Chapter 2 - The Invitation
The following morning, Trent acted as though nothing had happened.
That frightened Joe more than anger would have.
He smiled.
Trent Mercer never smiled at her.
“Morning, Josephine.”
Joe stopped halfway through hanging her coat.
Josephine.
He only used her full name when paperwork was involved.
“Morning.”
“We need to talk about Saturday.”
Joe waited.
“The shelter gala.”
Every year Positive Second Chances held a fundraising dinner attended by wealthy donors who liked photographs of themselves standing beside rescued puppies.
Joe normally worked in the kennel during it.
“You're helping upstairs this year.”
“Why?”
Trent's smile became thinner.
“We're short staffed.”
Joe knew they weren't.
Then she noticed the guest list on his desk.
Near the top:
DAMON CADE.
Saturday evening, Joe stood in front of the bathroom mirror at her apartment and wondered when exactly her life had stopped making sense.
Kayla had loaned her a dark green dress.
It wasn't extravagant.
It simply fit.
Joe wasn't accustomed to clothes that seemed designed for her rather than selected because they could survive bleach.
When she entered the ballroom six hours before the gala, Damon was already there.
Black suit.
No tie.
Tank wasn't with him.
That somehow made Damon seem more dangerous—not because he did anything threatening, but because Tank had become the familiar bridge between them.
Without him, there was only Damon.
And Joe.
Damon saw her.
Stopped.
Joe immediately became self-conscious.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was definitely something.”
“You look different.”
Joe raised an eyebrow.
“That's generally what happens when people don't wear rubber boots to formal events.”
A smile almost escaped him.
Almost.
Then his gaze moved toward Trent.
“Stay close to me tonight.”
Joe's amusement disappeared.
“Why?”
“I don't know yet.”
“That isn't reassuring.”
“It wasn't supposed to be.”
Guests began arriving.
Damon was transformed among them.
People approached him carefully.
Men twice his age shook his hand with visible respect.
Women greeted him by name.
Nobody interrupted when he spoke.
Joe realized then that the version of Damon sitting patiently in the shelter lobby every Tuesday was perhaps the strangest version of him.
Around everyone else, he seemed untouchable.
Around Tank, he softened.
Around Joe—
She wasn't sure.
At nine thirty, Damon found her carrying empty glasses toward the kitchen.
“You're the only person in this city who never asked what I do for a living,” he said.
Joe glanced at him.
“I assumed if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me.”
Something changed in his face.
“That's exactly the problem.”
“What problem?”
“You don't want anything from me.”
“Should I?”
“Everyone does.”
Before Joe could answer, a crash came from behind the ballroom doors.
Conversations stopped.
Trent appeared.
Two men in plain dark suits followed him.
One displayed identification.
Financial Crimes Division.
The room exploded into whispers.
Joe felt Damon's hand gently touch her elbow.
Not gripping.
Guiding.
“Stay here.”
The investigators crossed directly toward Trent.
“Mr. Mercer?”
His face had become gray.
“We need you to come with us.”
Trent looked past them.
Straight at Joe.
And smiled.
That smile chilled her.
“You should ask Josephine,” he said.
Every head turned.
Joe froze.
“Ask me what?”
Trent's smile widened.
“Who gave me the accounts.”
The room went silent.
Damon slowly turned toward her.
Joe felt the floor disappear beneath her.
“I don't know what he's talking about.”
But Trent was already being escorted away.
As he passed her, he leaned close enough to whisper:
“Check your locker.”
That night, Joe returned to the shelter.
Damon came with her.
Inside locker twenty-three was a brown envelope.
Inside that envelope were bank statements.
Donation records.
Transfer receipts.
And a photograph.
Joe stared at it.
Damon went completely still beside her.
The picture showed Trent shaking hands with a man outside the shelter.
But it wasn't Trent who made Damon's expression change.
It was the second man.
Joe whispered:
“Who is that?”
May you like
Damon answered after a long silence.
“My brother.”
