Chapter 2: The $2 Million Question
At 8:40 that evening, Brandon walked into The Sapphire Room with Savannah Pierce on his arm.
The club occupied the top three floors of a limestone building on Michigan Avenue.
It wasn't technically owned by Rossi Design Group.
The operating company was.
I'd created it as part of a hospitality partnership three years earlier, and the arrangement had become extremely profitable.
Private dining.
A members-only lounge.
A luxury jewelry boutique.
Two penthouse suites.
The kind of place where people didn't ask what something cost.
They asked whether it was available.
Brandon knew that.
He had been there dozens of times.
He also knew the staff recognized him.
What he didn't know was that his name had disappeared from the authorized guest list at 4:52 that afternoon.
At 8:43, a hostess approached him.
“Good evening, Mr. Hayes.””
Brandon smiled.
“Good evening.””
“Your suite is ready.””
Savannah slipped her arm through his.
“Is it the one with the city view?””
“Yes, ma'am.””
Brandon looked pleased.
“Perfect.””
The hostess hesitated.
“May I see your identification?””
His smile faded.
“You know who I am.””
“I'm sorry, sir. New security policy.””
He handed over his driver's license.
She checked it.
Then returned it.
“Thank you.””
Savannah leaned toward him.
“What was that about?””
“Nothing.””
They followed the hostess upstairs.
The suite overlooked the Chicago River.
Candles burned on the table.
A violinist played softly near the window.
A bottle of Burgundy waited in a silver ice bucket.
Savannah sat down.
“This is incredible.””
Brandon smiled.
“You deserve incredible.””
She looked at him.
“Are you sure about all this?””
“About what?””
“The divorce.””
Brandon poured her champagne.
“Elena and I are finished.””
Savannah smiled.
“Completely?””
“Completely.””
He leaned toward her.
“You're the future.””
Savannah kissed him.
The violinist continued playing.
Neither of them noticed the security camera above the doorway.
At 9:12, they ordered dinner.
Imported oysters.
Wagyu.
Black truffle pasta.
A rare Burgundy.
Then Savannah asked to see the jewelry collection.
A boutique employee brought several velvet trays upstairs.
She opened the first.
Diamond earrings.
Savannah shook her head.
The second.
Emerald bracelet.
“No.””
The third.
A sapphire necklace.
She stopped breathing.
“Oh my God.””
The necklace was a deep blue Kashmir sapphire surrounded by diamonds.
Price:
*$198,000.*
Savannah looked at Brandon.
“I can't.””
“You can.””
“Brandon.””
“Try it on.””
The employee carefully placed it around her neck.
Savannah looked at herself in the mirror.
For the first time that night, she looked genuinely happy.
“It's perfect.””
Brandon stood behind her.
“It was made for you.””
She turned.
“That's almost two hundred thousand dollars.””
“So?””
“I can't let you spend that on me.””
He laughed.
“Don't worry.””
He reached into his jacket.
Pulled out a black corporate card.
“Put everything on this.””
The employee looked at the card.
Then at Brandon.
“Mr. Hayes, may I ask—”
“Just run it.””
She nodded.
The terminal beeped.
A red message appeared.
*DECLINED.*
Brandon frowned.
“Run it again.””
She did.
*DECLINED.*
His jaw tightened.
“There's probably a security hold.””
“Would you like another payment method?””
“Use the backup.””
He handed her a second card.
She inserted it.
The machine beeped.
*DECLINED.*
Savannah's smile disappeared.
“What's happening?””
Brandon stared at the terminal.
“Nothing.””
The employee stepped away.
“I'll get the manager.””
Brandon grabbed his phone.
He opened his banking app.
His corporate account showed a warning.
*ACCESS RESTRICTED.*
He tried another account.
*LOGIN FAILED.*
He tried his password again.
Nothing.
“What's wrong?”” Savannah asked.
“Stay here.””
“Brandon—”
“I said stay here.””
He walked toward the hallway.
His phone rang.
He answered immediately.
“Hello?””
His assistant's voice came through.
“Mr. Hayes, I think there's been a mistake.””
“What mistake?””
“The corporate accounts are locked.””
“All of them?””
“Yes.””
“Call the bank.””
“I did.””
“And?””
“They said you're no longer an authorized user.””
Brandon stopped walking.
“What?””
“They removed your authorization this afternoon.””
“Who did?””
There was silence.
“Who did it?””
The assistant swallowed.
“Ms. Rossi.””
Brandon's face went white.
“She's not allowed to do that.””
“She owns the company.””
“I know what she owns.””
He hung up.
When he returned to the suite, the club manager was waiting.
He was a tall man named Marcus Bell.
Marcus held a tablet in one hand.
“Mr. Hayes.””
Brandon glared at him.
“Get this payment processed.””
“I can't.””
“You're the manager.””
“Yes.””
“Then manage it.””
Marcus remained calm.
“Your card has been declined twice.””
“Run it again.””
“It won't work.””
“You don't know that.””
“I do.””
Brandon's voice rose.
“I have money.””
Marcus glanced at Savannah.
“I don't doubt that, sir.””
“Then what's the problem?””
“The cards belong to Rossi Design Group.””
Brandon went still.
Marcus continued.
“And the company has revoked your authorization.””
Savannah looked at Brandon.
“What does that mean?””
Brandon ignored her.
“I've been a member here for years.””
“Your membership access was tied to your status as an authorized guest.””
“And?””
