Chapter 12 - An Unwelcome Distraction

Arabella remained at her desk long after Adrian Knight had left Montgomery Holdings.

His words had been irritatingly simple: separate what you know from what you suspect.

The document Vanessa had found in Sebastian’s car belonged in neither column as proof. It was a lead, nothing more. Her father’s recognition of its format did not authenticate it. Adrian’s interest in the old waterfront project did not make him guilty of anything.

And Sebastian’s hesitation did not prove what she feared.

Arabella stared at the page, then pushed it away.

She was tired of thinking about all three of them.

Her phone lit up with a message from Vanessa.

Are you still at the office? I could bring you something to eat.

Arabella typed a quick reply that she was leaving soon, then gathered her things. She had barely reached the lobby when the receptionist called after her.

“Miss Montgomery? Mr Knight left this for you.”

A slim folder rested on the counter.

Arabella stopped. “What is it?”

“He said it was the contact information for the independent records specialist your team mentioned. He thought it might be useful.”

Of course he did. Adrian had a talent for doing something practical while making it impossible to tell whether he was being helpful or strategic.

She opened the folder. Inside was a business card and a short note in neat handwriting.

For verification only. No conclusions before the records are checked.

No signature was necessary. She knew his handwriting from the annotations he had made on documents during their earlier meetings.

She slipped it into her bag and stepped outside.

The late-afternoon air was warm, and the rain that had threatened earlier had held off. She was checking her driver’s message when a familiar voice came from behind her.

“You look as though the folder insulted you.”

Arabella turned. Adrian stood near the entrance, his phone in one hand.

“Does everyone who works with you have to narrate my facial expressions?”

“Only when they’re unusually expressive.”

“I wasn’t aware you were an expert.”

“I’m learning.”

She glanced at the folder in her bag. “You could have given this to me yourself.”

“I was told you had already left the meeting.”

“So you left it with reception.”

“Would you have preferred I chased you down the corridor?”

“I would have preferred a normal explanation.”

“That was the normal explanation.”

“Then I worry about what counts as unusual in your world.”

A hint of amusement touched his face. “You’d be surprised.”

The tension between them eased, though she wasn’t foolish enough to mistake a useful contact for a peace offering.

She looked at him more carefully. “Why are you helping me verify it?”

“Because an unverified document can send people in the wrong direction.”

“Even when the wrong direction might benefit you?”

His expression settled. “Especially then. If you accuse someone based on a document that can’t be authenticated, the accusation can be used against you. And against your company.”

It was a sensible answer. She disliked that, too.

“You make it sound as though you’re concerned about me.”

“I’m concerned about people making avoidable mistakes.”

“There he is,” she said. “I was beginning to think you might be developing a personality.”

His eyebrows rose. “And here I was, considering whether you were capable of gratitude.”

“I said nothing about gratitude.”

“No. You rarely do.”

A laugh slipped out before she could stop it.

Adrian looked at her, and the amusement in his expression changed into something quieter. His attention lingered just long enough for her to become conscious of it.

Arabella’s smile faded first.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not convincing.”

“I was thinking you look less exhausted when you’re not trying to prove me wrong.”

“And I was thinking you look less unpleasant when you stop pretending every conversation is a negotiation.”

“Then we’ve both learned something.”

Her driver’s car pulled up to the curb. Arabella glanced towards it, relieved to have a reason to end the conversation before it became any more personal.

“Thank you for the contact,” she said. “I’ll make sure the document is checked properly.”

“That is all I wanted.”

“I’m not promising to agree with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

She opened the car door, then paused. “Adrian?”

He looked at her.

“If the specialist finds something that contradicts your version of the past, will you accept it?”

The question took the amusement from his face. For a moment, she thought he might refuse to answer.

“If the evidence is reliable,” he said at last, “I will have to.”

It wasn’t a declaration of trust, but for now, she believed he meant it.

Arabella got into the car. As it pulled away, she looked back once. Adrian was still standing by the entrance, watching the traffic rather than her.

She turned forward.

The folder lay on her lap. It was only a contact card and a note, nothing that changed what she knew. But the exchange had unsettled her in a way the documents hadn’t.

She had expected Adrian to be arrogant, calculating, and determined to make the Montgomery family pay. He might still be all those things.

Yet he had offered her a way to test the evidence—even if the truth turned out to complicate his own story.

Arabella opened her phone and added the specialist’s number to her contacts.

She still didn’t trust Adrian Knight.

But for the first time, she was curious about what he would do if the truth refused to cooperate with him.