Chapter 3 - What His Father Buried
Damien took the photograph from Sophie.
Frank swore under his breath.
That reaction mattered more than anything else.
“You’ve seen this before,” Damien said.
Frank stared at Sophie.
“Where did you get it?”
“Jackie left it.”
“Where?”
Sophie backed away.
Damien stepped between them.
“Answer me, Frank.”
Frank rubbed his jaw.
“Years ago.”
“What does it mean?”
“I told you. Your father made arrangements.”
“That doesn’t explain Jackie standing between them.”
Frank looked exhausted now.
“He was a courier.”
“For what?”
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
Frank remained silent.
Damien pulled his phone out.
“Marco.”
Frank’s expression changed.
“Don’t.”
Damien looked at him.
“That word doesn’t work on me.”
Marco answered.
“Boss?”
“I want every financial file from the year before my father died. Anything involving Calabresi-controlled companies, dock leases, garment collections, private trusts.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Start with transfers connected to Jackie Davis.”
Silence.
“Jackie?”
“You remember him?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Move.”
Damien hung up.
Frank looked toward Sophie.
“This is going to get people killed.”
Damien said, “It already did.”
For the first time in years, Frank looked ashamed.
Sophie returned to Toby.
Damien remained in the apartment until Marco’s car arrived.
They moved Sophie and Toby through a rear staircase and placed them in the vehicle.
Frank protested.
Damien ignored him.
“Where are you taking them?” Frank asked.
“Somewhere you don’t know.”
“You think I’m the enemy now?”
“I think I don’t know what you are.”
Damien rode in the second vehicle.
By dawn, Sophie and Toby were inside a private medical suite owned by one of Damien’s legitimate companies.
A respiratory specialist arrived within forty minutes.
The doctor examined Toby and said he should have been hospitalized days earlier.
Sophie looked at the floor.
“I couldn’t afford it.”
Damien answered before the doctor could.
“She can now.”
Sophie turned toward him.
“I don’t want charity.”
“This isn’t charity.”
“What is it?”
Damien did not know.
Payment?
Guilt?
A debt owed to a dead man?
“Call it an adjustment.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the doctor took Toby for scans.
Damien waited in the hallway.
Sophie joined him.
“You really didn’t know?”
“No.”
“About Jackie?”
“No.”
“He hated you.”
Damien looked at her.
“I assumed.”
“He also believed you could be different from your father.”
That hurt more.
“What did he know about my father?”
Sophie sat.
“A week before he disappeared, he came home terrified.”
She clasped her hands.
“He said he found proof that money moving through your organization wasn’t being stolen from you.”
“Then what?”
“It was being paid.”
“To the Calabresis.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
Damien leaned against the wall.
“He told me if anything happened, I should keep Toby away from anyone named Russo or Calabresi.”
“But you came to work for me.”
“I needed medical insurance.”
Damien stared at her.
“My companies don’t give house staff insurance.”
“Exactly.”
She laughed bitterly.
“I took every shift I could. Nights. Basement cleanup. Anything.”
Damien’s jaw tightened.
All the money in his estate.
All the champagne for his wedding.
All the paintings.
And Sophie had scrubbed blood because his payroll policies denied her child treatment.
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
She looked almost offended.
“People like me don’t ask people like you.”
His phone rang.
Marco.
“I found something.”
Damien walked away.
“What?”
“Jackie’s collection records were clean until the month he died.”
“So?”
“The missing twenty grand was inserted retroactively.”
Damien closed his eyes.
“By who?”
“Administrative credentials.”
“Whose?”
Marco hesitated.
“Frank’s.”
Damien felt no surprise.
Only confirmation.
“There’s more.”
“Go.”
“The same night Jackie was killed, a private company wired two million dollars to a Calabresi holding company.”
“What company?”
“Russo Maritime Holdings.”
Damien knew it.
His father’s.
“Purpose?”
“No purpose listed.”
“Keep digging.”
“Boss.”
“What?”
“I found a recurring transfer.”
“How much?”
“Two million every year.”
“For eight years.”
Damien went cold.
“Still active?”
“Yes.”
“Who authorized the last one?”
Marco paused.
“You did.”
Damien nearly laughed.
“I didn’t.”
“It has your digital authorization.”
“Then someone used it.”
“Boss, the transfer happened yesterday.”
The day before Victoria’s wedding rehearsal.
“Destination?”
Marco gave him the company name.
Damien recognized it immediately.
Vittoria Development Group.
Victoria’s private corporation.
Damien hung up.
Sophie watched him.
“What?”
“My marriage is being paid for.”
That afternoon Damien returned to the estate.
Victoria was in the library.
She looked up from a binder.
“You vanished.”
“I went for a drive.”
“For twelve hours?”
“Queens is farther than it looks.”
Her expression barely changed.
But it changed.
“Why Queens?”
Damien sat across from her.
“Do you know Jackie Davis?”
Victoria blinked.
“No.”
“Think.”
“I don’t need to.”
Damien slid the photograph onto the table.
Victoria looked at it.
Her hand stopped.
“You know this picture.”
“No.”
Another lie.
Damien leaned back.
“Your company received two million dollars yesterday.”
Victoria closed the binder.
“So?”
“From mine.”
“That’s part of the alliance.”
“What part?”
“Asset balancing.”
“Every year for eight years?”
Victoria said nothing.
Damien smiled.
“There you are.”
“Damien.”
“What did my father buy?”
Victoria’s face lost some of its confidence.
“You should talk to my father.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“My father handled the original agreement.”
“Which means you knew there was one.”
“Yes.”
“What was the payment for?”
Victoria stood.
“You don’t want to do this two days before our wedding.”
“That phrase is becoming popular.”
“This marriage prevents bloodshed.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
Damien stood too.
“Then give me one.”
Victoria looked toward the library doors.
“My father will arrive tonight.”
“Good.”
“Damien.”
She lowered her voice.
“Whatever you think you discovered, Jackie Davis was not killed because of twenty thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“He was killed because he stole a document.”
“What document?”
Victoria’s face tightened.
She realized she had said too much.
Damien moved around the table.
“What document?”
She stepped backward.
“That’s why your father paid us.”
“For a document?”
“No.”
Her voice fell to almost a whisper.
“For silence.”
The library door opened.
Damien’s uncle Carlo entered.
He was seventy-two and had advised Damien’s father for decades.
He looked at the photograph in Damien’s hand.
Then he looked at Victoria.
His face drained of color.
“Where did you get that?”
Damien turned.
Carlo stared at Jackie’s face.
Then at the words written across the back.
May you like
His lips parted.
“That photograph should have been burned.”
