Chapter 13 - The Ledger Beneath Room Seven
I refused to let Damian trade himself for me.
He refused to listen.
That led to our first real fight.
“You cannot simply sign over billions because Roman made a threat.”
“I can sign over anything I own.”
“Not for me.”
“That decision isn’t yours.”
“It absolutely is when I’m the excuse.”
His eyes flashed.
“You’re not an excuse.”
“Then what am I?”
He stopped.
Luca very quietly left the room.
Coward.
Damian lowered his voice.
“You know what you are.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“You’re the woman who walked into my penthouse in a red dress and made me forget the conversation I was having.”
Despite everything, my heartbeat stumbled.
He continued.
“You’re the nurse who recognized a threat before every security professional in the ballroom.”
“Damian—”
“You’re the person who argues with me when everyone else agrees because they’re afraid not to.”
His voice softened.
“And somewhere in the last forty-eight hours, you became the person I look for when I walk into a room.”
I didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
Then I said quietly, “That still doesn’t give you permission to destroy yourself.”
His jaw tightened.
“Roman has Julian’s daughter.”
“So we find her.”
“How?”
“The ledger.”
“We already read it.”
“No. We skimmed it.”
I carried it back to Crosswell.
Nora joined me.
So did Margaret.
For six hours we went line by line.
Shipping numbers.
Port codes.
Payments.
Fake charitable organizations.
Then I noticed a repeating notation beside certain transfers.
H-3.
Margaret thought it meant Harbor Three.
Nora thought it was an accounting code.
I thought of medical charts.
“Could H stand for hours?”
Damian frowned.
“Why?”
“Because the numbers after it repeat in sequences.”
H-3.
H-6.
H-12.
Like medication intervals.
I searched dates.
Each notation corresponded to a shipment that changed location three, six, or twelve hours after arrival.
“They’re timing instructions,” I said.
Luca mapped them.
All routes eventually passed through one location.
An abandoned cold-storage facility outside Chelsea.
Owned through another Harbor Meridian subsidiary.
Julian’s daughter might be there.
Damian immediately ordered surveillance.
No heroic raid.
No reckless charge.
I was proud of him.
I told him so.
He did not appreciate the implication.
Three hours later, Luca returned.
“Thermal scans show four people inside.”
“Any confirmation?”
“One woman matching Sophie Vance’s age.”
Julian’s daughter.
Alive.
Damian called an attorney he trusted outside the Cross organization.
Then a federal contact.
That surprised me.
“You work with federal agents?”
“I occasionally appreciate law enforcement when they’re pointed somewhere else.”
“Very civic-minded.”
“I try.”
The rescue was deliberately quiet.
No gun battle.
No dramatic assault.
Damian provided the location anonymously along with evidence of kidnapping.
Federal agents entered.
Sophie Vance was recovered alive.
Three men were arrested.
By midnight, Julian called.
He was crying.
Not loudly.
Just enough that I had to look away.
“Thank you,” he told Damian.
“Where’s Roman?”
“The Harbor Crown.”
“Still expects the signing?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Julian hesitated.
“What are you going to do?”
Damian looked at me.
“Something I should have done eight years ago.”
“What?”
“Trust someone else with the plan.”
That someone, apparently, was me.
The plan was not to sign over East Boston.
It was to let Roman believe Damian would.
Julian would attend.
Anthony would attend.
Mercer would attend if we could convince him Roman had been using his organization.
And I would attend because Roman expected me.
“That part is terrible,” Damian said.
“I agree.”
“Then stay home.”
“No.”
“I walked into that.”
“Yes.”
We spent the night preparing.
Not weapons.
Evidence.
Copies of the ledger.
Michael’s letter.
Mom’s lab reports.
Harbor Meridian accounts.
Julian’s coerced payments.
Everything Roman had tried to bury.
At four in the morning, I found Damian alone inside Room Seven.
He held Michael’s letter.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I sat beside him.
He laughed quietly.
“You always ask questions when you already know the answer?”
“It gives people permission to tell the truth.”
He looked at the letter.
“If Michael had told me…”
“You would have gone after Roman.”
“Yes.”
“Would you have listened?”
“No.”
“Then maybe he knew you.”
Damian’s eyes closed.
“I spent eight years hating Mercer.”
“And Mercer benefited from that.”
“Yes.”
“What will you do if Roman admits it?”
His face became unreadable.
The Damian Cross everyone feared returned for a moment.
Then he looked at me.
And something changed.
“I used to know exactly what I’d do.”
“And now?”
“Now I keep hearing your voice.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“Extremely.”
He folded the letter.
“I want this to end differently.”
“How?”
“Without another grave.”
That was when I realized Damian Cross had already changed.
Not because I had saved him.
Not because of one dress.
Because after eight years of living inside his brother’s death, he had finally decided he wanted something stronger than revenge.
A future.
The next morning, a package arrived at Crosswell.
Inside was my crimson dress.
Cleaned.
Pressed.
Along with a card.
Wear red again. It looked good at the beginning. It’ll look even better at the end. — R
Roman knew exactly where we were.
Exactly what we were planning.
May you like
And he wanted us to come anyway.
---
