Chapter 7 - THE BOOK SHE NEVER FINISHED
“Who had access to the archive?”
Julian leaned forward.
Daniel Krüger looked exhausted.
“Several authorized employees. The audit system records a deletion request from Richard Hale's administrative account.”
“Then you've found him.”
“Not necessarily. We need to determine who actually performed the action.”
Julian disliked the answer.
But he respected it.
For the first time, evidence mattered more than the conclusion he wanted.
“Can the appendix be recovered?”
“Potentially. Some versions may exist in the bank's records.”
“What happens until then?”
“The committee has suspended the affected fee payments pending review.”
Julian absorbed that.
The money had stopped moving.
But the damage was already spreading.
Clients were asking questions.
Mercer executives were discussing the Austrian transaction.
His partnership review had been postponed.
He could lose everything he had spent fifteen years building.
And still, something else troubled him more.
The Winter Rose Analysis.
Anastasia's research.
He had spent their marriage dismissing her knowledge.
Now it seemed connected to the most consequential mistake of his career.
That evening, he asked whether Anastasia would agree to speak with him about the research.
He expected refusal.
Instead, her office arranged a meeting in the palace library.
The room was warm.
Dark shelves rose toward a painted ceiling.
A fire burned beneath a marble mantel.
Anastasia stood at a table, examining an old book under a conservation lamp.
She wore a simple cream blouse and dark trousers.
No tiara.
No diamonds.
Julian felt an ache so sharp he almost stepped backward.
She looked exactly like Anna.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
“I appreciate you seeing me.”
“This conversation is not part of the corporate review.”
“I understand.”
“And I won't discuss restricted evidence.”
“I understand that too.”
She gestured toward a chair.
Julian remained standing.
“I owe you an apology.”
Anastasia's expression became guarded.
“You've apologized before.”
“Not properly.”
He looked at the conservation tools beside her.
“I treated the things you loved as though they were insignificant because they weren't useful to my ambitions.”
She said nothing.
“I was wrong.”
Anastasia looked down at the book.
“For years I thought if I explained myself better, you might understand.”
“You shouldn't have needed to prove that your life mattered.”
“No.”
Her answer was barely audible.
Julian swallowed.
“And I was unfaithful. That was my choice. Not something you caused by being quiet or working too much or refusing to attend parties.”
She looked at him for a long time.
“Why are you saying this now?”
“Because I finally understand how cruel I was.”
“Or because your career is in trouble?”
He accepted the question.
“Both things made me examine myself. But my apology isn't a request for help.”
Anastasia searched his face.
Then nodded once.
“Thank you for saying that.”
It was not forgiveness.
But it was more than he expected.
He asked about the Winter Rose Analysis.
Anastasia explained that the study examined how infrastructure investments responded to interest-rate changes, delayed revenue, and public guarantees.
“It was designed to identify risks that optimistic projections often hide,” she said.
“Could someone use it to support a restructuring?”
“Of course. If they preserved the assumptions.”
“And if they changed them?”
“They could make an unsafe transaction appear sound.”
Julian looked toward the fire.
“Richard may have done that.”
“I know there are concerns.”
“You worked with him before the acquisition.”
Her expression tightened.
“Yes.”
“Did you trust him?”
“Initially.”
“Why?”
“He presented himself as a disciplined adviser with long experience in European banking.”
Julian gave a bitter smile.
“He's very good at presenting himself.”
“So are you.”
The words hurt.
Because they were fair.
Anastasia opened a drawer.
Inside lay a familiar object.
A small paperback French novel.
Its cover was worn.
A corner had been repaired with translucent paper.
Julian stared.
“The café.”
“Yes.”
“The book I knocked off your chair.”
She smiled faintly.
“You bent the corner.”
“I offered to replace it.”
“You did.”
“Why didn't you let me?”
“Because the damage became part of its history.”
She opened the front cover.
Inside was Julian's handwriting.
For Anna. Next coffee is on me.
He felt his throat tighten.
“You kept it.”
“I kept many things.”
“Why?”
“Because a marriage isn't made entirely meaningless by the way it ends.”
Julian sat down.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Anastasia said, “I was wrong too.”
He looked up.
“I should have told you about my family before we married.”
“You were afraid.”
“I was. But I also made decisions about our shared future without including you.”
Julian nodded.
“Would it have changed anything?”
“I don't know.”
That was the most painful answer.
Because it was honest.
Anastasia closed the novel.
“I can't repair our marriage, Julian.”
“I know.”
“And I can't protect you from the consequences of your work.”
“I wouldn't ask.”
She looked at him.
“Then perhaps you're finally beginning to understand.”
As he stood to leave, Julian noticed a folded photograph beneath the book.
He recognized the setting.
Their Manhattan kitchen.
Anastasia sat at the table with the silver candlesticks.
But she wasn't alone.
Richard Hale stood beside her.
The photograph was dated two months before Julian asked for the divorce.
Julian looked at Anastasia.
“Why was Richard in our apartment when I wasn't there?”
Her face changed.
“He came to ask me for something.”
“What?”
Anastasia slowly picked up the photograph.
“He wanted access to my family's investment research.”
Julian felt his pulse quicken.
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
May you like
She looked directly at him.
“And when I refused, he told me that if I ever revealed who I was, he would make sure you believed I had married you to gain access to Mercer.”
