Amara's POV :
Roman didn't call on Sunday.
No texts either. Just a message from William at ten AM about Thursday's charity event and three dress options attached to an email.
I picked the blue one and sent back a one-word reply.
That was it. Professional. Distant. Exactly what I'd asked for.
I spent the morning on my couch going through my father's old files, the copies I'd made before David stole the originals from my desk. Bank statements and meeting notes and emails that made less sense the more I read them.
There was a transfer from March sixteen years ago. Fifty thousand dollars from an account I didn't recognize into my father's business account. No name attached. Just a number.
I wrote it down and kept going.
Another transfer two months later. Same amount. Same mystery account.
Then nothing for six months until a meeting note dated September with just three words written in my father's handwriting.
*Can't do this.*
Can't do what?
