Jonathan Mercer.
For thirty years, Mercer had served as a senior investigator with the financial crimes division. He had retired after exposing several major fraud cases and had since worked as an independent adviser on complex financial investigations.
Eleanor knew his reputation.
She did not know why he was standing beside Daniel.
Nor did she know why Daniel kept glancing toward her with an expression that seemed to contain both regret and warning.
When the orchestra began a new song, Eleanor excused herself from a conversation and walked toward the terrace.
The night air was cold.
She stood beside the stone railing, gripping it with both hands, trying to slow her breathing.
Behind her, the ballroom glowed with golden light.
She could hear the music through the open doors.
For several seconds, she considered leaving.
She could tell the organizers that she was unwell. She could ask her assistant to finish the speeches. She could disappear into a waiting car and never see Daniel again.
But she had spent too many years letting other people's decisions determine the direction of her life.
If he had returned to hurt her, she would meet him.
If he had returned to apologize, she would decide whether his apology deserved to be heard.
And if he had returned because he needed something from her, she would make him say it plainly.
The terrace door opened.
Eleanor did not turn.
"I wondered whether you would come outside," Daniel said.
His voice was almost exactly as she remembered it.
A little deeper, perhaps.
More restrained.
But still unmistakably his.
She closed her eyes.
"Seven years," she said.
He said nothing.
"Seven years, Daniel. And that is the first thing you say to me?"
He took a step closer.
"I know."
"No. You don't know."
She turned toward him.
For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to look at him without pretending that she was unaffected.
He had changed.
There were faint lines around his eyes, and a small amount of gray had appeared at his temples. His face had grown leaner. The easy confidence she remembered had been replaced by something more guarded.
But he was still Daniel.
And that made her furious.
"You look well," she said bitterly.
He accepted the cruelty without protest.
"You do too."
"Don't."
"I wasn't trying to—"
"Don't tell me what you were trying to do."
He stopped.
Eleanor laughed once, without humor.
"Do you know how many times I imagined seeing you again? How many times I rehearsed what I would say? I thought I would ask why. I thought I would demand to know whether any of it had been real."
Her voice trembled.
"But now that you're standing here, I realize I don't even know where to begin."
"Then let me begin."
"No."
He looked at her.
"I need you to hear me."
"You had seven years to speak."
"I know."
"You had my address. You knew where I worked. You knew what happened to my father. You knew what the newspapers said about me."
Daniel lowered his eyes.
"Yes."
"And you did nothing."
"I did not do nothing."
She stared at him.
"Then what did you do?"
He hesitated.
It was the hesitation that destroyed the last of her patience.
"Exactly," she whispered. "You still cannot tell the truth."
"Eleanor, I came back because—"
"Because what? You want forgiveness? You want to explain that you were young and frightened? You want me to understand that leaving the woman you claimed to love was somehow an act of kindness?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
Daniel looked toward the ballroom.
"Because someone is trying to reopen the investigation into your foundation, and this time they intend to make certain that you cannot defend yourself."
Eleanor went still.
"What investigation?"
"The old financial scandal."
"That was settled."
"The criminal case against you was dismissed. That does not mean the people responsible for the fraud stopped protecting themselves."
She stared at him.
"Who is trying to reopen it?"
"Richard Ashford."
Eleanor's expression changed.
"Your father is dead."
"Yes."
"Then how can he be trying to do anything?"
"Because he left instructions. He left money, documents, and a network of people who still answer to him."
Daniel took a folded document from the inside pocket of his jacket.
"I found something three months ago. It proves that the transfers continued after your father died."
Eleanor did not take it.
"Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't. Not without evidence."
"Then give it to the police."
"I have."
"And?"
"They are investigating. But the people involved have access to the original records, and some of those records are missing."
Eleanor crossed her arms.
"That sounds like a problem for the police."
"It is. But the foundation's new medical initiative is about to receive funding from a company connected to those transfers."
She felt a chill move through her.
"What company?"
"Meridian Global."
The name was unfamiliar.
Daniel continued.
"They are one of the largest donors to your new project. Their money appears legitimate. Their public records are clean. But the company is connected to an investment fund my father used to hide the missing assets."
Eleanor stared at him.
"Who approved the donation?"
"I don't know."
"I approved it."
Daniel's face tightened.
"Then you need to look at the documents again."
She stepped away from him.
"No."
"Eleanor—"
"No. You do not get to walk into my life after seven years and tell me that everything I have worked for is about to collapse again."
"I know what this sounds like."
"You know nothing about what it sounds like."
She pointed toward the ballroom.
"Do you see those people? They trust me. The hospitals trust me. The families who will receive treatment through this program trust me. I have spent seven years rebuilding something after the last time people like you destroyed it."
Daniel's face grew pale.
"I know."
"Stop saying that."
She turned toward the door.
He did not try to stop her.
That should have made leaving easier.
Instead, she paused with her hand on the handle.
Without looking back, she asked the question she had carried for seven years.
"Did you ever love me?"
The silence behind her was unbearable.
Then Daniel answered.
"Every day."
She closed her eyes.
For a moment, she was twenty-five again, standing in the little apartment by the river, listening to the man she loved promise that they would never lie to each other.
She turned.
"Then why did you leave?"
Daniel looked at her, and the grief in his expression frightened her more than any explanation could have.
"Because I believed that if I stayed, they would destroy you."
"Who?"
"My father. Yours. The people who were willing to kill to protect what they had stolen."
Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face.
"Kill?"
Daniel took a breath.
"Your mother did not die in an ordinary accident."
The world seemed to stop.
For several seconds, Eleanor could hear nothing except the distant orchestra.
"What did you say?"
Daniel held her gaze.
"I found evidence that your mother had discovered the financial fraud before she died. She was preparing to expose both our fathers. The report I found suggested that the accident was connected to her investigation."
Eleanor shook her head.
"No."
"I am sorry."
"No."
She backed away from him.
"You knew?"
"I found the report shortly before I left."
"You knew my mother might have been murdered, and you never told me?"
"I was trying to find evidence that could prove it."
"You knew, Daniel!"
Her voice broke across the terrace.
He looked as though she had struck him.
"I know."
She slapped him.
The sound was sharp, startlingly loud.
Daniel did not move.
Eleanor stared at her own hand.
For a moment, she could not believe she had done it.
Then she looked at him again.
"That is for the seven years you stole from me."
He nodded slowly.
"I deserved it."
"No. You don't get to decide what you deserve."
She pushed past him and returned to the ballroom.
The moment she entered, the lights seemed too bright.
People were laughing.
Glasses were clinking.
A waiter was carrying a silver tray of champagne.
The world had continued while hers had fallen apart.
Eleanor walked toward the nearest table, placed both hands on its edge, and tried to remember how to breathe.
Her assistant, Sophie Bennett, noticed her immediately.
Sophie had worked with Eleanor for four years and had become the closest thing Eleanor had to family. She was practical, sharp-tongued, and entirely unimpressed by wealthy men who mistook their money for character.
She took one look at Eleanor's face.
"What happened?"
Eleanor shook her head.
"Not here."
Sophie guided her toward a quiet corridor behind the ballroom.
"Sit down."
"I can't."