Chapter 3 - Her Mother Called Him a Criminal in Front of Everyone—Then the Mafia Boss Revealed What Ryan Had Been Hiding
I didn't tell Jenna about the bank account immediately.
That decision would haunt me.
At the time, I believed I was protecting her from information that might have been fabricated.
I told Marcus to preserve every record and contact our outside counsel.
I wanted an independent forensic accountant examining the transactions before anyone inside my organization could interfere.
Jenna noticed my silence during the drive.
"You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Where you look calm but your hands are practically strangling the steering wheel."
I loosened my grip.
"Sorry."
"Something happened."
"Yes."
"Does it involve me?"
I glanced at her.
There was no point lying.
"Your name appeared in a financial record connected to the missing contracts."
She stared.
"My name?"
"Yes."
"What kind of record?"
"A bank account."
She sat very still.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I."
"Do you think I stole from you?"
The question hurt more than she knew.
"No."
"You answered quickly."
"Because I know you."
She looked away.
"You know me as your secretary."
"I know you as the woman who once stayed until midnight helping a junior accountant correct a mistake because you refused to let him lose his job."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"No. Evidence proves things. And we're going to find it."
She looked back at me.
"Together?"
"If you want."
She nodded.
"Together."
I drove her to my house because someone had been photographing her apartment and office.
But I made one thing clear.
She could leave whenever she wanted.
I would arrange independent security at a location of her choosing.
She chose my guest suite.
My house stood behind tall iron gates in Cherry Hills Village.
It was large, quiet, and unnecessarily expensive.
Jenna stepped into the foyer and looked around.
"Do you actually live here?"
"Occasionally."
"This place looks like a museum where nobody is allowed to touch anything."
"You're allowed."
"Anything?"
"Within reason."
She walked toward an antique vase.
I watched nervously.
She smiled.
"Relax. I'm not going to break your priceless pottery."
"That vase cost eight hundred dollars."
She blinked.
"That's it?"
"Disappointed?"
"I was hoping for something more dramatic."
I laughed.
She had been frightened twenty minutes earlier.
Yet she was still trying to make me smile.
That was Jenna.
I showed her the guest suite.
Then I went downstairs to meet Marcus.
He arrived with a laptop and a folder.
"The account was opened eighteen months ago," he explained.
"Using Jenna's identification?"
"Copies of her driver's license and Social Security number."
"Where did they come from?"
"We don't know."
"Transactions?"
"Forty-two deposits. Most between fifteen and thirty thousand dollars."
"Total?"
"Just over nine hundred thousand."
I stared at him.
"And the money?"
"Transferred through two consulting firms. One registered in Texas."
"Mercer?"
"Possibly."
I sat back.
"Who else knows?"
"Only me, the accountant, and your attorney."
"Keep it that way."
Marcus hesitated.
"There's another issue."
I looked up.
"Someone accessed Jenna's personnel file six months ago."
"Who?"
"Your former chief financial officer."
My blood ran cold.
"Victor Shaw?"
Marcus nodded.
Victor Shaw had worked for me for eleven years.
He had managed the legitimate financial operations of my organization before resigning unexpectedly four months earlier.
At the time, he claimed he wanted to retire.
I had accepted his explanation.
Now I wondered whether retirement had been an escape.
"Find him," I said.
"Legally," Marcus replied.
I gave him a look.
He continued.
"You promised Miss Hart."
I sighed.
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
"Find him through counsel and investigators. No threats."
Marcus nodded.
Then he closed the folder.
"Evan, there's something you need to consider."
"What?"
"If someone wanted to frame Jenna, they probably expected you to react violently."
I stared at him.
He was right.
My reputation made that assumption reasonable.
A suspicious financial account.
A trusted employee.
A jealous former fiancé.
A photograph.
It was a carefully constructed trap.
Someone wanted me to distrust Jenna.
Or worse.
Someone wanted me to punish her.
I stood.
"Then we disappoint them."
The next morning, Jenna found me in the kitchen.
I was attempting to make breakfast.
She stopped in the doorway.
"Are you cooking?"
"Yes."
"Should I call emergency services?"
"Very funny."
She approached the stove.
"What is that?"
"Eggs."
"Are you sure?"
I looked down.
The eggs were darker than expected.
She gently took the spatula from my hand.
"Move."
"You're a guest."
"And you're a public safety hazard."
Ten minutes later, we were eating perfectly cooked omelets.
For a little while, everything felt normal.
Then her phone rang.
Patricia.
Jenna looked at the screen.
"I don't want to answer."
"Then don't."
"She'll keep calling."
"Let her."
Jenna sighed and answered.
"Mom?"
Patricia's voice was loud enough for me to hear.
"Where are you?"
"I'm safe."
"Ryan says you left with that Blackwood man."
"He's my boyfriend."
"Jenna, stop this nonsense."
Jenna closed her eyes.
"Mom."
"I looked him up. Do you know what people say about him?"
"Yes."
"He's a criminal!"
The kitchen went silent.
Jenna glanced at me.
