Chapter 7 - The Man Damian Trusted Most
Warehouse 17 had been demolished six years earlier.
That should have ended the trail.
It didn’t.
Damian owned the empty lot.
Beneath it remained an old reinforced basement.
We discovered that in municipal plans filed before the demolition.
The plans had been altered.
The original architect listed a storage chamber that vanished from later versions.
“Room seventeen,” I said.
Damian stood behind my chair.
“Maybe.”
Nicholas remained under guard at Crosswell.
He claimed he wanted protection.
Damian trusted him approximately as much as I trusted gas-station sushi.
But Nicholas knew details about Michael nobody outside the family should have known.
That bought him time.
At dawn, Damian finally forced me to sleep.
Technically, he told me to use the penthouse guest room.
I told him I was going home.
He said three unknown vehicles had driven past my apartment since midnight.
I used the guest room.
When I woke four hours later, clothes were waiting outside the door.
My size.
Jeans.
Sweater.
Shoes.
I marched into the living room.
Damian sat at his desk.
“Did you send someone shopping?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know my size?”
He glanced up.
“Mara, I own a medical clinic.”
“That answer somehow made this worse.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
He looked like he hadn’t slept.
“Coffee?”
“I’m still offended.”
“So no?”
“Obviously yes.”
He poured me a cup.
It was annoyingly perfect.
“Where’s Luca?”
“Following Julian’s financial trail.”
“And Nicholas?”
“Still breathing.”
“Reassuring.”
Damian leaned against the counter.
“You should leave Boston.”
“No.”
“I haven’t finished the sentence.”
“It’s probably a bad sentence.”
“A plane can take you anywhere.”
“And abandon my job?”
“Paid leave.”
“My apartment?”
“Protected.”
“My patients?”
“Covered.”
“My ability to make decisions about my own life?”
His jaw tightened.
“That appears to be functioning excessively well.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then his expression softened.
“Mara, someone used your identity to infiltrate my clinic.”
“I know.”
“Mercer knows your name.”
“I know.”
“You saved my life last night.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I do.”
His eyes held mine.
It became difficult to remember what I intended to say.
The elevator opened.
Luca entered carrying a folder.
He took one look at us.
“Should I come back?”
“No,” Damian and I answered simultaneously.
Luca wisely said nothing.
“Julian’s finances are clean,” he said.
“Too clean?”
“Perfectly clean.”
Damian accepted the folder.
“That’s unlike him.”
“Exactly.”
Luca placed another document beside it.
“But Harbor Meridian has been making annual payments to an offshore account for eight years.”
“How much?”
“Two million annually.”
“To whom?”
“We don’t know.”
I calculated automatically.
“Sixteen million dollars.”
Luca nodded.
“Last payment was yesterday.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
“The day of the gala.”
We all understood.
Whatever arrangement had lasted eight years was changing.
“Could Julian be paying Mercer?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
“Or paying whoever betrayed Michael.”
Damian looked at me.
“Possibly.”
Luca hesitated.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“The offshore account made one outgoing transfer each year.”
“To?”
“A trust.”
“Whose?”
Luca slid the paper across.
Damian didn’t touch it.
I looked.
Michael Alexander Cross Memorial Trust.
I stared.
“This makes no sense.”
Damian’s face became unreadable.
“I didn’t create a trust.”
Luca shook his head.
“Neither did Julian, according to the paperwork.”
“Then who?”
“The authorized trustee is Elena Cross.”
Damian stopped breathing.
I knew enough about the Cross family to recognize the surname.
“Who is Elena?”
His voice barely moved.
“My mother.”
Luca looked uncomfortable.
I asked the obvious question.
“Can we ask her?”
Damian’s eyes remained on the page.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s been dead for twelve years.”
Nobody spoke.
A trust managed by a dead woman.
Money from Julian’s secret company.
Annual transfers since Michael’s death.
It was either fraud or a message.
Damian turned toward the window.
“Michael used our mother’s name when he wanted me to notice something.”
“You mean as a code?”
“When we were children.”
Luca frowned.
“For what?”
Damian looked at the transfer amounts.
“Things we weren’t allowed to forget.”
That sent a chill through me.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered on speaker.
A man’s voice.
Smooth.
Older.
“Damian.”
Every muscle in Damian’s body changed.
“Mercer.”
So this was Samuel Mercer.
The man whose shadow had followed every clue.
“I hear you’ve been revisiting family history.”
Damian said nothing.
Mercer laughed softly.
“Michael always was sentimental.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing you’re willing to give.”
“Try me.”
“The East Boston routes.”
“No.”
“Then perhaps Nurse Ellison will convince you.”
My blood turned cold.
Damian’s eyes locked onto mine.
Mercer continued.
“Interesting woman, Damian. Smart. Observant. Red suits her.”
Damian’s face became terrifyingly calm.
“You don’t speak her name again.”
“I think I just did.”
The call ended.
Before any of us could react, every light in the penthouse went out.
The security glass shutters began descending over the windows.
Luca reached for his weapon.
Damian grabbed my hand.
Emergency lights flashed red.
Then the intercom crackled.
A computerized voice announced:
“Security override authorized.”
Damian froze.
Luca stared at the control panel.
“Who has override authority?”
Damian looked toward the darkened elevator.
“Three people.”
“You, me and—”
The elevator began rising.
Damian moved me behind him.
The floor display climbed.
Thirty-nine.
Forty.
Forty-one.
Luca whispered the third name.
“Julian.”
The elevator reached forty-seven.
The doors opened.
May you like
And Julian Vance stepped out alone.
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