“That’s fortunate,” he added.“For you.”
I swallowed.
“If you think threatening me is going to make me hand over anything—”
“I’m not threatening you,” he cut in, his voice never rising.That was worse.“I’m explaining the situation.”
Francesco stepped closer.
One step.
My back brushed the folding table.
“The account is untouched,” he said.“That tells me you’re smarter than your husband.”
I stayed silent.
“And it tells me something else,” he continued.“You’re waiting.The question is—why?”
He was too close now.I could smell his cologne.Clean.Expensive.Wrong.
“I didn’t touch the money,” I said.“I don’t plan to.”
“Of course not,” he replied.“Because you think moving it is the danger.”
His gaze dropped to the box.
“But the danger,” he said, “is leaving it exactly where it is.”
I shook my head.“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smiled again.This time there was pity in it.
“Peyton,” he said, “everyone who knows that account exists is already watching it.”
My breath caught.
“You log in,” he continued, “and alarms whisper instead of scream.Location.Time stamp.Patterns.”
He knew.
I stared at him..
“You don’t touch it,” he said, “and the question becomes why.”
My chest tightened.
“You want me to move it.”
“Yes,” he said.“Eventually.”
“And if I don’t?”
His gaze slid past me, to the hallway, the exit, the world beyond this room.
“Then you remain a person of interest,” he said.“And that’s never good for a mother of two.”
Ice flooded my veins.“My daughters have nothing to do with this.”
