Chapter 3 - THE COFFEE ROMAN NEVER FINISHED
I returned home after four days.
Roman offered a Moretti—no, Calder safe apartment.
I refused.
He looked like saying no physically injured him.
I chose Mrs. Adler’s building instead.
Police patrols.
One security officer across the street.
My choice.
Caleb counted him as “acceptable because he stays outside.”
Roman agreed.
Progress.
Then an independent doctor called me.
Roman had authorized a full review of his medical records.
Why?
Because one of Evelyn’s kidnappers had said something during questioning:
The cook noticed the episodes.
Episodes.
I knew exactly what he meant.
For eight months Roman had occasionally looked wrong after evening meetings.
Not drunk.
He barely drank.
Pale.
Unsteady.
Slower speech.
Once I found him gripping the kitchen counter at midnight.
“You should sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You're holding marble like it owes you money.”
He almost smiled.
Then sat.
Evelyn had arrived ten minutes later.
She said Roman suffered from panic attacks.
I believed her.
Why wouldn’t I?
Then came the nightmare in the library.
Then me.
Then warehouse.
Roman’s independent testing found traces consistent with repeated exposure to a medication he had never been prescribed.
Not enough to explain every symptom.
Enough to demand investigation.
I sat across from him in his office two weeks after my rescue.
“What did you eat before the episodes?”
Roman looked offended.
“You cooked most of it.”
“I know.”
Then realization.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Your drinks.”
The kitchen prepared his coffee.
Water.
Occasional whiskey.
But private dinner service changed three months earlier.
Evelyn hired a “wellness concierge” that delivered herbal infusions, mineral drinks and supplements for high-stress executives.
I had hated it because nothing came through my kitchen.
“Company name?”
Roman asked.
“Aster House.”
Dante searched purchasing records.
There it was.
ASTER HOUSE WELLNESS CONSULTING
$9,800 monthly.
Charged to executive services.
Roman frowned.
“I never hired them.”
“Evelyn did.”
He looked at me.
I continued:
“And I asked about it.”
“When?”
“Monday.”
Day before I disappeared.
My skin went cold.
The invoice had arrived inside the kitchen office by mistake.
I told Evelyn's assistant we had never received any of the listed products.
Two hours later, Evelyn herself came into the kitchen.
She smiled.
Said accounting had misrouted the bill.
Then asked whether I had told anyone.
I said no.
At the time, I thought she was embarrassed.
Now?
I had just announced myself as a witness.
Dante dug deeper.
Aster House had no clinic.
No employees except two nominal directors.
Its registered address was a mailbox.
Payments eventually moved to another company.
Then another.
Final beneficiary?
A trust controlled by the wife of Calder Holdings CFO.
Marcus Vale.
Roman stared at the name.
“No.”
Not disbelief.
Pain.
Marcus had worked beside him for eighteen years.
Roman whispered:
“He knew my mother.”
Dante said nothing.
“He carried her coffin.”
Still nothing.
Roman looked at me.
“That’s why the warehouse men said somebody inside.”
Marcus Vale.
The man who signed half of Roman’s financial reports.
The man who approved Evelyn’s access to corporate accounts.
The man who had spent eight months telling the board Roman needed rest.
Suddenly the kidnapping was not jealousy.
May you like
It was accounting.
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