
“I was somebody before either of you knew me.”
Nathaniel went silent.
Josie turned and walked away.
Outside, cold air struck her cheeks.
Mateo followed several seconds later.
She stood beneath Laurent’s awning, breathing hard.
“You okay?”
“I hate that question.”
“I’m learning.”
She looked at him.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not taking over.”
Mateo slipped his hands into his coat pockets.
“You didn’t need me to.”
Josie looked through the restaurant window.
Nathaniel was gone.
For years, she had imagined what she might say if she could confront him without fear.
She had expected some grand speech.
Instead, the most important words had been simple.
Never touch me again.
Mateo’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“When?”
Josie watched him.
“What happened?”
Mateo ended the call.
“Nathaniel didn’t come here only to meet you.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What did he do?”
“He sent someone to your storage warehouse while we were occupied.”
“The drive?”
“We moved it.”
“Then what was he looking for?”
Mateo stared at her.
“Your original project files.”
Josie frowned.
“Why?”
Then she remembered the hidden partition.
Nathaniel had stored records inside her files once.
What if he had done it more than once?
They raced to the warehouse.
The door had been forced open.
Boxes lay everywhere.
Models smashed.
Drawings torn.
Josie walked through the wreckage of her old career.
Then she stopped.
The model of the transitional-housing project was missing.
“Mateo.”
He came beside her.
“He took it.”
“Why that one?”
Josie closed her eyes, mentally reconstructing the model.
Bedrooms.
Community kitchen.
Counseling offices.
Emergency exits.
Then she remembered something.
The base.
She had built the model herself.
The base contained a hollow compartment where she stored a backup memory card during presentations.
Nathaniel knew that.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“There’s another copy.”
“Of the ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
Josie looked at him.
“But Nathaniel thinks there is.”
Mateo’s phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared.
Nathaniel holding the missing architectural model.
Beneath it was a message.
You should have stayed the woman I married.
Josie read it twice.
Then something remarkable happened.
She stopped being afraid.
She smiled.
Mateo looked at her.
“What?”
“Nathaniel made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“He thinks he knows where the compartment is.”
“And?”
“I redesigned that model after he last saw it.”
Mateo slowly understood.
“The compartment moved.”
Josie nodded.
“And he has the wrong half.”
Back at the warehouse, she lifted a broken section Nathaniel had discarded.
Her fingers found a hidden latch.
Inside sat a tiny memory card.
Nathaniel had stolen the model.
But the evidence he wanted had been left behind.
Josie held the card between two fingers.
For years, Nathaniel had treated her intelligence like an inconvenience.
Tonight, it had beaten him.