The Villa

perplexed by the activities attributed to the Cardianili account. Orders, shipments, breakage, salaries, expenses. All very clearly recorded."
    "Si. In that area there is no… what is it? Discrepancy. The figures are correct."
    "Apparently they are. However, there is no Cardianili account. No Giambelli client or customer by that name. There's no Cardianili warehouse in Rome at the address recorded in the files. If there's no customer, no client, no warehouse, where do you suppose these orders, over the last three years, have been sent?"
    The accountant blinked behind the lenses of wire-framed glasses. "I could not say. There is a mistake, of course."
    "Of course. There's a mistake." And David believed he knew who'd made it.
    He swiveled in his chair and addressed the lawyer. "Signore, have you had the opportunity to study the documents I gave you yesterday?"
    "I have."
    "And the name of the account executive in charge of this account?"
    "Listed as Anthony Avano."
    "And the invoices, the expense chits, the correspondence relating to the account were signed by Anthony Avano?"
    "They were. Until December of last year his signature appears on much of the paperwork. After that time, Margaret Bowers's signature appears in the file."
    "We'll need to have those signatures verified as genuine."
    "I understand."
    "And the signature who approved, and ordered, the shipments, the expenditures and signed off on the payments from the account. Donato Giambelli."
    "Signore Cutter, I will have the signatures verified, will look into this matter from a legal point of view and advise you of your position and your recourse. I will do that," he added, "when I have the permission to do so from Signora Giambelli herself. This is a delicate matter."
    "I realize that, which is why Donato Giambelli was not informed of this meeting. I trust your discretion, signori. The Giambellis won't wish more public scandal, as a company or as a family. If you would give me a moment, please, to contact La Signora in California and relate to her what we've just discussed?"
     
    It was always tricky for an outsider to question the integrity, the honesty, of one of the core. David was neither Italian nor a Giambelli. Two strikes, he decided. The fact that he'd been brought into the organization barely four months before was the third.
    He was going up against Donato Giambelli with one out already on his slate. There were two ways, in his opinion, to handle the situation. He could be aggressive and swing away. Or he could wait, with the bat on his shoulder, for the perfect pitch.
    Back to sports metaphors, he thought as he stood at the window of his office, hands in his pockets, and watched the water traffic stream by. Apt enough. What was business but another game? Skill, strategy, luck were required.
    Donato would assume he had home-field advantage. But the minute he walked into the office, he would be on David's turf. That David intended to make clear.
    His interoffice phone buzzed.
    " Signore Giambelli is here to see you, Signore Cutter."
    "Thank you. Tell him I'll be right with him."
    Let him sweat just a little, David decided. If the grapevine here climbed as quickly as it did in most companies, Don already knew a meeting had been held. Accountants, lawyers, questions, files. And he would wonder, he would worry.
    He would, if he was smart, have some reasonable explanation in hand. Answers lined up, fall guy in place. Smartest move would be fury, outrage. And he would be counting heavily on family loyalty, on the stream of blood to carry him through the crisis.
    David walked to the door himself, opened it and watched Donato pace the outer office. "Don, thanks for coming in. Sorry to keep you waiting."
    "You made it sound important, so I made time." He stepped into the office, scanned the room quickly. Relaxed a little when he found it empty. "If I'd been informed before you made your travel arrangements, I would have cleared my calendar so that I could have shown you Venice."
    "The arrangements were made quickly, but I've seen Venice before. I'm looking forward to seeing the castello, though, and the vineyards. Have a seat."
    "If you let me know when you plan to go, I'll arrange to escort you. I go there myself, regularly, to make certain all is as it should be." He sat, folded his hands. "Now, what can I do for you?"
    Swing away, David decided, and took his place behind his desk. "You could explain the Cardianili account."
    Don's face went blank. As his