She disconnected the call. Considering that she’d taken out a small loan from her bank in order to help Steve, the least he could do was call her and thank her. But she wouldn’t allow the fact that he hadn’t done that to destroy her good mood. Shortly, she’d be on her way to the Hamptons to meet up with Zach. She’d already filled up the tank of her car, and a small packed bag lay in its trunk.

Now all she needed to do was to talk to her boss and inform him that even freezing Zach’s bank accounts hadn’t caused him to reveal any hidden accounts. Because Zach was innocent. She didn’t doubt it anymore.

Rochelle put her cell phone back into her pocket and took a deep breath. The sound of her high heels echoed in the bare staircase, where she’d withdrawn so her colleagues in the cubicles next to hers wouldn’t be able to overhear her telephone call to Steve.

She marched back into the open plan office and headed for her desk in order to get the report she needed to show Yochum so he would sign off on closing the investigation against Zach.

“Rochelle, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Rochelle looked over her shoulder and saw Antonio approach her. “Why’s that?”

He motioned to the manila envelope in his hand. “This just came for you. The courier said it was urgent.”

Curious, she took the envelope. “Thanks.” She stopped and opened it. When she looked inside, all she saw was one piece of paper. She pulled it out. On the upper part, a few lines of a message were typed out. The lower part was a copy of a bank statement.

In front of her eyes everything blurred.

Oh God, no! That couldn’t be true. It was impossible.

“Is something wrong?” Antonio asked suddenly. “You’re white as a sheet. Are you sick?”

She lifted her head, unable to utter a single word. Because she wasn’t just sick, she’d never felt so betrayed in her entire life.

Her heart broke into a thousand pieces, and she did her best to suppress a sob. No, she wouldn’t cry. He wasn’t worth it.

~ ~ ~

Zach could barely contain his excitement and looked at his watch again. If Rochelle wasn’t stuck in traffic, which so often clogged up the streets of Long Island on a Friday night, when New Yorkers fled the city to relax at their beach houses, then she would be arriving any moment.

The champagne was already cooling, the refrigerator was filled with all kinds of delicious foods, and his living room and bedroom were ready for a romantic encounter. Outside on the terrace he’d prepared everything so that he and Rochelle could jump into the hot tub or the swimming pool before dinner—naked, if she wanted to, since his property was surrounded by large hedges that afforded privacy. Beyond the garden lay a boat dock where his sailboat was docked and ready to be taken out on the water the next day.

It had been a while since he’d brought a woman out here for the weekend. Most of the time, he came here alone or invited some of his friends, the members of the Eternal Bachelors Club, for the weekend.

He shook his head, grinning. During the last few months, the club’s size had shrunk. Since only single men were allowed to be members, Daniel and Paul had both had to resign. Jay would follow them on his wedding day. They’d founded the club during a guy’s night out at Princeton, where they’d all studied. Everybody contributed money to the club’s coffers, which the person who remained unmarried the longest would eventually win. So far, over four million dollars sat in the club’s account.

In the last few months, Zach had often thought that he would be the one who’d be the last to get married, but over the last two weeks, he’d started doubting that. Maybe even he would have to resign from the club in the near future.

When he heard a car turn into his driveway, he sucked in a deep breath and filled his lungs with the scent of clean ocean air, which drifted into the house through the open French doors leading to the veranda. His heart drummed excitedly in his chest.

With a broad smile he marched to the entrance door and opened it, just as Rochelle was about to ring the doorbell.

“Rochelle…” The rest of his greeting got stuck in his throat.

Rochelle wasn’t alone.

Behind her, Miss Vasquez and Mr. Esposito walked up to the entrance of his house. All three were dressed as if on their way to the office, carrying briefcases.

“Mr. Ivers,” Rochelle started, her voice formal and cold. She was so very different from the woman he’d been with the night before.

She hadn’t come for a romantic weekend, that much was immediately evident. Involuntarily, Zach stiffened.