“That authorization was terminated this afternoon.””
Brandon's eyes narrowed.
“By Elena.””
Marcus didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Brandon laughed once.
A sharp, humorless sound.
“She thinks this is funny.””
Marcus placed the tablet on the table.
“Sir, I need to ask you to settle the outstanding balance with another valid payment method.””
“How much?””
Marcus checked.
“Dinner and beverages are $8,460.””
Brandon exhaled.
“Fine.””
“And the jewelry purchase has not been completed.””
He looked toward the necklace.
Savannah's hand instinctively touched it.
Brandon said, “I'll handle it.””
Marcus nodded.
“Of course.””
He turned to leave.
Then stopped.
“One more thing.””
Brandon looked up.
Marcus handed him an envelope.
“Your personal belongings from the member lounge were boxed earlier today.””
Brandon stared at the envelope.
“Why?””
“Your access was revoked.””
Savannah's cheeks flushed.
“Brandon…”
He looked at her.
“What?””
“Maybe we should just go.””
His pride couldn't tolerate the suggestion.
“No.””
“Brandon.””
“I said no.””
He grabbed his phone.
“I'll call someone.””
He stepped outside the suite.
The moment the door closed, Savannah whispered to herself.
“What did he do?””
Meanwhile, three miles away, I was sitting in my father's apartment surrounded by five years of bank statements.
Dad had removed his jacket.
His tie was hanging loose around his neck.
A yellow legal pad sat beside him.
He drew a line beneath every suspicious payment.
“What exactly is Northstar?”” I asked.
“We don't know yet.””
“Then how can we know the money is fraudulent?””
“We can't.””
“Dad.””
He looked at me.
“This is why I spent thirty-one years investigating financial fraud.””
He tapped the papers.
“Money leaves a company for a reason. Payroll. Vendors. Taxes.
Materials. Contractors. Loans. Investments.””
He pointed to Northstar.
“Two million dollars went here.””
“Maybe they're a consultant.””
“Do you remember hiring them?””
“No.””
“Does your CFO?””
“I don't know.””
“Does your board?””
“We don't have a board.””
“Then who had authority?””
I looked at him.
“My CFO. My controller. Me.””
“Your ex-husband?””
I hesitated.
“He didn't officially have authority.””
Dad stared at me.
“Officially?””
I looked away.
“He handled some financial negotiations.””
“How many?””
“A few.””
“What kind?””
“Real estate. Hospitality. Vendor contracts.””
“Could he authorize payments?””
“Not directly.””
“Could he instruct someone who could?””
I didn't answer.
Dad leaned back.
“That silence is an answer.””
I stood and walked to the kitchen.
My hands were cold.
I poured water.
“Brandon never cared about the company.””
Dad looked at me.
“That's not what the records say.””
“What do they say?””
“He cared enough to spend almost two million dollars of it.””
I turned around.
“Maybe it wasn't him.””
“Maybe.””
“You don't believe that.””
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because of tonight.””
I frowned.
He pointed toward the clock.
“Eight-forty.””
“What about it?””
“That's when he walked into your club.””
“You know that?””
“I called Marcus.””
I stared at him.
“You called the manager?””
“Yes.””
“What did he tell you?””
Dad picked up his phone.
“Brandon tried to spend $311,000.””
My stomach dropped.
“What?””
“Dinner. Suite. Jewelry.””
“The necklace?””
“$198,000.””
I closed my eyes.
“He actually used the card.””
“I told you he would.””
“He knew it was frozen.””
“He didn't know when it was frozen.””
I sat down.
Dad slid another document toward me.
“This is the important part.””
I looked at it.
It was a transfer record.
The recipient was Northstar Strategic Holdings.
The amount was *$214,000*.
The date was four months earlier.
At the bottom was an internal authorization code.
I recognized it.
My code.
Except I'd never entered it.
“Dad…”
He nodded.
“I know.””
“How?””
“Because I checked the login history.””
I stared at the page.
“The transaction was made from my office.””
“Correct.””
“At 11:47 p.m.””
“Correct.””
“I was in New York that night.””
“I know.””
My heartbeat became louder.
Dad opened his laptop.
“I checked the security logs.””
He turned the screen toward me.
There was a record of a computer accessing the accounting system.
The device name appeared.
*ELENA-ROSSI-MBP.*
I shook my head.
“That was my laptop.””
“Yes.””
“It was in my apartment.””
“Was it?””
“Yes.””
“Who had the password?””
I stopped.
Brandon had.
Before our separation, he had known almost every password I used.
Email.
Netflix.
Home security.
Travel.
Sometimes banking.
I suddenly remembered something.
Three years earlier, I'd given him the password to my laptop because he needed to download a presentation while I was traveling.
I had never changed it.
Dad watched my face.
“You remembered.””
I whispered, “He had access.””
“That's what I'm afraid of.””
My phone buzzed.
A text message appeared.
*Brandon: We need to talk.*
Another arrived.
*Brandon: You have no idea what you're doing.*
Then a third.
*Brandon: If you freeze everything, people are going to get hurt.*
I showed Dad.
He read the messages twice.
Then he looked at me.
“Don't respond.””
“Why?””
“Because he just told us something.””
“What?””
“He's afraid.””
Dad picked up the legal pad.
And for the first time that night, I saw something I hadn't seen since the courthouse.
A smile.
Not happiness.
Recognition.
“He knows about the money,” Dad said.
May you like
“And?””
“He knows we found it.””
