Chapter 71: What Do You Know?

Gerald Serrano arrived at Mercer Group thirteen minutes early, just enough time to pass by the lobby restroom before taking the lift.

He’d dressed for the occasion, too.

The man who normally preferred rolled sleeves and comfortable shoes wore pressed trousers, polished leather shoes, and a dark jacket over a pale button-down shirt.

No tie.

Formal enough to impress without looking like he’d tried too hard.

He had definitely tried.

By the time Giovanni’s assistant opened the private office, Gerald was smiling.

Then he noticed three saucers.

Three with no cups.

Several chairs were also slightly out of place.

Apparently, Giovanni had been meeting with other people shortly before Gerald arrived.

Gerald’s optimism increased.

Perhaps they’d been discussing whatever project Giovanni intended to offer him.

"Gerald."

Giovanni stood.

"Been a while."

"It has."

Gerald crossed the room and extended his hand.

Giovanni hesitated only briefly before accepting.

The handshake was polite.

Short.

Not nearly as warm as Gerald expected.

His smile faded slightly.

"Everything okay?"

"Sit."

That didn’t help. Giovanni’s curt demeanor didn’t help.

In the adjoining room, Alexander settled into his chair, holding on to his half-empty cup of coffee.

The private investigator had already finished half of his.

Elias hadn’t touched his.

All three listened through the internal audio feed.

Gerald knew none of them were there.

Giovanni waited until his former classmate settled, then placed a document between them.

"Who is Martin Valdez?"

Gerald blinked.

"Who?"

"Martin Valdez."

"Martin who?"

Giovanni watched him.

"Don’t."

Gerald frowned.

"Don’t what?"

"Answer with another question while deciding what I already know."

That removed the last of Gerald’s smile.

"Gio, I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about."

Giovanni slid the employment record toward him.

Gerald looked down.

"Oh."

"So you remember him."

"Yes."

"Good."

Giovanni leaned back.

"What was your relationship with him?"

"Relationship?"

"How did you know him?"

Gerald looked at the record, and the picture stared back at him.

"I recommended him."

"I know."

"Then why are you asking?"

"I want to hear it from you."

Gerald stared at him.

Something in Giovanni’s face finally made him realize this wasn’t an invitation between old friends.

"What’s going on?"

"Answer first."

Gerald exhaled.

"We were short on technical personnel for the logistics project. We needed somebody familiar with maintenance compliance and equipment inspection. Martin’s name came up."

"From whom?"

"I don’t remember."

In the adjoining room, Alexander frowned.

Giovanni didn’t move.

"Try."

"It was years ago."

"So was college. You remember nearly drowning."

Gerald’s expression tightened.

"That’s different."

"Why?"

"Because you dragged me out of a swimming pool while I was busy swallowing half of it."

"Then treat this as another important memory."

Gerald leaned back.

"What did Martin do?"

"That’s what I’m trying to determine."

"Is he in trouble?"

"Answer the question."

Gerald rubbed his forehead.

"Someone called me."

Giovanni’s attention sharpened.

"Who?"

"I don’t remember."

"Man or woman?"

"Man."

"Name?"

"No name. It was from an unregistered number."

"What did he want?"

"He’d heard we were looking for someone with compliance experience. He recommended Martin."

"How did he know you were looking?"

"I assumed someone from the project told him."

"Did he know you?"

Gerald hesitated.

"I think so."

That was different.

Giovanni leaned forward.

"What makes you say that?"

"He knew my name."

"That’s not unusual."

"No."

Gerald frowned.

"But he knew something else."

"What?"

"I don’t..."

He stopped.

Then his expression changed.

"The swimming competition."

In the adjoining room, Alexander straightened.

"What about it?" Giovanni asked.

"The caller joked that if I could survive drowning, I could survive one difficult project."

Giovanni went still.

"Did you know him?"

"I assumed I did."

"Why?"

"Because who the hell else would say that?"

"Apparently somebody you didn’t know."

Gerald looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"Half the campus heard what happened."

"Years earlier."

"And to my recollection, I have not drowned again after that."

"Did you ever meet this caller?"

"No."

"Did Martin mention him?"

"Not that I remember."

"Why did you recommend Martin?"

"Because he was qualified based on his resume."

Gerald’s voice sharpened.

"I interviewed him. His references checked out. HR cleared him. I didn’t hand him an employee ID because some stranger called."

That was fair.

Giovanni allowed the silence to settle.

Then he slid a second photograph across the desk.

Manuel Vera.

Gerald looked at it.

"That’s Martin."

"No."

Gerald looked up.

"What?"

"That man’s name was Manuel Vera."

Silence.

Gerald looked down again.

"I don’t understand."

"He worked under that identity before Mercer."

"What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"Nothing yet."

"Doesn’t feel that way."

Giovanni leaned forward.

"Did you know Martin Valdez had any connection to my father’s death?"

Gerald stared at him.

"What?"

"My father."

"Matteo?"

"Yes."

"What the hell would Martin have to do with Uncle Matteo?"

That stopped Giovanni.

Uncle Matteo.

The old familiarity didn’t prove Gerald was innocent. If anything, bringing up his history with the family at that particular moment could’ve been deliberate.

But the shock on Gerald’s face looked real.

"I saved your life once," Giovanni said quietly.

Gerald went silent.

"I didn’t do it so you’d owe me."

"I know."

"But if I discover that you knowingly helped someone conceal what happened to my father, our history won’t protect you."

Gerald stared at him.

Then something close to hurt appeared.

"You really think I’d do that to you?"

Giovanni didn’t look away.

"I don’t know yet."

In the adjoining room, nobody moved.

Then Gerald looked at the photograph again.

"I didn’t know."

Giovanni waited.

"I swear to you, Gio. Whatever this is..."

Gerald pushed the photograph back.

"...I didn’t know."

Giovanni studied him for another moment.

Then he reached for a third photograph.

This one belonged to a dead man.

He placed Ramon Villareal’s picture beside Manuel Vera’s.

Gerald looked between them.

Same face.

Same birthmark.

Different names.

"Who is that?"

Giovanni’s answer came quietly.

"Ramon Villareal."

Gerald waited.

"The safety inspector who cleared the boom lift that killed my father."

The color drained from Gerald’s face.

And in the next room, Elias finally put down his untouched coffee.