Chapter 3 - The Man Who Already Knew
Damon did not go to Bellweather that night.
Vincent’s call changed that.
Instead, Damon locked every exterior door, checked the security system twice, and sat in Richard’s old study with the letter in front of him.
Felicity stood in the doorway.
Vincent was still on speaker.
“You have thirty seconds,” Damon said. “Explain how you know about the letter.”
Vincent sighed.
“Richard told me he had written something.”
“When?”
“Before he died.”
“Why?”
“Because he enjoyed threatening people when he believed he had moral superiority.”
Damon almost laughed.
“You’re going to criticize his morality tonight?”
“Damon, this is complicated.”
“My eight-year-old daughter made it fairly simple.”
Vincent was silent.
Damon continued.
“Are you my biological father?”
Felicity shut her eyes.
Vincent answered after five seconds.
“Yes.”
One word.
Forty-one years collapsed behind it.
Damon remembered fishing trips.
Christmas mornings.
Vincent placing a hand on his shoulder at Richard’s funeral.
Every casual joke about how Damon had inherited the Hale stubbornness.
“Did my mother know?”
“Of course she knew.”
“Did Dad?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“From the beginning.”
Damon gripped the edge of the desk.
“Then why did you let me call you Uncle?”
“Because Richard was your father.”
That answer struck Damon harder than denial would have.
“You don’t get to sound noble.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“What is Hawthorne?”
This time Vincent’s silence was different.
Felicity opened her eyes.
Damon caught the reaction.
There.
Fear again.
Vincent said, “An old project.”
“What project?”
“Hawthorne Estates. We built it outside Louisville fifteen years ago.”
Damon knew the development.
Three hundred upscale homes.
One of the company’s most profitable early projects.
“Why did Dad mention it in the same letter where he told me you were my biological father?”
“I have no idea.”
“You’re lying.”
“Be careful.”
Damon leaned toward the phone.
“Was that a threat?”
“No. It was advice.”
“I’ve had enough advice from men who kept my own life secret.”
Vincent exhaled slowly.
“Listen to me. Richard became obsessed near the end with old accounting discrepancies. He was sick. He was frightened of dying. He wanted every unresolved decision turned into a moral crime.”
Felicity shook her head.
Damon noticed.
Vincent continued.
“If he mentioned Hawthorne, he probably found invoices he didn’t understand.”
“My wife understands them.”
Felicity stared at Damon.
The other end went silent.
Damon said, “You didn’t know she told me.”
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“Felicity, are you there?”
She did not answer.
“Felicity.”
Damon smiled grimly.
“She is.”
“Put her on.”
“No.”
“This involves her.”
“That’s becoming obvious.”
Vincent’s tone changed.
For the first time, the gentle uncle disappeared.
“Damon, do not go digging through business records tonight. You’re emotional. People make permanent mistakes when they react to private family matters as if they are corporate facts.”
“Hawthorne is corporate.”
“Hawthorne is finished.”
“Then you won’t mind if I look.”
Vincent hung up.
Damon stared at the screen.
Felicity whispered, “He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That Richard left evidence.”
“You said you didn’t know what Hawthorne was.”
“I said I knew the name.”
“You keep trimming the truth until it fits the question.”
She lowered her head.
Damon stood.
“This marriage does not survive another lie tonight.”
Felicity looked up.
“I mean that.”
She crossed the room and shut the door.
“When I worked at Hale Development, Hawthorne had three primary subcontractors for infrastructure. Merritt Civil. Blue Ridge Utility. Carrow Site Services.”
Damon nodded.
“All real companies.”
“Yes.”
“At least I thought they were.”
A chill moved through him.
“What changed?”
“Two years ago I was reviewing documents for the family holding company. I found a payment from one of our properties to a company called Hawthorne Consulting.”
“How much?”
“Four hundred eighty thousand.”
“For what?”
“Environmental remediation.”
“Did we have contamination?”
“No.”
Damon stared.
“I asked Vincent.”
“And?”
“He told me it was a settlement connected to Hawthorne Estates.”
“Was it?”
“I couldn’t find one.”
“So what did you do?”
“I kept looking.”
“And then he told you he was my father.”
Felicity nodded.
“He showed me letters between him and Margaret.”
Damon flinched hearing his mother’s name.
“He said if I created trouble over the transactions, he would send the letters to you, the board, the press—everyone.”
“That would embarrass us. It wouldn’t destroy us.”
“That wasn’t all.”
Felicity walked to a cabinet and removed a slim folder Damon had never seen.
She placed it on the desk.
Inside were photocopies of financial approvals.
Damon recognized Felicity’s signature.
Four transfers.
Total: $2.36 million.
“These are yours.”
“Yes.”
“You said you thought they were legitimate.”
“I did when I signed the first three.”
“And the fourth?”
Her silence answered him.
Damon looked at the date.
Eighteen months ago.
After she had discovered the problem.
“Why?”
“Vincent said if I refused, he would make it look like I created the entire scheme.”
“Could he?”
“I had approved enough earlier transactions that maybe he could.”
Damon looked sick.
“So you signed another.”
“Yes.”
“For nearly seven hundred thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
He pushed the folder away.
“Where did the money go?”
“I never found out.”
Damon remembered Richard’s sentence.
Do not mistake her fear for innocence.
“You helped him.”
“I was terrified.”
“You helped him.”
Tears filled Felicity’s eyes.
“Yes.”
The admission settled between them.
Then the alarm system chimed.
Not the siren.
The softer sound announcing a door had opened.
Damon looked toward the hallway.
Felicity whispered, “I locked everything.”
Damon checked the security panel on his phone.
The detached garage.
Someone had opened it using an authorized code.
Only four people had that code.
Damon.
Felicity.
May you like
Richard, before he died.
And Vincent.
