Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(14)

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 he was doing right now. Ten minutes  wasn't that long to wait.

There was a cafι next door. He went inside, ordered coffee, sat at a  small table and drank the coffee while he waited, eyes glued to his  watch. Was the damned thing working? The minute hand seemed not to move.  And then his phone rang and he flipped it open.

"Dante," Sam said.

"Well?"

"The easy stuff first. Don't make any legal commitments to the woman. Be  pleasant, stay calm, but-I hate to use the word-keep your options open  until we do some tests. Okay?"

It was solid legal advice. "Okay. What about the property issue?"

"The property." Sam exhaled noisily. "You want it in legalese or words of one syllable?"

A muscle flexed in Dante's jaw. It didn't take a genius to know that Sam had not asked him a question meant to raise his hopes.

"Just tell me the bottom line."

"The bottom line, dude, is that you're screwed."                       
       
           



       

"Screwed how? You mean, the bidding process has to begin all over again?"

"I mean," Sam said carefully, "you bought an option to purchase the  property and the option expired twenty-four hours from the moment you  signed it. In other words, you have no further legal rights to it."

Dante sprang to his feet. The other customers in the cafι shot him wary  looks. He ignored them, tossed his coffee cup in the trash and stormed  outside.

"I made the winning bid," he said sharply. "The bank accepted it."

"The auctioneer accepted it."

"As the bank's rightful agent. Listen here, Sam-"

"The guy who bought the property after the twenty-four hours were up is a national."

"The twenty-four-hour thing is bull!"

"Maybe. But you're not on a level playing field, Dante. You're not in  the U.S. of A., you're in another country. Is what they've done legal?"  Sam Cohen's lift of the shoulders all but came through the phone.  "Probably, but who knows? The only certainty is that you'd need a  Brazilian attorney to walk you through this. I can get a name, fly down,  meet with you and whatever guy is recommended, but-"

"There's no time for all that," Dante said grimly.

"Yeah. I figured as much. And, to be blunt, I can't guarantee how it  would work out. My best advice? Find yourself another ranch, man. Hey,  you're in Brazil. How tough could that be?"

Dante laughed. Even to his own ears, it was not a happy sound. He thanked his lawyer, disconnected and headed for his car.

Somehow the fazenda looked worse today than yesterday.

The potholes in the road seemed more numerous, the weeds higher, the  house and outbuildings more forlorn. Dante parked, walked up the steps  to the door and rang the bell. He could hear it echoing through the  rooms.

He rang it again. And again. Finally the door swung open. A white-haired  woman in a shapeless flowered dress scowled at him. She barked a  question he figured was either what do you want or who are you? So he  told her his name and said he wanted to see Senhorita Reyes.

The woman stood immobile. He started to repeat what he'd said when he  heard Gabriella's voice. He brushed past the woman, who hurried after  him, and followed the sound to what seemed to be a library although,  like everything else here, it had seen better times.

Gabriella's back was to him as she squatted beside a cardboard box  half-filled with books. She wore jeans and a T-shirt; the shirt had  ridden up and he could see the ridge of her spine. Her hair was pulled  back and secured with one of those things that looked like a rubber band  but wasn't. Her feet were bare and dusty.