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He closes the door after Reid, leaving Birdie beside Cassie and me at the head of the table. Cassie sits again, but Birdie remains standing until I take the chair opposite them. Only then does she sit close enough that their shoulders touch.

Their loyalty, fear, and confusion are real, and neither woman came here knowing what Connor uncovered. I still don’t fully trust them because trust requires proof, while attraction changes nothing.

“Start at the beginning,” Cassie says, folding her hands on the table. “Please.”

“Connor contacted me Tuesday afternoon and requested dinner at Bellucci’s,” I begin. “He said he had found irregularities involving commercial loans issued by Evergreen National Bank. Several borrowers used invoices bearing the Dragorin Vineyards name to support their applications.”

Birdie lowers her wineglass without drinking. “What were the invoices supposed to prove?”

“That the borrowers were legitimate vendors providing services to this company. A business with contracts from a vineyard of our size appears more stable to a lender than one without customers.” I rest my forearms on the table. “Connor believed the invoices were false.”

Cassie leans toward me. “Were they?”

“The ones he described did not come from Dragorin Vineyards. He recognized repeated vendor names, addresses, and payment amounts across loan files belonging to businesses that appeared unrelated.”

“How many businesses?” she asks.

“He didn’t tell me,” I answer, watching disappointment tighten her mouth.

“Did he show you any of the files?” Birdie asks.

“No. He wouldn’t violate bank privacy or accuse anyone until he verified the pattern. He intended to identify who created the invoices and who inside the bank approved the loans before giving me copies. He was cautious.”

Cassie sits back, frustration moving across her face. “That sounds like Connor. He would build a case strong enough to survive an earthquake before showing anyone the first page.”

“Cautious is not the word I would choose,” Birdie says, placing her glass on the table. “He once researched coffee grinders for six weeks.”

“He made a spreadsheet,” Cassie adds. The fondness in her voice breaks beneath the memory, and her fingers return to the locket at her throat. “He wouldn’t disappear voluntarily in the middle of verifying those loans.”

“He was concerned at Bellucci’s, but he wasn’t preparing to run. His phone rang just before our meals arrived.”

I describe the color leaving Connor’s face when he looked at the screen and repeat what he said before leaving, including his promise to return. Cassie listens without interrupting, and her silence tells me more about her fear than all the questions she asked downstairs.

“Did you see the caller’s name?” Birdie asks after I finish.

“No. Connor angled the screen away when he answered.”

Cassie presses both palms against the tabletop. “Why did you let him leave if he looked frightened?”

The accusation strikes the same place as my own regret. I keep my voice even, though the answer has repeated in my mind for four days. “He insisted the matter was personal and promised to return, while I had no evidence of danger and no right to force him to remain.”

“You had a man enter his apartment, but forcing him to wait crossed a line?” Her chair moves back an inch as anger enters her face. “That’s difficult to believe.”

“The search occurred after he vanished. At Bellucci’s, Connor was a banker leaving dinner after a telephone call. If I had restrained him without cause, you would be accusing me of that now.”

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She knows I’m right and resents me for it. I understand the reaction because I resent myself for making the same choice.

“I should have followed him,” I admit. “By the time I decided his absence wasn’t ordinary, he had already left the restaurant.”

Some of the anger leaves her shoulders. “You tried calling him?”

“That night and every day since.” I take out my phone, open the unanswered call history, and place it on the table between us. “He hasn’t answered once.”

Cassie looks at the screen without touching it. My calls begin Tuesday night and continue through this afternoon. Whatever she expected to find, this wasn’t part of it.

“You’re leaving part of this out,” she says, lifting her eyes to mine again. “What else did you do?”

Any lie will cost more than it protects. “I visited Evergreen National Bank after Connor failed to answer me.”