I remained still.
Patricia continued.
"Your father is furious. Ryan is humiliated. You embarrassed our family."
Something changed in Jenna's expression.
She sat straighter.
"Mom, listen carefully."
"Jenna—"
"No. You listen."
I watched her.
"For two years, you've acted like ending my engagement was something I should apologize for."
Patricia said nothing.
"You gave Ryan my address. You invited him to Matt's dinner without warning me. You encouraged him to make some grand gesture after I told you repeatedly that I didn't want him back."
"I was trying to help."
"You were trying to decide my life for me."
"That's unfair."
"Maybe. But I'm tired of pretending it doesn't hurt."
Patricia's voice softened.
"Sweetheart, Ryan loves you."
Jenna looked at me.
Then she said something I would never forget.
"Love doesn't require me to disappear."
She ended the call.
For a moment, she simply sat there.
Then tears slid down her cheeks.
I moved beside her.
"Hey."
She shook her head.
"I hate crying."
"Why?"
"Because it makes me feel weak."
I crouched beside her chair.
"Jenna, you just told your mother something you've been afraid to say for years."
She looked at me.
"That isn't weakness."
Her tears came faster.
I held her hand.
She leaned forward until her forehead rested against mine.
Neither of us spoke.
Eventually, she whispered, "I wish last night had been real."
I went still.
She pulled back immediately.
"I mean the part where you stood beside me. Not the lying. I just—"
"Jenna."
She stopped.
I looked into her eyes.
"What if it was?"
Her breath caught.
"What?"
"What if I wasn't pretending as much as you think?"
She stared at me.
I had faced armed men with less fear than I felt in that kitchen.
"I've wanted to ask you to dinner for a long time."
"How long?"
I smiled faintly.
"Long enough to make myself ridiculous."
"Evan."
"Two years."
Her lips parted.
"Two years?"
"Not every moment. I did occasionally work."
She laughed through her tears.
I continued.
"I didn't ask because I was your employer. Because my life is complicated. Because I wasn't sure I could offer you the kind of future you deserve."
She looked down at our hands.
"And now?"
"Now I'm trying very hard not to kiss you."
She looked up.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you to feel pressured."
She was quiet for several seconds.
Then she leaned closer.
"You know, for a dangerous mafia boss, you're surprisingly careful."
"Only with things that matter."
She kissed me.
It was gentle at first.
A question.
A possibility.
Then I cupped her cheek, and she kissed me again.
For one extraordinary moment, I forgot the bank account.
The missing contracts.
Ryan Mercer.
Victor Shaw.
Everything.
When we separated, Jenna rested her forehead against mine.
"That was better than the fake version."
I laughed softly.
"Good."
Then she became serious.
"But we need to talk about work."
"I know."
"I can't keep being your secretary if we're going to explore this."
"I agree."
She blinked.
"You do?"
"Of course. Your career matters. We can discuss a transfer, an independent reporting line, or whatever arrangement you prefer. Nothing changes without your agreement."
She smiled.
"That might be the most attractive thing you've said."
I kissed her forehead.
Then Marcus called.
The forensic accountant had found something.
The bank account in Jenna's name had received payments from a company called Westbridge Advisory.
Westbridge was controlled by Ryan Mercer.
And Ryan's company had recently entered into a confidential financing agreement with Victor Shaw.
The connection was no longer speculative.
I told Jenna everything.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, her face was pale.
"Ryan used my identity?"
"That's what the evidence suggests."
"Why?"
"We don't know yet."
She stood.
"I want to see the records."
"Of course."
"And I want my own lawyer."
I smiled.
"Good."
She narrowed her eyes.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're proud of me."
"Very."
She shook her head.
"You're impossible."
I took her hand.
"Apparently, that's becoming your favorite word."
That afternoon, Jenna met with an independent attorney named Rachel Monroe.
Rachel specialized in financial fraud and identity theft.
She explained that Jenna should preserve every message from Ryan, obtain her credit reports, and file a formal identity theft report.
Jenna agreed.
Then she asked Rachel to help her contact law enforcement.
I supported the decision.
I knew my own history might complicate any investigation.
But Jenna deserved a process that did not depend on my power.
By evening, Rachel had secured copies of the account-opening documents.
One signature immediately caught Jenna's attention.
"That's not mine."
Rachel examined it.
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
Jenna pointed to the final letter.
"I never write my last name that way."
Then she noticed something else.
A witness signature.
Patricia Hart.
Her mother.
Jenna stopped breathing.
I looked at the document.
Rachel frowned.
"Do you recognize this?"
Jenna nodded slowly.
"That's my mother's signature."
I felt the room turn cold.
The bank account had been opened using Jenna's identity.
The application appeared to have been witnessed by her mother.
And suddenly, the dinner from the previous night looked very different.
Jenna whispered, "My mother knew."
I wanted to tell her there had to be an explanation.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
May you like
Because at that exact moment, Patricia sent Jenna a message.
"Please come home. There's something about Ryan I should have told you a long time ago."
Related Stories
