Chapter 2 - Room 814

The Harbor Grand overlooked the river.

Old stone.

Brass doors.

Too much glass.

Damian entered alone.

Theodore waited in the lobby.

I stayed beside him.

Bianca had wanted to come.

Damian said no.

Charles had not asked.

The hotel clerk looked nervous when Damian approached.

“Room 814.”

The clerk froze.

Damian placed the passport on the counter.

“Michael Grant.”

The clerk looked at the photograph.

Then at Damian.

“Sir—”

“Is he upstairs?”

The clerk swallowed.

“Yes.”

Damian took the elevator.

Eighth floor.

814.

He knocked once.

Nothing.

Again.

A lock clicked.

The door opened.

Victor Vale stood there.

Sixty-six.

Gray hair.

Thinner than the man in the funeral photographs.

Same eyes.

Damian did not move.

Victor did not either.

Then Victor whispered:

“Damian.”

His son stared.

“You look older.”

Victor almost smiled.

“So do you.”

Damian’s jaw tightened.

“I was twenty when you died.”

Victor looked down.

“I know.”

“You were alive.”

“Yes.”

“For fourteen years.”

“Yes.”

Damian held up the passport.

“Michael Grant.”

Victor looked at it.

“I hated that name.”

“Good.”

Victor flinched.

Damian entered.

The hotel room was small.

One suitcase.

One coat.

No guards.

No entourage.

Victor looked ordinary.

That made Damian angrier.

He placed the passport on the table.

“Why now?”

Victor sat.

“Because Theodore found me.”

Damian frowned.

“The archivist?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Victor looked toward the window.

“The protected identity program was being audited.”

Damian’s expression changed.

“Someone found irregularities.”

“Yes.”

“Charles?”

Victor shook his head.

“No.”

“Then who?”

Victor looked at him.

“My brother.”

Damian stopped.

“Uncle Adrian.”

“Yes.”

The man who had taken control after Victor vanished.

The man whose chair at the gala was now empty.

Damian laughed once.

“So he finally found you.”

“He found the program.”

“When?”

“Six months ago.”

“Why didn’t he kill you?”

Victor looked tired.

“Because he wanted the documents first.”

Damian sat across from him.

“What documents?”

Victor reached into his suitcase.

A sealed envelope.

Damian stared.

Victor handed it over.

Inside were copies of transfers.

Diplomatic charities.

Foreign foundations.

Shipping companies.

Charles Laurent’s name appeared.

Adrian Vale’s too.

Then Victor’s.

Damian looked up.

“You were involved.”

“Yes.”

“How involved?”

“Enough to deserve prison.”

Damian nodded.

“At least we started honestly.”

Victor accepted it.

“I helped build the system.”

“Then changed your mind.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Victor looked at him.

“You.”

Damian’s expression hardened.

“Do not.”

Victor stopped.

Damian continued.

“Do not make me the reason every criminal in this family suddenly discovered morality.”

Victor looked down.

“You are right.”

That answer surprised him.

Victor continued.

“I changed because your mother found the accounts.”

Damian froze.

“My mother?”

“Yes.”

“She knew?”

“She found one ledger.”

“When?”

“Fifteen years ago.”

Damian stared.

“She died sixteen years ago.”

Victor closed his eyes.

“Yes.”

The room changed.

Damian’s voice became quiet.

“What are you telling me?”

Victor looked at him.

“Your mother did not die from the illness you were told she had.”

Damian stood.

“What?”

Victor’s eyes filled.

“She was poisoned.”

Silence.

Damian stared at him.

“By Adrian?”

“I believed so.”

“You believed?”

“Yes.”

“You disappeared a year later without knowing?”

“I spent that year trying to prove it.”

Damian stepped backward.

“You let me bury Mom.”

Victor’s face broke.

“I buried her too.”

“Then you buried yourself.”

“Yes.”

Damian looked away.

Victor continued.

“I found evidence Adrian had paid a doctor.”

“What doctor?”

“Dr. Elias Warren.”

Damian frowned.

“That was my mother’s physician.”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

Victor looked toward the envelope.

“Dead.”

“When?”

“Eleven years ago.”

Damian laughed bitterly.

“Convenient.”

Victor nodded.

“Very.”

Damian looked at the documents.

“What did Charles have to do with any of this?”

Victor answered:

“He helped me trace the accounts.”

“And then?”

“He helped me disappear.”

“And then?”

Victor did not answer.

Damian stared.

“And then he kept you hidden.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Victor looked at the floor.

“Because I discovered Charles had used one of the same charities to hide money for himself.”

Damian closed his eyes.

There it was.

Another truth beneath the first.

Victor continued.

“He had started cooperating with investigators before I disappeared.”

“So he was both guilty and useful.”

“Yes.”

“And you had proof.”

“Yes.”

Damian looked at him.

“Did you threaten him?”

Victor hesitated.

“Yes.”

Damian laughed once.

“Of course.”

“I told him if anything happened to me, the documents went public.”

“So he protected you.”

“And himself.”

Damian sat again.

“Why didn’t you contact me after Adrian lost control of the accounts?”

Victor looked at him.

“I tried.”

“The letters.”

“Yes.”

“They were returned.”

“Yes.”

“Then?”

“I called.”

Damian frowned.

“When?”

“Ten years ago.”

“I never received a call.”

“I spoke to a man who said he was your legal adviser.”

Damian’s face changed.

“Who?”

Victor whispered:

“Samuel Voss.”

Damian froze.

Samuel had served the Vale family for twenty-five years.

He was still Damian’s attorney.

Victor continued.

“He told me you wanted no contact.”

Damian’s jaw tightened.

“What else?”

“He said you blamed me for your mother’s death.”

Damian stopped breathing.

Victor looked at him.

“I believed him.”

Damian stood.

“Why?”

Victor’s voice broke.

“Because I blamed myself too.”

A phone rang.

Victor looked at his screen.

Unknown number.

He answered.

Adrian’s voice.

“Welcome home, brother.”

Victor went pale.

Damian stared.

Adrian continued.

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“You should have stayed Michael Grant.”

Then the line went dead.