Chapter 4
He was thirty-two, sharp-mouthed, and fast, and the industry called him the Smiling Assassin.
The nickname was an exaggeration.
Then I watched him in a conference room, smiling while he took apart a client who had been sitting on our invoices for three months, until the man was sweating and offered to wire the money on the spot.
That was when I understood that he could smile all the way through the knife.
He asked me to meet him at the coffee shop under his firm.
He was already there when I arrived.
He was wearing a black shirt and silver-rimmed glasses, with a file sitting right next to him.
When he saw me walk in wearing just a plain white shirt and jeans, his eyes lingered on my face for a couple of seconds.
"Didn't cry?" he asked.
I sat down and set the folder on the table.
"No time for tears," I said.
He nodded, like he'd expected as much.
"Alright, let's get down to business," he said.
I pushed all the receipts and documents over to him.
He went through it fast, and his eyebrows climbed with every page.
"You put in 207 thousand dollars on the down payment?" Max asked.
"Yes. My mother sold the house back home and gave me 100 thousand dollars, and the rest was my own savings."
"And the deed is in Charles's name alone?"
"He said his company was new and the numbers were thin, so the loan had to go under his name, and he'd add me to the title after the wedding."
Max looked up at me and said nothing.
But his expression said more than words ever could.
I gave a wry smile. "Yeah, I know. Pretty textbook stupid, right?"
"It isn't stupid." He squared the papers. "You actually wanted a life with him."
That landed somewhere under my ribs.
Only somebody who truly meant to build something handed the other person the knife.
Max went on. "How much of the wedding did you carry?"
"I got the venue and the design at cost through my own contacts, so I saved a lot, but I still put out over 70 thousand dollars."
"Did you know about the 17 thousand he sent Lucy?"
"No, I didn't," I said.
He was quiet for two seconds, and then he laughed softly.
"Evelyn, this isn't a breakup. This is an audit."
"Can I get it back?" I asked.
Max closed the file and looked at me. "How much of it comes back depends on the evidence and on how he plays it. But one thing is certain."
"What?" I asked.
"Calling off that wedding was worth every bit of it."
I was taken aback for a moment, then couldn't help but laugh.
It was the first time I had truly laughed since the wedding came apart.
Max smiled when he saw it and slid a glass of warm water across to me.
"Here are two pieces of advice for you. First, don't meet Charles alone. Second, from now on, if he tries to contact you, make sure to keep a record of every conversation," Max said.
"Okay," I replied.
"And there's a third one," he added.
I looked up at him.
"Don't go soft," he said.
I gave him a gentle nod.
"I won't," I said.
But saying it and cutting seven years off clean in one motion were two different things.
That night, Charles was waiting at the bottom of Grace's building.
I had barely gotten out of the cab before I saw him standing under a streetlight.
He wasn't in a suit, his face was bad, and there was dark under his eyes.
He had probably not slept.
He came toward me with his voice low. "Evelyn, we need to talk."