Chapter 7 - The Woman He Couldn’t Replace
Beatrice read her father’s letter six times.
By the seventh, she no longer saw the words.
Only memories.
Her father tying his necktie before work.
Her father teaching her multiplication at the kitchen table.
Her father hiding twenty-dollar bills inside birthday cards even when money was tight.
Her father collapsing on the kitchen floor one Sunday morning while seventeen-year-old Beatrice screamed for an ambulance.
Heart attack.
That was what doctors had said.
Now she wondered whether a man named Nicholas Varen had already been watching them.
Desmond found her alone in the archive corridor.
“You disappeared.”
“I walked thirty feet.”
“That qualifies.”
She leaned against a bookshelf.
“Do you ever get tired of controlling everything?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised her.
“When?”
“When it doesn’t work.”
She looked down.
“Dad knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew Evan was in trouble. He knew Nathan.”
“Yes.”
“And he never told me.”
“You were seventeen.”
“I would have understood.”
“No.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Excuse me?”
“You would have tried to help.”
“That is understanding.”
“That is exactly why he didn’t tell you.”
Beatrice stared at him.
Desmond moved closer.
“Your father knew who you were.”
“You never met him.”
“I didn’t need to.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I know his daughter.”
The words softened her despite herself.
She looked away.
“Sometimes I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“That confidence is one of the reasons.”
He almost smiled.
Then Beatrice said quietly, “What happens when this is over?”
Desmond’s expression changed.
“What do you mean?”
“You trusted Nathan for thirteen years.”
“Yes.”
“You trusted Daniel.”
“I still might.”
“You trusted me.”
“I do.”
She looked at him.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Even after the letter?”
“Especially after the letter.”
Her throat tightened.
Desmond rarely gave trust twice.
Everyone knew that.
People who disappointed him disappeared from his life permanently.
Yet here he was.
Beatrice whispered, “Why?”
He looked at her for a long time.
“Because you burned it.”
“What?”
“If you wanted to betray me, you would have preserved Rourke’s instructions.”
“That is weak logic.”
“No. You destroyed evidence that could incriminate you because you were more concerned about somebody else finding it.”
“And you.”
“And me.”
He reached toward her face.
Stopped before touching.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Desmond Hayes looked uncertain.
Beatrice noticed.
Of course she noticed.
She leaned slightly forward.
His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
The moment lasted three seconds.
Then Marco appeared.
Again.
“We need to leave.”
Desmond closed his eyes briefly.
Marco looked apologetic.
“I swear I’m not doing this intentionally.”
Beatrice laughed.
It was the first real laugh she had managed all night.
Back at Hayes Tower, the ledger transformed suspicion into evidence.
Payments.
Dates.
Names.
Companies.
Transfers stretching back nearly two decades.
Nathan Vaughn—Nicholas Varen—appeared repeatedly through coded initials.
So did Thomas Rourke.
But another name appeared more often.
V.S.
Victor Shaw.
Desmond’s former adviser.
The man who had supposedly retired.
Daniel read over Desmond’s shoulder.
“I knew it.”
“You suspected Victor?”
“I suspected everyone.”
Desmond looked at him.
“Including me?”
Daniel smiled slightly.
“Especially you.”
“Good.”
Beatrice turned pages.
“What happened to Victor?”
“Florida,” Marco said.
“According to whom?”
“According to Victor.”
“When was the last time anyone saw him?”
Marco searched.
“Almost two years.”
Desmond frowned.
“I spoke with him six months ago.”
“Video?”
“Phone.”
Beatrice looked up.
“So nobody has physically seen Victor Shaw in two years.”
Silence.
Evan turned another page.
Then stopped.
“There.”
A payment entry.
Victor Shaw.
Date: twenty-one months earlier.
Description:
FINAL RETIREMENT SETTLEMENT.
Amount:
$3,000,000.
Recipient account closed forty-eight hours later.
Marco looked grim.
“That isn’t retirement.”
“No,” Desmond said.
It looked like silence purchased permanently.
Beatrice’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She hesitated.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
A familiar voice.
Nathan Vaughn.
“Beatrice.”
Every person in the room went still.
Desmond held out his hand for the phone.
She shook her head.
“Nathan.”
“You found the book.”
Not a question.
Beatrice’s stomach dropped.
“How do you know?”
“Because Patrick Gallagher always believed himself clever.”
Desmond’s eyes changed at the sound of her father’s name.
Beatrice gripped the phone.
“Did you kill him?”
Silence.
Then Nathan laughed softly.
“That’s an ugly question.”
“Answer it.”
“Heart disease killed your father.”
“Did you help?”
Another pause.
“Beatrice, give me the ledger.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t understand what’s inside.”
“I understand enough.”
“No. You see transactions. You don’t see consequences.”
“What consequences?”
“Desmond’s empire disappears.”
She glanced at him.
Nathan continued.
“Not metaphorically. Legally. Financially. Permanently.”
Desmond motioned for her to keep him talking.
“You expect me to care?”
Nathan laughed.
“We both know you care.”
Beatrice said nothing.
“You’ve loved him for years.”
Desmond’s eyes shifted toward her.
Beatrice wanted to throw the phone through the window.
Nathan continued.
“Does he know?”
“Where are you?”
“Ask him.”
“What?”
“Ask Desmond whether he knows you love him.”
“Nathan—”
“I’m curious.”
“Go to hell.”
He laughed again.
“Midnight tomorrow. Old Union Freight terminal.”
“For what?”
“The ledger.”
“And in exchange?”
“The truth about your father.”
Beatrice’s voice trembled.
“I already know enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
A pause.
“Patrick Gallagher wasn’t murdered because he found my secret.”
Her fingers tightened.
“He was murdered because he refused to betray Desmond Hayes.”
The call ended.
Beatrice slowly lowered the phone.
Nobody spoke.
Then Evan asked the question she could not.
“How could Dad refuse to betray Desmond? He died before Beatrice ever met him.”
Everyone turned toward Desmond.
He was staring at the ledger.
His face had gone pale.
Beatrice whispered, “Desmond?”
He looked at her.
And for the first time since she had known him, she saw something close to fear.
“There’s something I never told you about your father.”
Her heart stopped.
“What?”
Desmond spoke quietly.
“Patrick Gallagher worked for me.”
May you like
And suddenly Beatrice realized that the man she had trusted for five years might know more about her family than she did.
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