Avery wasn’t fragile now. She was strong enough to take a lover, yet it seemed she hadn’t. There was nothing in her manner with Molina that led him to believe they were truly intimate. Molina was likely interested, but Avery seemed oblivious.
He would have to make sure she wasn’t clueless when it came to him. Not at all. She would be very, very aware of him.
“The troubling part is the missing money,” Adam said.
“Missing money?” Liam hadn’t heard about missing money.
Adam turned his computer around to show the screen to Liam. “I ran her financials last night. She should have still had that million from her trust fund. Insurance and then a research fund paid for her medical care and expenses. So where’s the money? Over the course of several years she depleted the trust. Every withdrawal was in cash and was exactly nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine dollars.”
The amount stayed below the bank’s reporting regulations. Anything over ten thousand would have been reported to the government. Someone was being sneaky. Someone didn’t want records of where she was putting her money.
“Give me the full report.” It looked like Avery Charles wasn’t quite as innocent as she looked. She was like everyone else. She had her secrets.
Liam intended to discover every single one.
* * * *
“Do you know a Lachlan Bates?” Avery polished off the last of her sandwich as her boss walked in the office.
She was sure he’d been trying to get to his desk for a good twenty minutes. When he refused to use his chair, he inevitably stopped to talk to everyone on the way from the lift to his office. Lift. She’d just thought lift instead of elevator. She was becoming so European.
She wished she had someone to send postcards to.
“Did I lose you, dear?” Thomas stood at her desk, leaning heavily on his cane, an amused look on his face. He had his cane in his right hand and a tablet in his left. He used the tablet the way most people used a laptop. Though his legs were frail, his fingers and hands weren’t. She’d watched them fly across the virtual keyboard before. She couldn’t text without feeling graceless.
She sighed and refocused. “Sorry. I was thinking about something.”
“You were thinking about Lydia and Frank Charles, weren’t you?” Thomas had always been brutally observant. Avery sometimes wondered if the man could read minds. “You get that wistful look on your face when you think of them. I wish you would allow me to reach out to them.”
She shook her head. “I’ll keep trying. Eventually perhaps they’ll forgive me.” Probably not, but she wasn’t going to ask her boss to intervene. He had enough to deal with on his own.
Thomas winked at her. He looked a little older than his thirty-nine years, as though pain had started to wear him down. He was an attractive man, but the tightness around his eyes always made her wonder how he managed the daily pain. His upper body was fit and strong, but his lower body seemed thin under his slacks. She’d never actually seen his legs. Even on the hottest days, he wore heavy slacks. He kept them completely hidden. She could understand that. She remembered how it felt to not be able to use her own legs. “If anyone can work that miracle, it’s you, Avery. You understand they have nothing to forgive you for. You’re trying to do good in the world. I admire you greatly for it.”
But her in-laws would never understand why she’d done what she did. “Thank you.” It was time to change the subject to something happier. “Apparently this Lachlan Bates person wants to do good in the world, too. To the tune of two million dollars.”
Thomas’s brown eyes widened. “Two million. That’s a nice round sum. Who is this guy? I’ve never heard of him.”
“No idea. Do you want me to work up a dossier on him?” Thomas liked to know where his money was coming from. He’d turned down a few large donations in the past because he didn’t like his fund to be used for political capital. She glanced down at the notes Simon had given her. “And it’s not exactly a round sum. The donation is for two million, one hundred and fifty thousand, five hundred and three. What an odd amount. Do you think it’s a percentage thing?”
Sometimes religious donors gave a percentage of their income.
Thomas stopped, put down his tablet and reached out for the folder. “That is odd, but not utterly out of the ordinary. It is likely a percentage for his religious beliefs or more likely for his taxes, depending on where he actually lives. I’ll take care of this, dear. Don’t worry about it. I need you completely focused on the Black and White Ball. It’s only a few weeks away.”
It was their biggest European fund-raiser of the year. It was precisely why they were in London. She was organizing a huge event. Her palms sweated a little just thinking about it. She wasn’t elegant. She wasn’t even very social. What was she doing planning a party for a thousand European socialites?
“Calm down.” Thomas touched her cheek. He was very affectionate with her. He was always encouraging and supporting her. He’d become something of a father figure. “You’re going to be fine. You’re just coordinating. The caterers and designers have impeccable tastes. Follow their lead, but don’t be afraid to let them know what you want. All right?”
“Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I need to go down and talk to the florists. I want to make sure we corner the market in London for white tulips. The event planner tells me they’re all the rage right now. Of course the event planner isn’t trying to stay in budget.” The event planner was a lovely man named Sascha who spoke with a thick New York accent and favored neon tuxedo coats. She’d been worried at first, but his style was refined and elegant outside of his personal wardrobe choices.
She stood, grabbing her bag. It was a bright day outside, one of few. She really wanted to walk in the sunshine, not be cooped up in the office. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? I could put this off.”
He shook his head. “Not at all, dear. Go. Enjoy the afternoon. You are instructed to not come back to this office until at least Monday morning.” He picked up the tablet, nestling it against the Lachlan Bates file. He started to shuffle toward his office. “And we’re only here a few more weeks. If you don’t get through the British Museum, you won’t get to see the Tower or the National Gallery or tour Churchill’s war offices. We won’t be back in London for a while. I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing. And the Eye. Make sure you take a little trip. View’s spectacular. Go on now.”