Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO READ BETWEEN THE NUMBERS
I didn't answer Lucas's message immediately.
I wasn't foolish.
A man with his reputation didn't become trustworthy simply because he recognized an accounting discrepancy.
I called my attorney instead.
Her name was Natalie Brooks.
Forty-two.
Sharp-eyed.
Impatient with nonsense.
She had helped establish my consulting company three years earlier and was one of the only people who knew its real ownership.
When I explained the Blackwater filings, she went quiet.
“Grace, have you signed anything relating to your mother's trust recently?”
“No.”
“Anything at all?”
“Father tried.”
“What did he ask you to sign?”
“A trust acknowledgment.”
“Did you keep a copy?”
“No. I refused before he gave me one.”
Natalie exhaled.
“Good.”
I stared at the computer.
“Why?”
“Because depending on the terms, he may have wanted your consent to a transaction involving trust assets.”
My stomach tightened.
“Can he use Mother's shares without my approval?”
“That depends on the governing documents and his authority as trustee. We need to review them.”
I closed my eyes.
For years, I'd been proud of my independence.
I ran my own business.
Managed my money.
Made my decisions.
But I'd allowed my father to oversee my mother's estate because I believed he would protect it.
I hadn't questioned him.
Not seriously.
Not until tonight.
Natalie continued.
“Do not confront him with accusations until we've confirmed the records.”
I nodded.
“And Lucas DeLuca?”
She hesitated.
“What about him?”
“He says Father is using the trust improperly.”
A long silence followed.
Then Natalie asked, “Why is Lucas DeLuca contacting you?”
“Apparently he appreciates women with imaginary cats.”
“Grace.”
“I'm serious.”
“Unfortunately, I believe you.”
I told her about the gala.
The hotel projection.
The terrace.
Lucas's suspicion.
When I finished, Natalie sighed.
“You've attracted a very complicated man's attention.”
“I noticed.”
“Don't give him confidential documents.”
“I won't.”
“And don't let his interest in your father convince you he's on your side.”
I stared out at the city.
“Understood.”
The next afternoon, I met Lucas in a public restaurant at the Peninsula.
His suggestion had been a private office.
I declined.
He accepted without argument.
That surprised me.
He arrived wearing a charcoal suit and a watch worth more than my first car.
No bodyguards at the table.
No entourage.
Just Lucas.
He sat opposite me.
“Miss Mercer.”
“Mr. DeLuca.”
His mouth curved.
“No cats today?”
“They're attending a wellness retreat.”
“Kevin?”
“Emotionally fragile.”
Lucas laughed.
I hated how much I liked the sound.
Then I placed my phone on the table.
“Let's be clear. I'm here because you mentioned my mother's trust.”
His expression became serious.
“Good.”
“What do you know?”
He leaned forward.
“Your father has been negotiating a transfer of control over several Mercer Hospitality assets.”
I felt cold.
“To whom?”
“Entities connected to my uncle.”
“Why?”
“Because he's in financial trouble.”
I swallowed.
“How much?”
Lucas studied me.
“Potentially more than sixty million dollars.”
My breath stopped.
“That can't be right.”
“I'm hoping it isn't.”
I looked away.
Sixty million.
My father had been arranging marriage meetings while an enormous financial hole widened beneath our family.
Lucas continued.
“The Blackwater project appears to be carrying obligations that were not disclosed in the presentation.”
I nodded slowly.
“I found the refinancing records.”
He looked impressed.
“Already?”
“I've been awake.”
“Apparently.”
I opened my tablet.
“Your valuation model contains duplicated income. The forecast assumes convention revenue will increase by thirty-eight percent without a corresponding change in bookings.”
Lucas glanced at the screen.
I continued.
“The property tax estimate is also outdated, and operating expenses are understated by nearly seven million over the projection period.”
He stared at me.
Then smiled.
“Your father told me you disliked numbers.”
I looked up.
“My father tells people whatever makes me easier to manage.”
Lucas's expression changed.
There was no amusement now.
Only attention.
“What's your actual profession, Grace?”
I hesitated.
Then made a decision.
“Hospitality consulting.”
“What kind?”
“Acquisition underwriting. Restructuring. Revenue strategy.”
He leaned back.
“And how good are you?”
I met his eyes.
“Very.”
Lucas smiled slowly.
“I thought so.”
I closed my tablet.
“Don't mistake that for an invitation to hire me.”
He laughed softly.
“I wouldn't dare.”
Then he became serious.
“Grace, there's something else you need to know.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What?”
“Your father approached my family about a marriage alliance.”
I froze.
“With whom?”
Lucas watched me carefully.
“With me.”
I stared.
Then laughed.
Surely he'd misunderstood.
My father had spent the evening trying to marry me to Ethan Romano.
Lucas shook his head.
“I'm serious.”
The laughter died.
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
I felt sick.
“What did he offer?”
Lucas's eyes darkened.
“His daughter's hand in marriage.”
A pause.
“And access to a controlling interest in the Blackwater Grand.”
I stared at him.
Then whispered, “You refused.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lucas looked directly into my eyes.
“Because I don't buy women.”
May you like
For the first time since meeting him, I had absolutely nothing clever to say.
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