Chapter 5 - The Name Inside the Ledger
“Mom?”
Vanessa's voice broke.
For the first time since Clara had met her, Vanessa Sterling looked neither arrogant nor polished.
She looked like a terrified daughter.
Eleanor kept the gun raised.
“Don't move.”
Damian stepped forward.
“Put it down.”
“You still don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Eleanor looked at Richard.
“He was going to sell everything tonight.”
Richard laughed.
“You're insane.”
“No. I was stupid seventeen years ago. There's a difference.”
Clara looked between them.
“What happened to my father?”
Eleanor's expression changed.
“Thomas?”
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Eleanor lowered the gun slightly.
“I don't know.”
Clara nearly lunged at her.
Damian caught her arm.
“You brought us here for something,” he said.
Eleanor nodded toward Richard.
“He has the ledger.”
Richard went pale.
Damian searched him.
Nothing.
Clara noticed his shoe.
One heel looked thicker.
Inside was a microdrive.
The ledger contained names.
Judges.
Developers.
Accountants.
Corporate executives.
And Morettis.
Damian scanned them.
Vittorio.
Adrian.
Then another name.
Rosa Moretti.
Damian went still.
Clara saw it.
Eleanor whispered, “Now you understand.”
But Damian didn't.
Not yet.
Because beside Rosa's name was a notation.
R.M. — PROTECTED / NOT PARTICIPANT.
Damian exhaled.
Richard had wanted him to react before reading the entire entry.
Another name appeared.
REX.
No surname.
Every major transfer led to Rex.
“Who is Rex?” Damian asked.
Richard smiled through blood.
“You know him.”
Vanessa began crying.
“Damian, I didn't know all of it.”
He looked at her.
“How much did you know?”
She swallowed.
“My mother contacted me six months ago.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Vanessa continued.
“She said someone was using me to get close to you.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“That's not good enough.”
“I swear.”
Clara studied Vanessa.
“You knew about the memory card.”
Vanessa nodded.
“I knew there was something behind the portrait.”
“So you poured paint over me.”
“I panicked.”
“You humiliated me because you panicked?”
Vanessa looked ashamed for perhaps the first time in her life.
“I thought if everyone believed you damaged it, Damian would fire you before you could explain.”
Clara laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“That was your plan?”
“Yes.”
“And the portrait?”
“Reeves damaged it.”
“Why?”
“To expose the card.”
Damian looked at Richard.
“You wanted me to see Vanessa react.”
Richard smiled.
“Very good.”
“You set her up.”
“Everyone is useful until they aren't.”
A gunshot exploded.
Richard jerked.
Clara screamed.
Damian dragged her behind a crate.
Richard collapsed.
Shot through the chest.
Eleanor fired toward the catwalk.
A shadow moved above.
Anthony's men stormed the warehouse.
The shooter escaped through a rear exit.
Richard was still alive.
Barely.
Damian knelt beside him.
“Who is Rex?”
Richard coughed blood.
“Ask... your father.”
“My father is dead.”
Richard smiled.
“That is what Rex wanted you to believe.”
Then his eyes closed.
Damian froze.
Clara stared at him.
Vittorio Moretti had supposedly died eight years earlier in a private-plane crash.
The body had been identified through dental records.
There had been a funeral.
Damian had buried an empty casket because the remains were too badly burned.
Anthony approached.
“Richard's alive. Ambulance is coming.”
Damian barely heard.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
Taken seconds ago.
Damian and Clara crouching beside Richard.
Someone was watching.
Then a message.
SON, YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PORTRAIT ALONE.
Damian stared at the word.
Son.
Another message appeared.
COME HOME.
I HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO CLARA.
Attached was a photograph.
Thomas Hayes's restoration journal.
Clara recognized it instantly.
“My father's.”
Damian looked at the location metadata.
The message had come from his estate.
Someone was inside his home.
They raced back.
The mansion appeared quiet.
Too quiet.
Security officers surrounded it.
No forced entry.
Damian entered with Clara behind him.
The gallery was empty.
The ruined portrait remained against the wall.
Then Clara saw something.
A trail of white footprints.
Paint.
Leading away from the portrait.
Toward the old east wing.
Nobody had walked through the spilled paint since the floor was sealed.
The footprints were fresh.
They followed.
One corridor.
Then another.
The prints stopped outside a door that had been locked for years.
Damian knew the room.
His father's study.
Clara reached toward the handle.
May you like
It turned before she touched it.
Someone was opening the door from the inside.
