Chapter 5 - The Traitor Outside the Door
By morning, Beatrice's entire life had become evidence.
Her mother's employment history.
Old tax records.
Hospital files.
Photographs.
Bank statements.
Everything Damian's people could legally or illegally locate appeared on the dining room table.
Bea hated it.
“This is my life.”
Damian looked up.
“It's also connected to mine.”
“You don't get to investigate everything about me.”
“Someone created forty million dollars in your name.”
“I didn't ask them to.”
“That makes it more dangerous, not less.”
Bea paced toward the window.
“You think my mother worked for your father?”
“I think she knew him.”
“Why wouldn't she tell me?”
“Maybe she was protecting you.”
“From what?”
Damian looked at the papers.
“Me.”
The answer hurt more than Bea expected.
She turned.
“You think your family is that dangerous?”
“I know my family is that dangerous.”
A guard entered carrying an old storage box.
“We found this in the basement.”
Bea recognized it.
Her mother's belongings.
She had brought the box when she moved into the estate but never unpacked it.
Inside were letters.
Photographs.
A jewelry case.
And an old brass key.
Damian lifted it.
“Recognize this?”
“No.”
A number was engraved on the side.
Bank deposit box.
Two hours later, they stood inside a private vault.
The box contained no money.
Only a recording.
An old digital device.
Beatrice pressed play.
Her mother's voice filled the room.
“Bea, if you're hearing this, then the Costello family found you.”
Beatrice's hand flew to her mouth.
Damian became motionless.
“I hoped this would never happen. But if it did, there are things you deserve to know.”
Static.
Then:
“Vittorio Costello was not a good man. But near the end of his life, he tried to correct one terrible mistake.”
Damian stared at the recorder.
“Richard Lawson discovered Clara had evidence of a conspiracy inside the family. He planned to use her disappearance to start a war, remove the Pendletons, and eventually take control of the Costello organization.”
Bea looked at Damian.
Her mother continued.
“I helped Vittorio hide the evidence.”
Damian whispered, “What evidence?”
The recording answered almost as if Margaret could hear him.
“A ledger.”
Beatrice swallowed.
“The ledger proves who financed the war. Who bribed the police. Who ordered the disappearances. And who betrayed Vittorio.”
Static interrupted the recording.
Then Margaret's voice returned.
“Beatrice, you were never supposed to become part of this. The money was insurance. If they found me, you would have enough to disappear.”
Bea began crying.
“I'm sorry I lied to you.”
The recording ended.
Silence filled the vault.
Damian looked at Bea.
“Your mother saved my sister.”
“We don't know that.”
“No.”
“But she knew.”
“Yes.”
Beatrice wiped her tears.
“Where's the ledger?”
Damian examined the deposit box.
Empty.
Then he noticed something carved beneath the lid.
WHERE THE DEAD SLEEP WITHOUT NAMES.
He knew immediately.
“The old Costello cemetery.”
That evening they drove to a private cemetery outside Chicago.
Vittorio Costello's mausoleum stood at the center.
Damian opened it.
Inside, behind his father's memorial plaque, they found a hidden compartment.
And inside it—
The ledger.
Damian opened the first page.
Names.
Payments.
Dates.
Judges.
Police officers.
Businessmen.
Politicians.
Criminal organizations.
Richard Lawson appeared repeatedly.
But one name appeared more often than any other.
Clara Costello.
Beatrice stared.
“She was involved?”
Damian shook his head.
“Look at the notation.”
Each payment beside Clara's name was marked:
SUBJECT C.
Not partner.
Subject.
Experiment.
Control.
Bea's stomach turned.
“What did they do to her?”
Damian closed the ledger.
“We're going to find out.”
A voice came from behind them.
“You really should have left that buried.”
They turned.
Richard Lawson stood at the mausoleum entrance.
Gun raised.
Damian moved in front of Bea.
Richard smiled.
“There she is. The maid who destroyed fifteen years of planning.”
Bea stared at him.
“You tried to kill him.”
“I tried to save this city from him.”
Damian's voice was cold.
“Where is Clara?”
Richard's smile vanished.
“Still asking the wrong question.”
“Where is my sister?”
Richard raised the gun.
“You should ask what she'll do when she sees you.”
Then headlights exploded across the cemetery.
Dozens of vehicles entered.
Richard looked surprised.
Damian smiled for the first time.
“You've been talking too long.”
Richard fired.
Damian pulled Bea behind the stone wall.
Gunfire erupted.
When it stopped, Richard was gone again.
But this time he left something behind.
His phone.
And on the screen was an incoming call.
The caller ID contained one word.
CLARA.
Damian answered.
No one spoke.
Then a woman's voice whispered:
“Brother?”
Damian closed his eyes.
“Clara.”
Beatrice watched tears gather in the eyes of a man she had believed incapable of them.
Then Clara said:
“You have to stop looking for me.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“I can't.”
“Clara—”
“He'll kill Bea.”
Damian's eyes snapped toward Beatrice.
“How do you know her name?”
Clara began crying.
“Because she's the reason I'm still alive.”
The call ended.
And suddenly Beatrice understood something Damian had not yet allowed himself to consider.
Clara Costello had known about her long before that stormy night.
Perhaps Richard had too.
May you like
Perhaps Bea had never accidentally found herself inside Damian Costello's world.
Perhaps someone had placed her there.
