Chapter 12 - Dinner at Le Bernardin
The table at Le Bernardin was tucked away in a quiet corner, shielded from the ambient hum of high-society diners. Over chilled wine and delicate seafood, Dante and I mapped out our next move. For the first time, I wasn't listening to instructions or bracing myself for an interruption; we debated balance sheets, hostile corporate maneuvers, and legal precedents with absolute parity.
"You're enjoying this," Dante noted, a faint smile touching his lips as I cross-examined his logic on an offshore acquisition strategy.
May you like
"I'm surviving this," I corrected, setting my fork down. "And for the first time, I'm building something that cannot be stolen back by a man who thinks control is a substitute for partnership."
Before Dante could answer, his phone buzzed against the white tablecloth. He glanced at the screen, and the relaxed posture vanished instantly, replaced by the lethal stillness of a predator locked on target. He turned the screen toward me. A single live-feed image from my office lobby showed a man in a gray trench coat stepping out of the elevator, holding a yellowed envelope identical to the one my mother had left behind.
