corridor while whispers spread through the ballroom behind us.
“You can’t walk away,” he snapped. “The bridge funding closes Monday.”
There it was.
Not love.
Funding.
For the previous six months, Daniel had behaved as though my investment in Mercer BuildCo was already guaranteed.
Four hundred thousand dollars was sitting in escrow, dependent on final due diligence and my signature.
Daniel had already told his employees that the money was secured.
He had told his suppliers the same thing.
He had even used the pending investment to convince a regional
