Chapter 8 - The Scent of Panic
Evan Bennett had always believed that charm, expensive tailoring, and a loud voice could solve any problem. In Chicago, when an inspector frowned at a construction discrepancy, Richard Bennett would make a call to a city commissioner, Evan would buy a round of single-malt scotch, and the problem would evaporate.
Standing outside the Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport under a sudden Roman downpour, however, none of those things worked.
His Italian was nonexistent. His luggage, containing three custom bespoke suits, had been delayed on the connection through Frankfurt. And worse, his corporate credit card had been declined twice at the luxury car rental counter.
"What do you mean, declined?" Evan snarled at the clerk, slamming his platinum card onto the marble counter. "Check it again. I am Evan Bennett, managing director of Bennett Design Global."
The Italian clerk barely blinked, pushing the card back across the counter with two fingers. "The bank has placed an administrative hold on the account, signore. Perhaps you would like to take the express train to Termini Station?"
Evan snatched the card, his face burning red with humiliation. He grabbed his carry-on bag and shoved his way out of the terminal into the damp, chilly air. He was forced to drag his luggage to the taxi stand, his three-hundred-dollar Italian leather loafers soaking up dirty rainwater from the curb.
Inside the cab, the reality of his situation closed in around him like a noose.
The Chicago office was a ghost town. When the news of the twenty-five-million-dollar lawsuit broke, their secondary investors had panicked, withdrawing capital overnight. Subcontractors had walked off their job sites, padlocking the cranes and leaving foundations exposed to winter sleet. Worst of all, Richard was hospitalized in a private recovery ward, and Eleanor, who had never dealt with a utility bill in her life, was sobbing uncontrollably in their suburban mansion while debt collectors called the landline every fifteen minutes.
*It’s all Claire’s fault,* Evan repeated to himself like a feverish mantra, his knuckles white against his knees. *She planned this. She walked out on Christmas Eve specifically to destroy me.*
He pulled out his phone and opened the architectural journal article that had sent him into a blind rage forty-eight hours ago. There was a full-page photo of Claire.
She didn't look like the exhausted, mousey girl in baggy sweaters who used to stay up until three in the morning fixing his CAD models. She was dressed in an impeccably cut navy coat, her hair pinned up in an effortless, elegant sweep, standing on the steps of the Palazzo Altemps beside Matteo Rossi. The headline burned in his eyes: *The Rebirth of Roman Heritage: Matteo Rossi and Claire Bennett Secure Historic Restoration of the Palazzo della Rovere.*
The commission was worth forty million euros. It came with international prestige, EU grants, and global coverage.
"I gave her that career," Evan hissed aloud to the empty taxi. "She learned everything from our firm. She stole those blueprints from our archives."
He had brought a briefcase full of legal threats—cease-and-desist letters drawn up by an unscrupulous junior lawyer who had charged him an exorbitant cash fee. Evan planned to confront Claire, force her to sign an intellectual property sharing agreement, and use the Rossi name to bail Bennett Design out of bankruptcy.
"Where to, signore?" the driver asked, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.
Evan looked at the address scribbled on a hotel napkin. It wasn't the Frascati villa—he hadn't been able to locate her residence. But he had found the public site office for the Palazzo della Rovere project, right in the historic center of Rome near the Tiber.
"Via della Conciliazione," Evan spat. "And hurry."
May you like
As the taxi merged into the roaring Roman traffic, Evan stared out at the ancient stone aqueducts and towering umbrella pines, blind to their beauty. He only saw money. He only saw a daughter of Richard Bennett who needed to be reminded of her place.
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