Chapter 5 - The House Had a Traitor
Tessa woke at 5:42 a.m. to someone pounding on her apartment door.
She sat upright.
Another knock.
"Tessa."
Paul.
She opened the door with the chain attached.
"What happened?"
"You need to come with me."
"It's not even six."
"Now."
Something in his face stopped her questions.
Twenty minutes later she sat in the back of an armored SUV wearing jeans, sneakers, and yesterday's sweater.
"Is Beatrice okay?"
"Yes."
"Then what's wrong?"
Paul handed her the photograph.
Tessa stared at it.
"Where did you get this?"
"Doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Somebody has been watching you."
Her stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"We're figuring that out."
The estate was under lockdown when they arrived.
Damian waited in the security bunker.
Tessa entered and threw the photograph onto his desk.
"Tell me."
He did.
No softening.
No lies.
Delaney had apparently sold information about employees at the Costa estate to an unknown buyer. Most information was worthless—work schedules, deliveries, names.
Then someone became interested in Tessa.
"Why me?"
Damian looked toward Monitor Four.
"Because you're close to my mother."
"I'm housekeeping."
"Not anymore."
Tessa understood.
"They know?"
"Maybe."
"About the promotion?"
"Maybe not."
"Then why—"
Damian's phone rang.
Paul answered his own simultaneously.
A guard appeared on one monitor running toward the east entrance.
Damian stood.
"What?"
Paul listened.
Then looked at him.
"Package at Gate Two."
"Sender?"
"None."
The package was brought to the bunker after being scanned.
Inside was a cheap plastic bracelet.
Tessa stopped breathing.
Pink beads.
A silver letter E.
"No."
Damian turned.
"You recognize it?"
Tessa reached for it with trembling fingers.
"Emily made this."
Her knees weakened.
Damian caught her elbow.
"Where has it been?"
"In her things."
"Where?"
"My apartment."
Paul swore.
Someone had entered her home.
Tessa stared at the bracelet.
"They went through Emily's stuff."
Her grief became anger so quickly Damian almost stepped back.
"Who does that?"
"We'll find out."
"Don't tell me you'll find out like that fixes it."
"I'm telling you because it's true."
She pulled away.
"This isn't about me."
Damian's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Emily's bills."
Tessa looked at Paul.
"The experimental treatment. There was a charity fund."
Paul leaned forward.
"What fund?"
"A private foundation offered to cover part of it. The application was approved, but the money disappeared before the hospital received it."
Damian's expression changed.
"How much?"
"Two hundred thousand dollars."
Silence.
"I thought it was paperwork. The foundation blamed the hospital. The hospital blamed the foundation. Emily was getting worse. I didn't have time to fight."
"Name."
"The Marlowe Hope Foundation."
Paul and Damian exchanged a look.
Tessa noticed.
"You know it."
Damian's voice became very quiet.
"Yes."
"How?"
"It launders money."
Her face went blank.
"What?"
"Not mine."
Damian moved toward the computer.
"Victor Sloane."
Tessa had heard the name.
Everyone had.
Sloane was a businessman in public and something far more dangerous in private. For years, his organization and Damian's had maintained an uneasy boundary.
Paul began typing.
"The foundation takes legitimate donations, moves them through shell companies, then mixes the funds with Sloane's cash."
Tessa stared at him.
"You're telling me somebody stole money meant for cancer patients?"
Damian looked at her.
"Yes."
"Emily might have gotten treatment."
"Tessa—"
"She might still be alive."
Her voice broke.
Damian stepped closer.
She hit his chest.
Once.
Not hard.
Then again.
"She might be alive."
He let her hit him.
On the third strike, her fist remained against his shirt.
Damian gently closed his hand around hers.
"I'm sorry."
Tessa began crying.
Not quietly.
Not gracefully.
Eight months of grief broke loose.
Damian didn't know what to do.
So he did what he'd watched her do for his mother.
He stayed.
Eventually, Tessa pressed both hands against her face.
