“Because companies become dangerous when people at the top decide the rules only apply to strangers.”
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then she added, “And because I don't want you wondering whether I helped you in order to make you feel indebted to me.”
I looked toward my hands.
She had understood something I hadn't said aloud.
The debt frightened me.
But the thought of needing rescue from a wealthy woman I'd only just met frightened me in a different way.
I had spent years providing for Maya.
I wanted to keep doing that.
I didn't want a relationship built on somebody paying for my life.
Vanessa leaned forward.
“Marcus.”
I looked up.
“I'm not offering to buy your garage or pay your bills.”
I felt unexpected relief.
She continued.
“I'm offering to help establish what happened. You make your own decisions about your business.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
She smiled faintly.
Then I asked about Arthur Bell.
Her expression changed.
“He worked with my father's company before Northstar became what it is today. He's been involved in property and credit investments for decades.”
I considered that.
“Dad knew him in the nineties.”
Vanessa nodded slowly.
“Does that mean something?”
I looked toward the photograph of Theo standing outside the garage in 1991.
“Maybe.”
Then I remembered another photograph.
A picture taken during the shop's fifth anniversary.
Dad stood beside a group of employees.
A small cake rested on a workbench.
And near the back of the photograph stood a man wearing an expensive suit.
His left wrist displayed a distinctive gold watch.
Arthur Bell.
I opened an old drawer.
Searched through a stack of photographs.
Then found it.
Vanessa leaned closer.
Her expression changed.
“That's Arthur.”
I nodded.
“He came to the shop several times. Offered Dad money for the property.”
She looked toward me.
“What happened?”
“Dad refused.”
“Why?”
I considered that.
Then shook my head.
“I never knew the whole story.”
Vanessa studied the photograph.
For several seconds, she remained quiet.
Then she whispered, “I think we need to find out.”
That afternoon, Danielle arrived with a lawyer named Rachel Ortiz.
Rachel was in her early forties, practical, sharp-eyed, and entirely unimpressed by expensive titles.
She introduced herself to Vanessa without hesitation.
Then looked toward me.
“I've reviewed the documents you sent.”
I took a breath.
“And?”
She placed her briefcase on the desk.