a cup of coffee on his way to the car rental counter. His stomach growled as he sipped the hot liquid, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in a while. First things first. The meeting with the lawyer. Get the legal details out of the way. Then there’d be time for everything else.
For getting his life on track.
De Souza sprang to his feet when Dante stepped into his office. Did the senhor want anything to drink? Coffee? Water? It was early but perhaps a capirihana? Dante thanked him, said he wanted nothing and wondered at the drops of sweat on the lawyer’s shiny brow. It was a hot day but not in here; if anything, the AC was set to an uncomfortable low. When he shook de Souza’s extended hand, it was like shaking hands with a chunk of ice.
The man was nervous, but why?
“Sit down, please, Senhor Orsini. This is an unexpected pleasure, but I am afraid my time is limited. Had you called last evening—”
“My time is limited, as well,” Dante said briskly. He took the chair in front of the lawyer’s desk and opened the black leather briefcase he’d brought with him. “So let’s get straight to business. I want the deed to Viera y Filho transferred to Senhorita Reyes immediately. What will you require from me?”
The attorney took a pristine white handkerchief from his breast pocket and delicately mopped his brow.
“A transfer,” he said. “But when you left without making those arrangements, I assumed—”
“I signed some papers after the auction yesterday.” Dante took the papers from the briefcase and slid them across the desk. “They’re in Portuguese, of course, but I’ve seen enough such documents to assume the blank lines on the last page are where I’d sign to transfer ownership.”
De Souza barely glanced at the papers.
“Actually…actually, it’s a bit more complicated than that, senhor. The documents you signed should have been accompanied by a check.”
“They were accompanied by a check.” The advogado was shaking his head. Dante frowned. “What?”
“The check must be a—what do you call it? A check authorized by a bank.”
“A cashier’s check? I understand that, but I didn’t have one with me. I had no way of knowing the auction was taking place yesterday morning and I definitely had no idea how much I would bid, but the auctioneer said—Dammit, de Souza, why do you keep shaking your head? Is there a problem? Fine. I’ll call my bank. They can wire the funds here, to you or to the bank, or—” Dante narrowed his eyes until they were an icy blue glimmer. “Now what?”
“Twenty-four hours have passed, Senhor Orsini.” De Souza gave an expressive shrug. “You have forfeited your option to the property.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“It is in the contract you signed.”
“Well, what happens now? Do I contact the auctioneer? The bank? Surely we don’t have to go through that bidding process all over again?”
“There will be no bidding process, senhor.”
“Well, that’s something.” Dante took his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll contact my bank in New York while you contact the bank—”
“The property has already been purchased.”
Dante felt his body stiffen. He had participated in enough tough business deals to sense that the statement was not a negotiating tactic.
“Purchased,” he said softly.
“Sim.”
“By whom?” Dante asked, though he was sure he knew the answer.
De Souza looked at him and flushed.
“Understand, please, I am simply the legal tool of the bank in the transaction.”
Dante rose slowly from the chair. “Answer the question. Who bought it?”
The lawyer swallowed hard. “Senhor Ferrantes.”
Dante wanted to haul de Souza to his feet.
“You were supposed to be working for Gabriella,” he growled, “but you were working for Ferrantes all along.”
“You must understand. Senhor Ferrantes is an important member of our community.”
Dante reached across the desk, took some small satisfaction as the lawyer shrank back in his chair. He scooped up the documents, stuffed them into the briefcase and stalked out the door. Out in the street again, he drew a deep breath as he took out his cell phone and called his own attorney. Sam was a senior partner at one of New York’s most respected law firms; Dante used his private number and Sam answered on the second ring.
“Dante,” he said pleasantly, “good to hear from—”
“Sam. I have a problem.”
“Tell me,” Sam said.
Dante gave him all the details. Well, almost all. He didn’t mention that he’d had a prior relationship with Gabriella Reyes. He damned well didn’t say that there was a strong possibility he had a son. What he explained, in concise terms, was that he was in Brazil, that he’d bid on a property and paid for it with a check that been deemed unacceptable twenty-four hours after the fact, and that the property in question had now been sold to someone else.
But he and his lawyer had gone to school together. Sam knew him well. Too well. There was a silence after Dante finished talking. Then Sam cleared his throat.
“What else?” he said. “Come on, man. I know there’s more to this than you’re saying. You want me to give you an opinion that has teeth, I need to hear the rest.”
So Dante told him. About Gabriella. That he and she had once been—that they had been involved. That she had a child. That it was his.
“You mean,” Sam said coolly, “she says it’s yours.”
A muscled knotted in Dante’s jaw. “Yes.”
“And you want to believe her.”
“Yes. No. Dammit, she’s not a liar—”
Sam interrupted. Asked him if the word option had ever been mentioned in the sale of the ranch, asked him for the name and phone number of the bank that had foreclosed on it, then said he’d get back to him in ten minutes.
The line went dead.
Dante stood in the heat of the Brazilian sun, impatience and anger humming through him. He wanted to go back into de Souza’s office, drag the man to his feet and show him what happened to those who sold out to the devil. Better still, he wanted to find Ferrantes and beat the crap out of him.
Logic prevailed.
He was in a strange country. His best bet was to let his lawyer find the appropriate legal solution, which
