Her voice is wary. “You never do. You just barge in.”
I let that go. “I’ve been looking at the ledgers again.”
“And?”
I hesitate, looking for a smooth way to broach the delicate topics.
“Let me guess.” She shoots me a guarded look. “You saw Millie’s treatment costs. There’s no way you’d have missed them.”
“I did see them, and I want you to know nothing will change.”
She peers at me. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll pay,” I say bluntly, to avoid any ambiguity. “Whatever the best therapeutic option is for her, you can count on me to foot the bill. She’s my niece.”
Eva takes a moment before replying, “Thank you, I truly appreciate it. But I’d rather she didn’t depend on your generosity. When she inherits, she’ll pay for her treatments herself.”
“When, huh?” I sneer. “Not evenif. Do you know something I don’t?”
“I’m going to win this case, Alex,” she says pointedly.
I nearly perform Millie’s signature eye roll, and that mental image makes me smile.
“You find that amusing?” she bites out. “Go on, laugh! Just remember that the one who laughs last laughs best.”
Disgruntled that this didn’t go as I’d hoped, I press on. “I saw your ledgers, Eva.”
Her expression doesn’t shift straightaway, but there’s a flicker of something—worry?—before she masks it with indifference.
“I thought Geoffroy had them thrown out,” she says. “He told me he’d given them to Eric to dispose of.”
“Apparently not. Basil found them in Geoffroy’s office.”
She straightens, pulls her legs down and sets the book aside.
“They’re accurate,” I add. “Meticulous. You kept better records than your estate manager.”
Her brow lifts. “I was just checking the math.”
“You were running a private audit,” I say. “You caught discrepancies and tracked them. You knew exactly how bad things were.”
“I knew enough.”
“Why didn’t you speak up more?” I ask. “Why didn’t you show Geoffroy the gap between Eric’s numbers and yours?”
Her voice is dry. “I did. He said Eric had a degree in agribusiness and that I was being hysterical.”
Of course, he did.
“Well,” I say with a shrug. “I fired Eric.”
Her lips part like she might say something, but she doesn’t. It’s her expressive eyes that betray her. The glint of satisfaction—and vindication—in them is priceless. But they also hold a twinge of disbelief.
“He has twenty-four hours to pack,” I add. “Then he’s out.”
She picks up the book, then sets it down without opening it. “I was going to replace him the day I won the case against you.”
The steel in that sentence nips the joke I was going to make in the bud.
