He had worked beside her father for most of her adult life.
Robert trusted him.
Katherine had trusted him because Robert did.
That inheritance of trust had never felt dangerous before.
“Ohio is operating at sixty-three percent capacity,” Adrian said.
A graph filled the wall screen.
“Arkansas at sixty-eight.”
Katherine listened.
Around the table sat operations, legal, strategy, and finance.
Adrian continued.
“If we consolidate production into Tennessee, annual savings exceed forty-two million.”
Katherine looked at the report.
Normally she would already have questions.
Instead she saw Mason Cross standing beside Adrian in the photograph.
She forced herself to focus.
“Severance exposure?”
General counsel answered.
“Estimated thirteen point seven.”
“Community incentives we'd repay?”
“Five point two.”
Adrian smiled faintly.
“Still compelling.”
Katherine looked toward him.
“How is Mason?”
A tiny silence.
Barely visible.
Adrian recovered.
“My cousin?”
“Yes.”
“Fine, I assume.”
“You assume?”
“We're not close.”
Interesting.
The photograph was three years old.
Maybe true.
Katherine continued casually.
“He works with vintage cars.”
“So I've heard.”
“Did my father ever use his shop?”
Adrian’s eyes shifted.
Not much.
Enough.
“I couldn't say.”
Katherine smiled.
“Of course.”
He went back to the presentation.
She watched him differently now.
That was dangerous.
James had warned her.
Don't accuse.
Don't build guilt backward from suspicion.
Katherine understood in business.
A theory could ruin a decision long before facts appeared.
Still, she noticed details.
Adrian asked nothing about the Ferrari.
That was strange because he had repeatedly encouraged her to sell it.
Three times since Robert's death.
Once he even sent valuation information.
Katherine had assumed he was being practical.
Now she remembered his exact words.
Your father was sentimental about that car. You don't have to inherit all his attachments.
At the time, the sentence irritated her.
Now it sounded different.
After the meeting, Katherine called James.
He answered:
“Cooper.”
“You know phones identify callers now.”
“I work with engines older than caller ID.”
“What did you find?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“James.”
He was silent.
Then:
“Come here.”
Katherine stood.
“What?”
“Don't discuss this by phone.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I found something that has nothing to do with the engine.”
Twenty-two minutes later, Katherine was in the company elevator.
She canceled two meetings.
Her assistant looked horrified.
Katherine said only:
“Family issue.”
That was technically true.
She drove herself.
No company driver.
No security.
For the first time in years, she wanted nobody knowing where she was going.
James's garage appeared at eleven nineteen.
The missing C bothered her less this time.
She entered.
James stood beside the Ferrari.
No jokes.
Olivia was at school.
The dog slept.
James held a small plastic bag.
Inside was a brass key.
Katherine stared.
“What is that?”
“Found behind the passenger-side kick panel.”
“Why were you removing interior trim?”
“I wasn't.”
He pointed toward the floor.
“One fastening screw was newer than everything around it.”