Chapter 5 - What He Tried to Buy Back
The flowers arrived at work on Thursday.
White roses.
Three enormous arrangements that took up half the reception counter.
The card contained seven words.
Let me fix what I broke. Damian.
Maya read it and handed it to me.
“What do you want done?”
“Donate the flowers somewhere they’ll be enjoyed. Keep the card for Elena.”
Daniel came out of his office while the receptionist arranged transport.
He took in the roses, my face, and Maya’s carefully controlled anger.
“Do we need to change access procedures?”
“Yes,” I said.
He nodded.
No questions about whether I had encouraged it.
No suggestion that expensive flowers made the attention flattering.
“We’ll handle it.”
The next day came a necklace.
Then a cashier’s check.
Then an offer, through attorneys, to purchase me an apartment in my name.
I declined all three.
Elena returned the property and documented the contact.
Damian responded by calling her.
Apparently, he had expected her to persuade me.
Instead, she told him that communication needed to remain within the boundaries already established.
By Saturday, he stopped sending gifts.
On Monday, he tried something worse.
Daniel called me into his office.
His expression was careful.
“Someone approached the building owner.”
My stomach tightened.
“About what?”
“Buying the property.”
I knew before he said the name.
“A Vescari holding company.”
I stared at the floor.
Of course.
If he could not reach me at home, he would purchase the place where I worked.
For one terrible second, I wanted to apologize.
To quit.
To make myself smaller so the damage would stop spreading.
Then Daniel said, “We’ve informed the owner about the circumstances. The property isn’t currently for sale.”
“What if he changes his mind?”
“Then we address that. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
I sat down because my knees had begun shaking.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel waited until I looked at him.
“Claire. This is an office problem because someone is trying to interfere with our office. It isn’t a debt you owe us.”
I had spent three years living in a home where everything given could later become evidence against me.
I did not know how to accept help that remained help.
That evening, I called Damian through the channel Elena approved.
He answered immediately.
“Claire?”
“Did you try to buy the building where I work?”
Silence.
Then, “I thought if I could make sure your position was secure—”
“By becoming my landlord?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that.”
His breathing changed.
I imagined him in the penthouse, standing beside the windows, discovering that the city did not contain enough money to make this conversation easy.
“I don’t know how to reach you,” he said.
“You keep confusing reaching me with gaining access.”
“I’m trying.”
“No. You’re spending.”
That landed.
I heard it.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “Tell me what to do.”
I looked at Ruth’s kitchen.
The chipped bowl of oranges.
The grocery list on the refrigerator.
The life I could touch without fear of leaving fingerprints.
“Tell the truth,” I said. “About the company. About my involvement. About what you knew.”
His voice dropped.
“That could become complicated.”
“My life already is.”
I ended the call before he could explain why his consequences should matter more than mine.
Two days later, Julian contacted Elena.
He had retained his own lawyer.
He wanted to provide documents.
The meeting lasted nearly four hours.
I did not attend all of it.
Some information involved business records I had never seen.
But Julian asked to speak to me afterward with both attorneys present.
“I knew they were using your portfolio,” he said.
My chest tightened.
“Did you know about the company?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know I didn’t?”
He looked directly at me.
“Yes.”
I hated him then.
Not loudly.
Not forever, perhaps.
But fully.
“Why are you helping now?”
He swallowed.
“Because Leo wants you to be responsible if the money can’t be explained.”
Elena went very still.
Julian continued.
“He’s been preparing a story. That you offered the services. That Damian trusted you. That the company was yours.”
For a moment, all I could hear was the rain from that birthday night.
Twelve men laughing.
A cake collapsing beneath my fingers.
Then I realized something that made me sit straighter.
They had chosen the wrong woman to erase.
May you like
I had spent my entire childhood proving where I had been, who had signed for me, and what belonged to whom.
For once, all that terrible practice might save me.
