Chapter 9 - THE DEAD MAN WHO KEPT RECEIVING MONEY
Damian did not believe Gerard.
Until Priya, his forensic accountant, found the transfers.
One account had received monthly payments for fourteen years.
The beneficiary used a false name.
Victor Caine.
But the birth date matched Vincent Costello.
So did an old tax identification number.
Clara stared at the screen.
“Your father is alive.”
Damian said nothing.
His entire adult life had been built on two deaths.
First his father.
Then his mother.
Now one death was false and the other might be murder.
“What happened fourteen years ago?” Clara asked.
“A warehouse fire.”
“Body?”
“Dental identification.”
Gerard shook his head.
“Anthony arranged it.”
Damian looked at him.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“That word is doing a lot of work tonight.”
Gerard accepted the insult.
The payments led to a private medical facility in Vermont.
No public records.
No ordinary patients.
Damian wanted to leave immediately.
Clara insisted on going.
“No.”
“Damian—”
“No.”
“My mother spent her life running from this.”
“Which is exactly why I'm not taking you into a building that may contain my supposedly dead father.”
“You don't get to decide what risk I take.”
His eyes darkened.
“Everyone in this house works for me.”
“I don't.”
The words came out before she thought about them.
Technically, she did.
Damian almost smiled.
“Interesting time to resign.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
“Then fire me.”
Silence.
Gerard turned away, clearly enjoying being alive enough to witness the argument.
Damian stared at Clara.
“I don't want you gone.”
The honesty changed the room.
Clara's anger faltered.
“Then stop treating me like property.”
His expression shifted.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Come.”
She blinked.
“That easy?”
“No. I'm furious.”
“Good.”
They drove north before dawn with two trusted guards and a federal investigator Damian had quietly contacted.
The facility sat behind pine trees and high fencing.
Inside, administrators initially denied knowing Vincent.
Then Damian placed the payment records on the desk.
Twenty minutes later, they were led to a private room.
An old man sat near the window.
Thin.
White-haired.
One side of his face badly scarred.
Damian stopped in the doorway.
The man looked up.
“Damian.”
His son's name came out like a prayer.
Damian did not move.
Vincent started crying.
Clara had expected a monster.
Instead she saw a broken seventy-year-old man.
Then Damian asked:
“Did Anthony kill my mother?”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Vincent looked toward Clara.
His expression changed.
“You're Joanne's girl.”
Clara's blood chilled.
“How do you know?”
“She had your eyes.”
Damian stepped forward.
“Answer me.”
Vincent whispered:
“Elena didn't fall.”
He looked directly at his son.
“She jumped.”
Damian recoiled.
May you like
Then Vincent added:
“Because she believed it was the only way to keep Anthony from killing you.”
