"No." He inclines his head. "It isn't."
I hold his gaze. "If Daire constructed this, then I pulled away from Quinn based on a lie. The entire Syndicate saw it."
"And?"
I stare at him. "And if she lied, then I damaged the engagement for no reason."
His expression doesn't change. "Then you'll repair it."
The answer annoys me, because it's too simple.
My father sees it immediately. "You disagree."
"I don't know what I'm repairing."
"Explain."
I exhale. "If Quinn is innocent, then Daire manipulated me. If Quinn isn't innocent, then I'm marrying a woman who's connected to a dead girl and won't tell me why."
Neither option is particularly appealing.
My father studies me for a long time. "A fair assessment."
Finally, someone acknowledges the problem, but then he ruins it. "It changes nothing."
I huff a laugh. Of course it doesn't.
"The wedding is four weeks away." He tells me, drumming his fingers on the table again. "The Syndicate is watching." My father's gaze hardens. "They watched you accept the change from Daire to Quinn without hesitation. They watched you handle a potentially embarrassing situation with discipline." He levels me a sharp look. "What they cannot watch," he continues, "is the Mariano heir become uncertain of his own bride."
My jaw tightens, because he's right.
"Uncertainty reads as weakness,” he says angrily. "Weakness invites pressure. I trust you to find the truth,” he continues, "Find the answers."
I nod. He knows damn well I won’t stop until I have them. "I will."
"I know, but until you have them, you hold the line."
I don't like it, I don't agree with all of it, but I understand it.
Finally I nod, and my father inclines his head once, and then he leaves.
The office door closes behind him, and for the first time all day, the room feels heavier than when the meeting started.
Ten minutes later, there's another knock at the door. "Come in."
Ciro walks in carrying a folder. One look at me and he knows better than to ask how the conversation with our father went. I don't feel like discussing it.
He sits down and opens the folder. "Three things."
I nod. "Go."
"The Seaport property?"
Easy. "Move on it." No hesitation. "The numbers work."
"They do."
I glance at the file. "The additional storage solves more problems than it creates."