"I want proof."
"You'll have it."
"I want everyone they stole from identified."
"Tessa."
"Not just Emily."
Damian stared.
"Every patient. Every family."
"This could involve hundreds of accounts."
"Then find hundreds."
Paul looked toward Damian.
The old Damian would have considered the request irrelevant to his objective.
The new one looked at Tessa.
"Okay."
For two days, the estate became an investigation center.
Damian's financial people traced the foundation.
Tessa worked with Beatrice while trying not to think about the bracelet sitting in an evidence bag downstairs.
On the third evening, Paul brought them the answer.
Three hundred seventeen patients.
Nearly nine million dollars diverted.
Some families had lost homes.
Some patients had died.
Emily was one of them.
Tessa sat silently.
Damian looked through the names.
"We return it."
Paul blinked.
"Nine million?"
"Every dollar."
"That's Sloane's money."
"No."
Damian's voice hardened.
"It belonged to those families."
Paul nodded slowly.
"All right."
Tessa stared at Damian.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you doing this?"
He closed the folder.
"Because you asked."
"That's not enough."
"It is for me."
Her heart did something she didn't want to examine.
The financial transfer was arranged anonymously.
Families began receiving calls.
Old medical balances vanished.
Foreclosure notices were withdrawn.
One mother cried so hard on the phone that the accountant handling the case had to step outside afterward.
But Sloane noticed.
And Sloane understood who had taken his hidden reserve.
At midnight, Damian received a call.
"You're sentimental now," Sloane said.
Damian stood alone on the terrace.
"Careful, Victor."
"Nine million dollars over a maid?"
"Over theft."
Sloane laughed.
"You run half the city's rackets and suddenly you're Robin Hood?"
"There's business, and then there's stealing from dying kids."
"Morality from Damian Costa. That's adorable."
Damian's expression remained cold.
"Stay away from Tessa."
"So she matters."
"Touch her and our truce ends."
Sloane was quiet.
Then he laughed softly.
"You just answered the only question I had."
The call disconnected.
Damian realized his mistake immediately.
He had confirmed Tessa mattered.
He found her in Beatrice's room twenty minutes later.
She was asleep in the wooden chair.
Beatrice slept beside her.
Damian stood watching them.
Not through a camera.
In person.
Tessa woke.
"What time is it?"
"Late."
"You look angry."
"I usually look angry."
"More than usual."
He sat.
"I need you to leave the estate."
She became fully awake.
"What?"
"Temporarily."
"Why?"
"Sloane knows you're important."
"To the investigation?"
Damian didn't answer.
Tessa studied him.
"Oh."
That one syllable unsettled him.
"Oh what?"
"You said important."
"You are."
"Because of your mother."
"Yes."
Something in her expression fell.
Damian saw it.
"And?"
He didn't know how to say the rest.
A man who could negotiate territory worth millions couldn't tell one woman that thinking about her had become the first thing in years capable of frightening him.
"Tessa..."
She stood.
"Where am I supposed to go?"
"I have a safe property."
"Fine."
"I'll come with you."
Her eyes widened.
"Who's staying with Beatrice?"
"Paul."
"No."
"Tessa—"
"She'll panic if we both disappear."
"Your safety isn't negotiable."
"Neither is hers."
They stared at each other.
Then Beatrice spoke from the bed.
"Stop fighting."
Both turned.
Her eyes were open.
"You sound married."
Tessa's mouth fell open.
Damian actually laughed.
A real laugh.
Low and rusty from disuse.
Tessa stared at him.
It transformed his face.
Beatrice smiled.
"There he is."
Damian's laughter vanished.
His mother reached for him.
"There you are."
He took her hand.
For a few precious seconds, Beatrice knew exactly who he was.
Then the clarity faded.
But something had already happened.
Tessa had seen Damian smile.
Damian had heard his mother recognize him.
And neither noticed the tiny red light blinking beneath the window ledge.
May you like
A transmitter.
Someone inside the estate had been listening.
