Chapter 8: The Partner Inside
Renata was already at the café when I arrived, sitting at a corner table with a cup of tea she hadn't touched and a leather satchel on the chair beside her.
She looked different in daylight — older than I'd estimated, mid-fifties, with the kind of stillness that comes from a long time spent being careful.
She waited until I sat down.
"Cecilia is coming," she said.
"She'll be here in twenty minutes.
I wanted to speak to you first."
"About the partner."
"Yes." She wrapped both hands around her cup.
"His name is Warren Holt.
He's been Cecilia's financial advisor for three years.
He was appointed to the role by Dominic, which Cecilia didn't know at the time — she believed he came through an independent referral." She looked at me steadily.
"Warren has been feeding Dominic information about the estate accounts, Oliver's trust structure, and Cecilia's legal consultations for at least eighteen months."
"She's been talking to her financial advisor about legal strategy?"
"She trusted him.
He was warm, thorough, always had the right answer." Renata's jaw tightened slightly.
"He also attended the banquet last night.
He was seated at the family table."
I thought back to the ballroom.
The cluster of guests near Oliver.
The man in the dark suit — Harlan.
And near the family table, someone I hadn't focused on.
Older.
Unremarkable.
The kind of person a room forgets.
"Does Cecilia know about Warren?" I asked.
"Not yet." Renata opened the satchel and placed a folder on the table between us.
"These are the transfer records.
Payments from a shell company registered in Delaware to a personal account held by Warren Holt.
Eleven payments over fourteen months.
The first one was made nine days after Cecilia's husband died."
I opened the folder.
The numbers were clean and specific, the kind that had been prepared for exactly this moment.
"And Gregor?" I asked.
"Gregor Saal.
Former pharmaceutical logistics contractor.
He has a history of sourcing restricted compounds for private clients — nothing ever prosecuted, but his name appears in three separate federal inquiries that were closed without charges." She tapped the second page.
"He met with Dominic four weeks ago.
He met with Warren Holt two weeks ago.
And he was photographed entering the catering company's warehouse the morning before the banquet."
The door of the café opened.
Cecilia came in wearing dark clothes and no jewelry, Oliver's hand in hers.
The boy looked pale but steady, a small bandage on the inside of his elbow from the hospital IV.
He looked around the café with the alert curiosity of a child who had been told something serious had happened but not yet what.
Cecilia sat down across from us.
Oliver climbed into the chair beside her and leaned against her arm.
"He wouldn't stay with the sitter," she said quietly.
"I didn't want to leave him."
"It's fine," Renata said.
She looked at Oliver for a moment — something in her expression that wasn't quite grief but was close to it.
"Hello, Oliver."
"Hello," he said politely.
Then: "Are you the lady from last night?
The green dress lady?"
"I am."
"Mama said you were trying to help."
"We all were," Renata said.
Cecilia looked at the folder on the table.
She didn't touch it yet.
"Tell me."
Renata told her.
She told her about Warren Holt in the same careful, deliberate way she'd told me about Dominic the night before.
She laid it out in order — the appointment, the payments, the meetings with Gregor, the information passed to Dominic.
She spoke quietly enough that Oliver, who had found a sugar packet to examine, didn't track the words.
Cecilia listened without moving.
When Renata finished, Cecilia was quiet for a long moment.
"Warren called me this morning," she said finally.
"To ask how Oliver was."
Neither of us said anything.
"He sounded concerned," she said.
Her voice was completely level.
"He said he'd been worried sick since he heard."
Oliver looked up from the sugar packet.
"Mr.
Warren called?"
"Yes, sweetheart." Cecilia smoothed his hair once.
"He called to check on you."
She looked back at us.
May you like
Her eyes were dry and very clear.
"What do we do?" she asked.
