Chapter 2 - THE MAN AT THE FAMILY TABLE
Audrey arrived at her parents' house at six forty-five Friday evening.
She wore a navy dress, carried a bottle of wine, and had already prepared three responses to questions about her love life.
Her father opened the door.
"Look who's here!"
"Your favorite daughter."
"You're my only daughter."
"Then the competition is manageable."
Richard Palmer kissed her cheek.
From the dining room, her brother Ethan shouted, "Is she alone?"
Audrey closed her eyes.
"Hello to you too."
Her father chuckled.
"Don't start."
"Me?"
He smiled.
"You know how your brother is."
Yes.
She did.
Ethan was forty-two, married, financially comfortable, and convinced that having a wife and two children made him an authority on everyone else's life.
Her younger brother, Caleb, was thirty-four and had spent the past decade switching careers whenever someone suggested he should finish something.
Both were somehow qualified to critique her choices.
Audrey stepped inside.
Her mother emerged from the kitchen carrying a serving dish.
"Sweetheart! You're late."
"I'm fifteen minutes early."
"Well, dinner's almost ready."
Her mother looked behind her.
Then smiled too brightly.
"Just you?"
Audrey's stomach tightened.
"Yes, Mom."
"Oh. Well."
There it was.
That tiny disappointed sound.
The one Audrey had heard at twenty-five.
At thirty.
At thirty-five.
As though being unmarried at thirty-nine meant she had missed a train everyone else had boarded.
She followed her mother into the dining room.
And stopped.
A stranger sat beside her brother Ethan.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Expensive suit.
A heavy gold ring on his right hand.
He stood when she entered.
"Audrey Palmer."
His smile was smooth.
Too smooth.
"Victor Hale."
Audrey shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you."
Her father appeared behind her.
"Victor's working with Ethan on a major investment."
Ethan grinned.
"Biggest deal of my career."
Audrey looked at the documents spread beside Victor's plate.
Her professional instincts stirred.
She was a corporate risk consultant.
She spent her days identifying financial arrangements that looked legitimate until someone examined the ownership structures.
Victor's company name caught her attention.
Hale Meridian Holdings.
She had heard it before.
Not in a good context.
"Interesting," she said.
Victor smiled.
"What is?"
"Your company."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You know it?"
"Only the name."
Ethan laughed.
"Audrey analyzes everything. It's exhausting."
Victor studied her.
"Then perhaps she should analyze something pleasant tonight."
Audrey smiled politely.
"Perhaps."
She sat.
Her phone vibrated.
Dominic: Did you survive the family entrance?
Audrey stared.
Then smiled.
Audrey: Barely. They're already counting.
Dominic: What's the current wager?
Audrey: Thirty dollars and my remaining dignity.
Dominic: The dignity seems underpriced.
She laughed quietly.
Ethan noticed.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing."
"Someone texting you?"
Audrey looked up.
"Yes."
Her mother brightened.
"A man?"
Audrey put down her phone.
"Mom."
Ethan grinned.
"Come on. Tell us."
Audrey looked around the table.
At the expectant faces.
At Victor Hale watching her with unsettling interest.
Then she said, "Actually, yes."
Silence.
Her father blinked.
"Really?"
Audrey nodded.
"Really."
Ethan laughed.
"What's his name?"
She hesitated.
Then said it.
"Dominic Serrano."
Victor Hale's wineglass stopped halfway to his mouth.
The change was so sudden that Audrey noticed immediately.
Her brother didn't.
"Sounds fictional," Ethan said.
Audrey smiled.
"He's very real."
Victor slowly lowered his glass.
"Dominic Serrano?"
Audrey turned toward him.
"You know him?"
Victor's smile returned.
But his eyes were cold.
"By reputation."
"What reputation?"
He studied her.
Then said softly, "Miss Palmer, I would be extremely careful around that man."
Audrey's phone vibrated again.
Dominic: One question. Is anyone named Victor Hale at your dinner?
Her blood went cold.
She looked up.
Victor was watching her.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
Dominic: If he is, don't sign anything. And don't leave with him.
