Chapter 6 - The Dead Man’s Final Trap
Three weeks later, Emma returned to the Brass Vine.
Not as a waitress.
She wore a navy dress her roommate had convinced her to buy.
Eric sat in his usual booth.
Alone.
Emma approached.
“You’re late.”
She checked the clock.
“Two minutes.”
“Late.”
“You kept me waiting three weeks.”
“For what?”
“My ten million dollars.”
Eric gestured toward the seat opposite him.
Emma sat.
A folder rested on the table.
Eric pushed it toward her.
She opened it.
A bank confirmation.
Her eyes widened.
“Eric.”
“Ten million.”
“You actually did it.”
“I gave my word.”
Emma stared at the number.
“I thought you’d find some technical excuse.”
“I considered it.”
She looked up.
He smiled faintly.
“I’m kidding.”
“That’s terrifying. You’re developing a personality.”
“Don’t spread that rumor.”
Emma laughed.
It surprised both of them.
She closed the folder.
“What happened to Victor?”
“Charged.”
“Anthony?”
“Cooperating.”
“Michael?”
“Annoying me daily.”
“So everything’s over?”
“Not everything.”
Eric slid another envelope across the table.
Emma frowned.
“What’s this?”
“Your grandfather’s medical debt.”
She opened it.
PAID IN FULL.
Emma’s expression hardened.
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“No.”
“I can pay it myself now.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Eric looked toward the old photograph Emma had brought with her.
“Carlo and Samuel protected each other for decades.”
He paused.
“My uncle should’ve helped when Samuel got sick.”
“That wasn’t your responsibility.”
“Maybe not.”
Eric looked at her.
“But some debts aren’t financial.”
Emma’s anger softened.
She folded the paper.
“Thank you.”
Eric nodded.
A waiter approached.
Emma instinctively reached toward the water pitcher.
Then stopped herself.
Eric noticed.
“Habit?”
“Six years.”
The waiter poured their water and left.
Eric raised his glass.
“To being unemployed.”
Emma frowned.
“I’m not unemployed.”
“You’re going back to waitressing with ten million dollars?”
“I liked parts of my job.”
“Which parts?”
“People.”
“You hate people.”
“I hate rude people.”
“So you hate people.”
She laughed again.
Eric watched her for a moment.
“What are you going to do?”
Emma looked down at the folder.
“Finish school.”
“You dropped out?”
“When Grandpa got sick.”
“What were you studying?”
“Historical linguistics.”
Eric stared at her.
“Of course you were.”
“I want to go back.”
“Good.”
“And maybe create an archive for endangered dialects.”
“Better.”
She tilted her head.
“You approve?”
“I’m evaluating my investment.”
“Your investment?”
“Ten million dollars is considerable capital.”
Emma pointed at him.
“No. You lost a bet.”
“I prefer investment.”
She smiled.
Then Eric’s expression became more serious.
“There is something else.”
Emma sighed.
“There’s always something else with you.”
“I’d like to hire you.”
“For what?”
“Consulting.”
“Translating bloody letters?”
“Preferably documents without blood.”
“How reassuring.”
“Private archives. International contracts. Historical records.”
Emma studied him.
“And what does it pay?”
Eric smiled.
“You have ten million dollars and you’re negotiating salary?”
“My grandfather taught me never to work for free.”
“Your grandfather was wise.”
“He also said dangerous men offering easy money usually wanted something else.”
Eric leaned back.
“And what do you think I want?”
Emma met his eyes.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
May you like
For once, Eric Moretti had no immediate answer.
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