Chapter 8 - No One Leaves the Estate
Damian ordered the gates locked.
Nobody left.
Not Clara.
Not Leo.
Not Beatrice.
Not even Damian.
For three days, the Costello estate became its own sealed world.
And inside it, old truths began surfacing.
The Pendleton message led to a meeting.
Not a war.
A conversation.
Eleanor Pendleton arrived without weapons.
She was sixty-three, elegant, controlled, and had buried two sons during the conflict Richard manufactured.
She looked at Clara.
Then at Damian.
“So,” she said quietly, “the dead finally returned.”
Damian did not react.
Eleanor placed photographs on the table.
Men killed during the war.
Homes burned.
Families destroyed.
“All because Richard convinced both sides the other started it.”
Clara lowered her eyes.
Damian looked at the photographs.
“I can't undo it.”
“No.”
“I can expose the truth.”
“That won't bring them back.”
“No.”
Eleanor studied him.
Then looked at Bea.
“You're Margaret's daughter.”
Beatrice stiffened.
“You knew her?”
“Your mother tried to stop the war.”
Bea felt tears rise again.
Every new truth made her mother feel both closer and farther away.
Eleanor continued.
“She contacted me five years ago. Said Clara was alive.”
Damian turned sharply.
“You knew?”
“I didn't believe her.”
Clara whispered, “Nobody did.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“I should have.”
Silence settled over the room.
For the first time, the Costellos and Pendletons sat together without threats.
Not as allies.
Not yet.
As survivors of the same lie.
Eleanor finally said, “Richard has one weakness.”
Damian looked at her.
“What?”
“He believes everyone can be bought.”
Beatrice glanced at the ledger.
“Then we make him think he can buy us.”
Damian looked at her.
“What are you suggesting?”
She pointed to her own name.
“The forty million.”
“No.”
“You don't even know what I'm going to say.”
“I know enough.”
“Richard wants the ledger and the money.”
“No.”
“Damian—”
“No.”
Eleanor watched them with faint amusement.
“Does he always interrupt you?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Beatrice and Damian answered simultaneously.
Clara laughed for the first time since returning.
Even Damian almost smiled.
But Bea remained serious.
“Richard thinks I'm useful. He said so.”
Damian's face hardened.
“Which is exactly why you're staying here.”
“Or exactly why he might talk to me.”
“No.”
Bea stepped closer.
“You can't protect everybody by locking us behind walls.”
“I can try.”
“And Richard has already blown up your bedroom.”
That silenced him.
Beatrice lowered her voice.
“You need someone he underestimates.”
Damian looked at her.
“He doesn't underestimate you anymore.”
“Good.”
“That's worse.”
But Richard solved the argument for them.
Beatrice's phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Richard's voice.
“Hello, Bea.”
Damian immediately signaled for the call to be traced.
Richard chuckled.
“I assume Damian is standing beside you looking angry.”
Bea looked at Damian.
“Something like that.”
“I want to make you an offer.”
“I don't want anything from you.”
“Forty million dollars says otherwise.”
“That money isn't mine.”
“It is legally.”
“What do you want?”
“The ledger.”
“And?”
“Damian Costello.”
Her eyes moved toward him.
“What about him?”
“I want you to bring him down.”
Beatrice almost laughed.
“You tried to kill me.”
“No. I tried to frighten you.”
“You shot through a door.”
“Technical distinction.”
“What makes you think I'd help you?”
Richard became quiet.
Then:
“Because your mother didn't die from cancer.”
Beatrice's face emptied.
Damian stepped closer.
“What?”
Richard continued.
“Ask Damian to examine her original medical records.”
The call ended.
Bea looked at Damian.
“No.”
He didn't speak.
“She was sick.”
“I know.”
“I watched her.”
“I know.”
“Richard is lying.”
“Probably.”
But Damian's expression told her he wasn't certain.
That night, a physician reviewed Margaret's records.
Cancer had been present.
But something else had accelerated her decline.
Repeated exposure to a rare toxin.
Beatrice sat in silence.
Damian stood beside her.
Richard had murdered her mother slowly.
Not because Margaret was dangerous.
Because she knew the truth.
Beatrice's grief transformed.
Not into rage.
Into purpose.
She looked at Damian.
“I'm going to meet him.”
“No.”
“This isn't only your war anymore.”
“It never should have been yours.”
“But it is.”
Damian stared at her.
Then Beatrice said the one thing he couldn't answer.
“My mother died trying to protect your family. Let me finish what she started.”
For a long moment, Damian said nothing.
Then he nodded.
“One condition.”
“What?”
“You don't go alone.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“Who comes?”
May you like
Damian's answer was immediate.
“Me.”
