Chapter 7: What Russell Believed

Russell's POV

The first bank called at seven on Monday morning.

The second called at ten past.

By nine I had talked to eleven lenders, and every one of them said the same thing.

The Ferraro guarantee was gone.

"Without it, Mr. Kingsley, the credit line is a risk we can't carry," said the last, a man I had golfed with for six years.

"Give me until Friday," I said.

"We can give you until Tuesday midnight. That is when the notice runs out."

I hung up and stood at my window on the fortieth floor.

I had told Bianca her mother was bluffing.

I had said it to Bianca, in a hotel lobby, in front of a bellhop.

She had handed my roses to a stranger and had me walked out.

I did not understand it.

Three years she had forgiven everything.

A dropped anniversary dinner, a toast that went wrong, one stupid joke at her expense.

She always came home by breakfast.

My assistant knocked on the glass wall.

"The board secretary sent the voting roll for Friday," she said. "There's a change you'll want to see."

I opened the file at my desk.

The line for the thirty-eight percent block read *Camille Dorsey.*

For a moment I thought it was a typo.

Then I scrolled and found the authorization page, with Bianca's signature on it.

I knew her signature.

I had watched her sign our marriage certificate.

This one looked right, and something about it still felt wrong.

I walked down the hall to the conference room where Camille was drinking coffee with the door open.

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