Chapter 9 - Her Father’s Last Debt
Damian followed her.
Of course he did.
Not personally at first.
Leo found Khloe on a traffic camera entering a taxi two blocks from the hospital.
She wore borrowed clothing and moved carefully because of the wound.
She traveled to Queens.
Then switched cars.
“She planned this,” Leo said.
Damian stared at the screen.
“She woke from surgery less than six hours ago.”
“Apparently stubbornness is medicinal.”
“Where did she go?”
“We lost the second vehicle.”
Damian read her note again.
DON’T FOLLOW ME.
He knew exactly why she had left.
Her father.
Walter had contacted her.
Khloe would believe she could protect Damian by going alone.
Which was ridiculous.
And entirely consistent with her personality.
At 4:22 p.m., Khloe stepped into a diner near Jamaica Bay.
Walter Hayes sat in the rear booth.
She had not seen her father for almost two years.
He looked older.
thinner.
His hands shook.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Walter said.
“You called me.”
“You should have ignored it.”
“You’re my father.”
“That hasn’t helped you much.”
Khloe sat opposite him.
“Did you help them take me?”
Walter looked horrified.
“No.”
“Did you work with Walsh?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Daniel Pierce?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him where I lived?”
Walter’s silence answered.
Khloe closed her eyes.
“You did.”
“I thought they wanted the ledger.”
“They kidnapped me.”
“I didn’t know.”
“They stabbed me.”
Walter’s face collapsed.
“I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
He stared at the table.
“Because I’ve lied to you enough.”
For twenty-three years, Walter had blamed Vincent Russo for Thomas Hayes’s disappearance.
Patrick Walsh encouraged that belief.
Whenever Walter lost money, Walsh appeared.
Whenever Walter needed a loan, Walsh helped.
Slowly, debt became dependence.
Dependence became obedience.
“Three years ago,” Walter said, “Walsh told me to send you to Damian.”
Khloe’s stomach turned.
“So even my debt…”
“Real.”
“But convenient.”
“Yes.”
“You used me.”
Walter’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Khloe stood.
He caught her wrist.
“Wait.”
She pulled away.
“I have spent three years wondering why you never called unless you needed money.”
“I was ashamed.”
“No. You were busy selling pieces of my life.”
“Khloe.”
“What?”
“Walsh knows about the bank box.”
She stopped.
“What bank box?”
“Thomas left something in your name.”
Khloe stared.
“Where?”
Walter slid a key across the table.
“First Mercantile. Manhattan.”
“Why didn’t you take it?”
“I can’t. Thomas arranged it so only you can access the box.”
“The ledger.”
“I think so.”
“Does Walsh know?”
“He knows the bank.”
“Then why hasn’t he taken me there?”
“Because he didn’t know which branch.”
Khloe looked down at the key.
“And now?”
Walter’s face showed fear.
“Now he does.”
The diner door opened.
Three men entered.
Walter saw them.
“Go.”
Khloe turned.
One man blocked the front.
Walter stood.
“I said go!”
He pushed the table over.
People screamed.
Khloe ran toward the kitchen.
One of Walsh’s men followed.
She reached the back door.
It opened before she touched it.
Damian stood outside.
Khloe nearly collided with him.
His expression was unreadable.
“You followed me.”
“Yes.”
“I told you not to.”
“Yes.”
Behind her came shouting.
Damian pulled her behind him.
Leo and two men entered the diner.
Within seconds Walsh’s men were contained.
Khloe turned back.
“Dad!”
Walter was on the floor beside the overturned booth.
She ran to him.
A wound darkened his shirt.
Not graphic.
But serious.
“Dad.”
Walter looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I thought I could fix it.”
“You can tell me later.”
“No.”
“Stop talking.”
He pressed something into her hand.
A folded note.
“Your grandfather wanted you to choose.”
“Choose what?”
Walter struggled to breathe.
“Not revenge.”
Khloe gripped his hand.
“Dad.”
His eyes found Damian behind her.
“Russo.”
Damian crouched.
Walter spoke quietly.
“Don’t make her pay for our mistakes.”
Damian looked at Khloe.
“I won’t.”
Walter nodded.
For perhaps the first time in his life, he believed a Russo.
Paramedics arrived quickly.
But Walter Hayes never reached the hospital conscious.
At 5:31 p.m., Khloe stood in an emergency hallway while a doctor delivered the news.
Her father was dead.
She said nothing.
Damian remained several feet away.
He did not touch her.
Not until she turned around.
Then Khloe crossed the distance herself.
She pressed her face against his chest.
Damian wrapped his arms around her.
She cried without making a sound.
And Damian Russo, a man feared by hundreds, stood perfectly still because the only thing that mattered was not breaking the woman already shaking in his arms.
An hour later, Khloe opened Walter’s final note.
One line.
BOX 417. ASK FOR THOMAS HAYES.
May you like
Below it:
And never let Patrick Walsh know what is inside.
