Chapter Two

You hired who?"

Marcus Reed's voice crackled through Caden's phone speaker, sharp with disbelief. Caden loosened his tie and dropped into his desk chair, exhaustion from back-to-back meetings settling up into his shoulders.

"Ella Valentine. She's a curator from London. Brilliant portfolio, impeccable references, exactly what the gallery needs." Caden pulled up her application on his computer screen, studying the professional headshot that accompanied it. Something about her still nagged at him. "Why do you sound like I just told you I hired a serial killer?"

"Because you're terrible at reading people, that's why." Marcus sighed heavily. "Look, I'm sure she's qualified, but you can't just hire someone without proper vetting. Remember the accountant incident?"

"That was two years ago, and we caught the embezzlement before any real damage was done." Caden rubbed his temples. "I did vet her, Marcus. Extensively. Everything checks out."

"Did you run a background check?"

"Her credentials are legitimate. I called the Ashford Gallery myself."

"And?"

"And they gave her a glowing recommendation." Caden clicked through the rest of Ella's file. "She increased their revenue by thirty percent in eighteen months. She has connections with emerging artists that most curators would kill for. She's perfect for what I'm trying to build."

Silence stretched across the line. Then Marcus spoke again, his tone careful. "Caden, have you considered that maybe you're rushing this because the anniversary is coming up?"

Caden's hand stilled on the mouse. "Don't."

"It's been five years next month. Five years since…."

"I know exactly how long it's been." Caden's voice came out harsher than intended. He forced himself to breathe. "This has nothing to do with that."

"Doesn't it? You've been obsessed with changing the gallery, making it into something different, something that would make James proud. You're looking for redemption in a business decision."

"James is dead because of my father." The words tasted like ash. "Because I wasn't strong enough to stop him. Redemption isn't possible, Marcus. I'm just trying to do something right for once."

Another pause. "Have you heard from her? From Isabella?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Caden closed his eyes, seeing her face as it had been that last day, devastation and fury and grief all mixed together. "No. Not since the funeral. I tried to find her, you know that. She vanished completely."

"Maybe that's for the best."

"Is it?" Caden stood, pacing to the window. The city sprawled below him, indifferent to his guilt. "She said she'd make me pay. Then she disappeared. Sometimes I wonder if she's out there planning something, or if she just wanted to forget we all existed."

"Honestly? I hope she forgot. I hope she's happy somewhere, living a completely different life." Marcus's voice softened. "We both failed her, Caden. Me for not protecting Dad's company better, you for not standing up to Derek. But drowning in guilt won't bring her father back."

"I know." But knowing didn't make it easier. "Look, I need to go. Board meeting in twenty minutes."

"Just promise me you'll be careful with this new hire. Trust your instincts."

Caden glanced back at the photo of Ella Valentine on his screen. "My instincts say she's going to help me build something important. I'll talk to you later, Marcus."

He ended the call and sat in silence, studying the image. There was something in the set of her jaw, the way she held herself in the photograph. Familiar but impossible to place.

His office door opened without warning. Derek Cross entered like he owned the place, because in his mind, he probably did. Seventy years old and still commanding every room he walked into, his silver hair perfectly styled, his suit custom-tailored to his lean frame.

"Father." Caden didn't stand. Small rebellions were all he had left. "I don't recall scheduling a meeting."

"Since when do I need an appointment to see my son?" Derek moved to the Rothko print, examining it with thinly veiled disdain. "Still wasting wall space on this abstract nonsense, I see."

"It's my office. My gallery."

"Built with my money. My connections. My name." Derek turned, his pale eyes cold. "Speaking of which, I heard you're planning to shift the gallery's focus. Contemporary American artists, instead of the established European masters we've built our reputation on."

Of course, he'd heard. Derek had informants everywhere.

"The market is changing," Caden said evenly. "We need to evolve."

"The market is fine. What you need is to stop trying to prove something that doesn't need proving." Derek stepped closer to the desk. "You're a Cross, Caden. Act like it. This sentimentality, this obsession with meaning and purpose, It's weakness. James Reed's weakness, and look where it got him."

Rage flared hot in Caden's chest. "Don't you dare…."

"What? Speak the truth?" Derek's smile was sharp as a blade. "Reed ran his business on feelings and ethics and look what happened. He failed. Lost everything. Died broken. Is that what you want?"

"I want to build something I'm not ashamed of," Caden said quietly. "Something that doesn't require destroying people to succeed."

"Then you'll fail too." Derek moved toward the door, then paused. "Oh, I nearly forgot. I heard you hired a new curator. Ella Valentine, from London. Interesting choice."

Something in his father's tone made Caden's instincts scream. "You know her?"

"Never heard of her before today." Derek's expression was unreadable. "But I'm having my people look into her background anyway. Can't be too careful with new employees, especially ones with access to your business operations. The art world attracts all sorts of con artists and thieves."

"I've already vetted her thoroughly."

"I'm sure you have." Derek opened the door. "Still, humor your old father. Let me run my own check. If she's legitimate, wonderful. If not, better to know now before she causes problems."

He left before Caden could respond, the door clicking shut with finality.

Caden stared at Ella's photo again, his father's words echoing in his mind. Con artists and thieves. Was his paranoia justified, or was Derek just trying to maintain control?

His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: "Looking forward to starting tomorrow. Thank you again for the opportunity. —EV"

Caden typed back quickly: "Welcome aboard. See you at nine."

He set the phone down and returned to the window, watching the sun sink toward the horizon. Somewhere in this city, Ella Valentine was probably preparing for her first day. And somewhere else, Isabella Reed might be living a life he knew nothing about, hating him with every breath.

Two women. Both strangers to him now.

His phone rang again. This time, the caller ID showed his head of security.

"Mr. Cross, we have a problem," the voice said without preamble. "The security footage from last night shows someone accessed your private office after hours. They bypassed three locked doors and disabled the alarm system."

Caden's blood ran cold. "What did they take?"

"That's the strange part, sir. Nothing appears to be missing. But they accessed your computer for approximately seventeen minutes. We're trying to determine what files they viewed."

"How did they get in?"

"We're still investigating, but sir? The access card used was registered to your new hire."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

"Ms. Valentine doesn't start until tomorrow," Caden said slowly. "She shouldn't even have an access card yet."

"Exactly. Someone either cloned a card or hacked our system using her credentials. Should I notify the police?"

Caden stared at Ella's photo on his screen, Marcus's warning echoing in his head. Trust your instincts.

"No," he said finally. "Don't notify anyone. But I want that footage and a full report of everything accessed on my desk in one hour. And increase security monitoring on all systems."

"Yes, sir." Caden ended the call and pulled up Ella Valentine's application again, reading every line with new eyes.

Either someone was setting her up, or the woman he'd just hired was already stealing from him.

"Who are you really, Ms. Valentine?" he whispered to the empty office.