Chapter 6 - The Man Behind the Gun
I resigned on a Monday.
The letter was one page.
After eleven months of solving impossible problems for Dante Marino, I discovered that leaving required only four paragraphs and a signature.
He read it without interruption.
Then he opened a drawer and took out another envelope.
My stomach tightened.
“If that’s a check large enough to purchase my conscience, I’m going to be annoyed.”
“It’s your final pay and accrued leave.”
“Oh.”
“Marianne reviewed it.”
“Then I assume it’s devastatingly lawful.”
His mouth curved, but the smile didn’t last.
“You should know what happens next.”
We sat across from each other with my resignation between us.
Dante had begun meeting with prosecutors through counsel. There would be no sweeping promise of immunity. He would have to disclose his own conduct, corroborate his account, and accept that cooperation did not erase what he had done.
Some men in his organization were already calling him a traitor.
Others were quietly looking for attorneys.
Victor had sent flowers.
White roses.
Dante had thrown them away.
“I may go to prison,” he said.
“I assumed.”
“For years.”
“I understand years.”
He looked down at my letter.
“I won’t ask you to wait.”
The sentence hurt in a place I had been trying not to name.
I stood and walked to the window.
Below us, Chicago moved through its ordinary Monday. A cyclist shouted at a taxi. Two office workers shared an umbrella badly. Somewhere, people were having problems that could be solved with a replacement tire.
“Dante.”
He looked up.
“I’m not staying because I need my salary.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not interested in becoming a reward for your good behavior.”
His expression tightened.
“That isn’t what I—”
“I know. I need to hear myself say it.”
He nodded.
I came back to the desk.
“I like you. Which is inconvenient and, frankly, evidence that exhaustion damages judgment.”
A startled breath left him.
I continued before courage abandoned me.
“But I need to find out who I am when I’m not putting out fires for someone else. And you need to make these choices even if I never kiss you.”
His gaze lowered briefly to my mouth.
“That last part seems unnecessarily severe.”
I laughed.
Then he did.
Quietly this time. A sound made for a room with only two people in it.
He stood.
“May I take you to dinner?”
“After my last official day.”
“Friday?”
“Somewhere without private guards standing behind the breadbasket.”
“I’ll make inquiries.”
That evening, my independent consultant called with an update on Leo’s facility.
Someone had tried to obtain his transfer schedule.
There was no transfer schedule.
Leo had told only me that he wanted to explore supported housing.
I felt the room go cold.
“Who asked?”
“A caller claiming to work for your employer.”
I contacted Ruth first.
Then Dante.
He arrived twenty minutes later with Nico, who looked furious.
“Only three people had access to the facility correspondence,” Nico said. “Me, Dante, and the office administrator.”
“Beth?” I asked.
Beth had pictures of her grandchildren on her desk. She reminded everyone to submit expense receipts. She had once brought me cold medicine.
Dante called her.
No answer.
Nico called again.
This time, someone picked up.
A man spoke.
“Good evening, Dante.”
Victor.
I watched Dante’s face harden.
“Where is Beth?”
“Safe. For the moment.”
“What do you want?”
“A private conversation. You, me, and whatever Clara left behind.”
Dante didn’t move.
Victor sighed.
“You’ve always needed women to explain consequences to you. Let me be plain. Beth has a son. Gambling problems. I’ve been generous.”
I thought of Beth quietly forwarding emails, trapped by one frightened compromise after another.
Then Victor added, “Your secretary has made an expensive mess.”
I stepped closer to the phone.
“Former secretary.”
Silence.
“Emily,” Victor said at last.
“You’re running out of people to blame.”
Dante’s eyes met mine.
For the first time since the photograph appeared, I didn’t feel alone inside my fear.
May you like
Ruth was already calling investigators from the other room.
And Dante, who once would have answered a threat with a gun, kept his hands empty.
