The family office occupied the top floor of a quiet building in Coral Gables. Olivia Ashworth sat with black coffee going cool by her elbow, a trust summary open before her, and her brother Nathan across the table reading every footnote twice.
"You are frowning at page nine," she said. "Page nine has never done anything to you."
"Page nine has our liquidity schedule," Nathan said. "I frown professionally."
Their advisor, Helen Rook, set a second folder between them. "Quarterly review," Helen said. "Nothing urgent. The trust stands at four hundred and twelve million, give or take the mood of the bond market. Ashford Capital sent their administration report on Tuesday, late again, but complete."
"Do not start the morning with a tone, Nathan."
"I do not have a tone. I have questions that happen to sound like a tone when you already know what they are."
"No," Olivia said, when Helen offered to fetch coffee and leave them to it. "Stay. If he is going to interrogate my love life, I want a witness with a fiduciary duty."
"I am doing my job as your co-trustee," Nathan said, "which, inconveniently for romance, includes noticing things."
"Name one thing. A real thing, not a feeling in a blazer."
Nathan tapped a line marked in pencil. "Chase told us he led the Harbourline acquisition for Ashford. I had lunch Thursday with a partner there, an actual partner, and mentioned it. He had never heard of a Harbourline deal. He thought I meant a marina."
"Maybe it is confidential," Olivia said. "Half his work is confidential. He explains that constantly."
"Convenient wording. He also told Father's golf friends he has been a senior vice president for two years. Ashford's directory lists no SVP named Donovan. Their HR office would not confirm that title when Helen called to verify his details for the gala program."
Helen lifted one hand. "To be precise, they said they could not confirm titles for non-clients. A very polished non-answer."
"That is not proof of anything," Olivia said. "People get titles wrong at parties. Companies reorganize every spring."
"This firm administers our trust," Nathan said. "Four hundred million dollars runs through their reporting. If Chase works there, I should be able to place him on an org chart without hiring a detective."
"You are not hiring a detective."
"I am considering a very discreet one."
"Nathan."
Olivia turned a page she was not reading. "He was kind when Mother was in the hospital. He sat with me in that awful waiting room and did not try to fix anything. He just stayed. That was real. You cannot rehearse that."
"I do not doubt he can be kind," Nathan said, more gently. "Kind and reliable are different accounts. Have you ever been to his office?"
"He meets clients everywhere. Coffee, clubs, the marina. Office culture is dead, he says."
"Have you met any of his colleagues?"
"He took me to see a Brickell apartment last month, a listing he said he had early access to. The doorman had never heard of the unit. Chase laughed it off. Brokers make mistakes."
"And tonight?" Nathan asked. "This Corvina viewing. A three million dollar prototype the company says is not for sale, and he keeps telling you he can secure it."
"He says he has a relationship with the showroom. Allocation, relationships, timing. Men like him hear about these things first."
Helen closed her folder softly. "One practical question, from me, not your brother's blazer. Has Chase ever asked you to sign anything, even something presented as a formality?"
"No," Olivia said. Then she paused, because nobody's fool was a title she intended to keep. "He asked once what the trust required for a large purchase, hypothetically. Who would need to sign, how long approval takes. I told him Nathan and I both sign above a million, and you countersign, Helen. He said that sounded old-fashioned."
"It is old-fashioned," Helen said with approval. "Old-fashioned is how money survives grandchildren."
"Here is what I will do. Tonight I will ask him one direct question in front of other people. Who is his direct supervisor at Ashford. A name. If he answers cleanly, we drop this. If he performs another fog bank, I will keep asking questions myself. Not through you, not through a detective. Me."
"That is all I wanted. You, awake."
"I have been awake. I just did not want the minutes to record that my brother thinks I am a romantic fool."
Olivia smiled, but as she signed the quarterly acknowledgment in her clean, unhurried hand, she wondered why she could name every person who had ever managed her family's money, and not one person who could say, plainly and on the record, that Chase Donovan managed anything at all.
Chapter 6: Allocation Fees