Chapter 7 - THE DEATH DAMIAN NEVER QUESTIONED
Anthony Costello vanished before midnight.
The gates were still locked.
That meant he either had help or knew a way out no one else remembered.
Damian searched the estate personally.
Clara stayed in his study with the microfilm.
Not because he ordered her to.
Because she finally understood how dangerous the truth had become.
Gerard found an old reader in the accounting archive.
When the first image came into focus, Clara saw numbers.
Hundreds of them.
Dates from twenty years ago.
Payments.
Account numbers.
Initials.
A.C.
V.C.
M.K.
Anthony Costello.
Vincent Costello.
Margaret Kensington.
Then another column.
J.H.
Clara’s heart stopped.
“My mother.”
Damian leaned closer.
The payments beside Joanne’s initials were not withdrawals.
They were reimbursements.
Small amounts.
Groceries.
Medical bills.
Rent.
“She was helping someone,” Clara whispered.
Gerard studied the dates.
“Employees.”
Joanne had quietly used money skimmed from Vincent’s laundering accounts to repay workers whose wages had been stolen.
Not enough to make herself rich.
Enough to keep families from eviction.
Damian looked ashamed.
“My father was stealing from the people in this house.”
“And my mother was putting it back.”
Then the film changed.
Photographs.
Margaret giving Anthony documents.
Anthony meeting police officers.
Vincent handing envelopes to judges.
Finally, Elena Costello.
Damian’s mother.
She stood beside Joanne.
Both women were holding a ledger.
Clara looked at him.
“They worked together.”
Damian’s voice became rough.
“My mother never told me.”
“Maybe she tried.”
The next frame contained a letter photographed page by page.
Elena wrote that Joanne had discovered Vincent’s theft.
Elena wanted to expose both Vincent and Anthony.
But she was afraid for Damian.
Vincent’s behavior had become unpredictable.
Anthony encouraged it.
And Margaret helped hide the money.
Then Clara read the line that made Damian grip the table.
If anything happens to me, Anthony will call it an accident.
Damian walked away.
He stood at the window.
Clara didn’t follow immediately.
Twelve years of grief had just become suspicion.
Finally she approached.
“Damian.”
“My mother fell from a balcony.”
“That’s what you were told.”
“I was there.”
Clara froze.
“What?”
“I found her.”
His voice barely sounded like his.
“She was still alive.”
Clara’s chest tightened.
“She looked at me and tried to say something.”
“What?”
“I thought she said ‘alone.’”
He turned.
His eyes were wet.
“But maybe she said ‘Joanne.’”
The possibility hung between them.
Then the microfilm advanced automatically.
One final photograph appeared.
Elena on the country house balcony.
Anthony standing behind her.
The timestamp was eleven minutes before Elena fell.
And beside Anthony stood another person.
May you like
Someone Damian trusted completely.
Chef Gerard.
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