A week later
Café Verona was tucked into a quiet nook on New York's Upper West Side—a cozy, warm retreat from the world outside. The soft hum of jazz swirled beneath the low chatter of customers, and the scent of dark-roasted coffee beans clung to the air like a warm embrace. Tall potted plants stood like sentinels, carving the space into intimate corners meant for hushed secrets and unspoken thoughts.
Leo Grant sat in one of those corners, dressed in a crisp gray turtleneck layered under a dark overcoat. His black cap was pulled low, shadowing his sharp features. He held a ceramic mug in both hands, sipping slowly, but his eyes weren't on the coffee. They were fixed on the front door.
He wasn't here for caffeine.
He was waiting.
At exactly 10:15 a.m., a sleek charcoal-black Range Rover pulled to a stop across the street. The passenger door opened and Jake stepped out—unrushed, self-assured. He wore a tailored cashmere crewneck in charcoal, layered over a white shirt with just the collar showing. Paired with dark fitted jeans, Italian leather loafers, and a minimalist steel watch on his wrist, he was every bit the billionaire—without a single thread of a suit.
He pushed open the café door, letting in a gust of cold wind. The moment he entered, the air seemed to shift. People instinctively looked up—drawn to his presence, though they didn't know why.
Jake's sharp eyes swept across the room, scanning for the one man he was here to see. He didn't have to look far.
"Jake," came a calm voice from the far booth.
Leo raised his hand slightly, a subtle signal.
Jake's gaze snapped to him. Without hesitation, he made his way through the maze of tables with smooth, confident strides. There was a quiet strength in the way he moved—no wasted energy, no hesitation.
Leo stood briefly to shake his hand. "Right on time," he said with a faint smile.
Jake gave a nod, sliding into the booth opposite him. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting."
"Not at all."
Just then, a waitress approached with a notebook in hand and a welcoming smile.
"Can I get you anything, sir?"
Jake didn't glance at the menu. "Black coffee. No sugar."
"Right away." She walked off.
Leo waited until she was out of earshot before leaning forward, resting both arms on the table.
"So… what do you have for me?" Jake asked, voice low but edged with intensity.
Leo didn't speak. Instead, he reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a thin file. He slid it across the table like it contained the weight of a nation.
Jake took the file, opening it with care. Inside were printed photographs, transaction summaries, email printouts—evidence. Real, damning, irrefutable.
"I never stopped digging," Leo said. "And luckily for us, they weren't smart enough to cover their tracks."
Jake's eyes narrowed. "They?"
"You'll see," Leo replied.
Jake flipped through the pages. His jaw tightened. "This... this is Chloe's name."
"Yes," Leo said, nodding. "She's been running money through a dummy consulting firm."
"A shell company?"
"Exactly. One that doesn't legally exist, but the account behind it is very real. And very active."
Jake exhaled slowly and leaned back in the booth. "How much are we talking?"
Leo didn't blink. "North of eight hundred thousand dollars. In the last two years alone. Mostly small, consistent withdrawals—low enough to avoid notice if no one's watching the books carefully."
Jake clenched his jaw, one hand curling into a fist on the table. "And Nick? What does he know about any of this?"
Leo's voice lowered further. "You're not going to believe what I'm about to tell you."
"Try me."
"He doesn't know."
Jake paused, disbelieving. "Come again?"
Leo tapped a finger against the edge of the file. "Nick signed off on multiple funding requests without verifying where the money was going. On paper, it looked like regular internal expenses. But half of it went to a shared account—an account I'm still tracing."
Jake's eyes flicked back to the documents. "You're saying Chloe isn't doing this alone."
"She has a partner," Leo said. "Someone smarter than she is—someone helping her clean the money, keeping the records clean. I haven't found their identity yet. But they've covered their tracks well. Much better than Chloe ever could on her own."
Jake looked up sharply. "You think it's Kate?"
Leo sat back, thoughtful. "Possibly. She looks the part. Cold. Calculated. But I don't have enough yet to tie her directly to the scheme. No financial connection I can prove. But something about her feels… off."
Jake stared at him for a long moment, then closed the file slowly.
"This… this is bigger than I thought."
Leo nodded. "Tell Samantha not to worry. Nothing stays hidden forever—not with me on it."
The waitress returned quietly with Jake's coffee. He offered a polite nod, barely hearing her as she set the cup down and walked away.
Jake reached for the mug and took a long sip, his mind already racing.
"Keep digging," he said finally. "I want to know everything—where the money went, who helped her, what else they've done behind closed doors. I want it all."
"You'll have it," Leo said firmly.
Jake stood, pulling out a black metal card and sliding it across the table.
"This is for your next round of work," he said. "Double what I paid you before."
Leo smiled. "I like working with people who mean business."