Chapter 10

THE MAN WHO NEVER ASKED WHY

Riona’s POV

Kieran stared at the transaction file for several seconds after Darius finished explaining what he had found. I watched his expression, searching for some indication of what the discovery meant to him, but he offered nothing. 

Whatever memories the company name had stirred, he kept them behind the same controlled expression he wore whenever he wanted people to forget he had feelings at all.

“Send the historical records to my office,” he told Darius. “I want the original transaction trail, every amendment available, and the names attached to each approval. Keep this separate from the Wrenhold inquiry.”

Darius nodded and returned to his laptop.

Kieran finally turned toward me. “Now we need to discuss your work.”

I straightened in my chair. “What about it?”

“Your responsibilities at Wrenhold. Property acquisitions, development proposals, transaction approvals. Anything that requires you to examine supporting documentation. I want to establish whether you encountered this company before Melania’s poisoning.”

The question brought back memories of long meetings, marked-up contracts, and stacks of paperwork I had reviewed until the figures blurred together. Before everything collapsed, I had considered those ordinary parts of my job. Now even my professional history seemed capable of becoming evidence against me.

“I worked in property acquisitions and development,” I began. “My responsibilities included reviewing proposed purchases, checking valuation reports against supporting documents, identifying inconsistencies, and preparing recommendations before projects moved forward. I didn’t personally authorize every transaction. My role was to identify problems and make sure the relevant departments addressed them.”

“Have you ever encountered this company?”

“I can’t say for certain. The name in the photograph wasn’t familiar when I first saw it, but I reviewed hundreds of documents. I would need to see the relevant package before claiming I remembered it.”

Kieran studied me. “You remember something else, though.”

I hesitated before answering. “There was a development package with discrepancies. Several figures didn’t agree across the supporting documents, and some of the dates seemed inconsistent. I remember asking whether an updated version had been circulated.”

“What happened?”

“I was told the differences were administrative and that the documents would be corrected before final approval.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t remember who gave me the explanation. It could have been someone from the project team or the department handling the paperwork. I won’t attach a name to a conversation I can’t accurately recall.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger but concentration.

“And you accepted that explanation?”

“Yes.”

The admission tasted worse than I expected. I had spent years trusting my ability to recognize problems, yet I had allowed an explanation to close a question before I was satisfied with the answer. 

At the time, I had been managing several projects and had no reason to assume the discrepancies meant anything more than careless administration.

“I thought the documents would be corrected,” I continued. “I didn’t know there was a reason to suspect otherwise.”

“Did you follow up?”

“Not that I remember.”

Kieran leaned back. “Who handled the project? Which departments were involved? Give me the external firms, consultants, and anyone responsible for preparing the supporting documents.”

“I can help identify them if we establish which project you’re talking about.”

“You worked there. Surely you remember more than that.”

“I remember my responsibilities and parts of the package. I don’t remember every person who touched it.”

“Then start with the departments.”

I considered what I could safely provide. “Property acquisitions would have handled the purchase documentation. Development would have prepared the project proposal, and finance would have reviewed the financial figures. Legal might have been involved in the transaction, depending on the stage. Those are the departments I would expect to see, not confirmation that each one participated in this particular project.”

Kieran’s expression hardened at my careful distinctions.

“You’re making this unnecessarily difficult.”

“No. I’m separating what I know from what I assume.”

“We could save days if you gave my team everything you remember and let them work through it.”

“I will answer questions about my work. I’ll identify the project if we find enough information to establish which one it was. But I won’t provide confidential documents I no longer have legal access to, and I won’t take anything from Wrenhold that I’m not authorized to possess.”

For the first time since our meeting began, he looked genuinely displeased.

“You understand that the information could help establish whether someone manipulated the evidence against you?”

“I understand that perfectly.”

“Then why hold back?”

“Because I’m already facing accusations of wrongdoing.” My voice sharpened despite my effort to remain composed. “Someone has accused me of poisoning a woman. My marriage has collapsed, I’ve lost my baby, and now an unknown person is threatening me because of something I photographed. I’m not going to give anyone another legitimate reason to investigate me because I was desperate enough to ignore the law.”

The room fell silent. I had not intended to mention the baby. The words had escaped before I could stop them, leaving me with the familiar ache of having exposed something I would rather have kept private.

Kieran’s gaze stayed on my face. He did not offer sympathy or pretend to understand what I had lost. Somehow, that made it easier to continue.

“If you want my help, I will cooperate within those boundaries,” I said. “But I’m not going to become reckless just because you have the resources to make recklessness look like strategy.”

His jaw tightened. For a moment, I wondered whether I had finally pushed him too far. I needed his access to information and the people who could investigate it. I did not have the money or influence to conduct this inquiry alone. 

If he withdrew his help, I would be left with a threatening message, an unexplained photograph, and a reputation that had already been torn apart.

But I couldn’t afford to confuse needing someone with owing them everything.

I knew where that kind of loyalty had led me before.

Kieran glanced at Darius, who had remained quiet throughout our exchange. “Can your team identify the project through existing records?”

“Yes,” Darius answered. “We can search the transaction database and the historical development files. If the package was part of a completed acquisition, we should have records of its approval and any amendments submitted through the financial channels.”

“Do that. No unauthorized access to Wrenhold’s systems, no contact with its employees under false pretenses, and no request for documents Riona isn’t entitled to provide.”

I looked at him, surprised by the change in direction.

He noticed.

“Don’t mistake this for trust,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good. I don’t need you to hand over documents. I need you to recognize the project and explain the technical details when we obtain records through proper channels.”

“That I can do.”

“And if you remember anything else, tell me. Don’t turn an uncertain memory into a fact, but don’t withhold a relevant detail simply because you’re afraid of where it might lead.”

I held his gaze. “The same applies to you. If you discover something about that company, I expect you to tell me what directly concerns my case.”

Kieran considered the demand before giving a short nod. “Agreed.”

It wasn’t friendship, and it certainly wasn’t trust. It was an arrangement with boundaries on both sides, which was more than I had been given in my marriage when the truth mattered most.

Darius returned his attention to the laptop. A few minutes passed while he searched the existing records, comparing transaction references and dates. Kieran stood beside him, asking occasional questions. I remained seated, trying not to interpret every pause as a sign that my past was about to become another weapon against me.

Then Darius stopped typing.

“I found a match,” he said.

Kieran moved closer to the screen. “Which project?”

Darius opened a document history and pointed to a line of dates. “The development package Riona described appears in our existing transaction records. The approval trail isn’t complete, but there’s a change worth examining.”

“What change?”

“The package was amended shortly before the key transaction was approved.”

My stomach tightened.

Kieran studied the screen, his expression turning cold again.

“Find out what changed,” he ordered.

And now, I wondered whether the mistake I had dismissed as ordinary paperwork had been the one someone needed me to overlook.