He was already there.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Narragansett Bay. Santino sat behind a black walnut desk, dressed in charcoal trousers and a black shirt.

No jacket.

His tattooed forearms rested beside three folders.

“You came.”

“I need money.”

His eyebrow lifted.

Emily put her bag down.

“You wanted honesty.”

“I did.”

“So let's not pretend loyalty brought me here.”

Santino slid the middle folder toward her.

“My schedule.”

Emily opened it.

Twenty-seven appointments.

“Half of these overlap.”

“I know.”

“Three people have you in Boston and Providence simultaneously.”

“I know.”

“And somebody scheduled a meeting with Lombardi Maritime at the exact time you're supposed to meet your physical therapist.”

“I know.”

Emily looked up.

“Then why haven't you fixed it?”

“Because I wanted to know how quickly you would notice.”

She stared at him.

“You're testing me?”

“Everyone gets tested.”

“Do you test everyone by falling into swimming pools?”

That earned a genuine smile.

“No.”

By noon, Emily had reorganized his calendar.

By three, she'd discovered duplicate invoices.

By five, she had found something worse.

A payment.

$48,000.

The recipient made her stop breathing.

TAYLOR LOGISTICS CONSULTING.

Her father's company.

A company that had ceased existing three years earlier.

She heard Santino's chair behind her.

Emily closed the file.

Too late.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing.”

Santino stopped.

“Yesterday you jumped into ten feet of water without thinking. Today you can't look at me.”

Emily forced herself to turn.

“Maybe I’m tired.”

“Try again.”

She hated how observant he was.

“It's an accounting discrepancy.”

“Which one?”

“I can handle it.”

“Emily.”

The first-name familiarity startled her.

He held out his hand.

“Give me the file.”

She didn't.

His expression changed.

Not anger.

Recognition.

“You've seen that company before.”

Emily's fingers tightened.

“My father owned it.”

Silence filled the office.

Santino's hand slowly lowered.

“Your father was Daniel Taylor?”

“Yes.”

Santino looked toward the windows.

Emily watched his face.

“You knew him.”

“I knew of him.”

“That's not what I asked.”

Santino turned back.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

Emily swallowed.

“The truth.”

“About?”

“My father's death.”

The office went completely still.

Three years earlier, Daniel Taylor had been accused of stealing nearly two million dollars from a Ferrara-controlled shipping company.

Two weeks later, he died in a highway accident.

Everyone called it guilt.

Emily never believed it.

Santino spoke quietly.

“Is that why you took a job here?”

“Yes.”

“You lied on your application.”

“I omitted things.”

“That is an elegant description.”

“You've probably used worse ones.”

Another pause.

Then Santino surprised her.

“Sit.”

“I'd rather stand.”

“Fine.”

He opened the drawer beside him and removed an old black folder.

He placed it on the desk.

Emily saw her father's name.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“You had this?”

“For three years.”

She reached for it.

Santino covered it with his palm.

“Before you open this, understand something.”

“What?”

“I never believed your father stole that money.”

Emily froze.

“Then why did everyone say he did?”

“Because someone needed us to believe it.”

“Who?”

Santino looked toward the closed office door.

“That is the question that nearly got me killed yesterday.”