Chapter 5 - THE DEAL HIS FATHER MADE WITH A KILLERDamian’s mother lived in Beacon Hill.
Margaret Cross had been a widow for nine years and still occupied the townhouse where Damian and Michael spent part of their childhood.
Claire did not intend to go.
Then Margaret asked for her.
“Why me?”
Damian looked equally confused.
“She said you keep me from doing stupid things.”
Claire stared.
“That is an alarming amount of responsibility.”
“You seem proud.”
“Terrified.”
Margaret Cross was seventy.
Elegant.
Silver-blond hair.
A woman who had spent decades photographed at hospital fundraisers beside men whose names appeared in federal indictments.
When Claire entered, Margaret looked at the crimson gown hidden beneath her borrowed coat.
“So you’re the nurse.”
Claire glanced at Damian.
“Apparently.”
Margaret almost smiled.
Then she looked at her son.
Everything changed.
“I’m sorry.”
Damian remained standing.
“For which part?”
Margaret flinched.
Good question.
“Sit.”
“No.”
Claire looked at him.
Damian noticed.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
Margaret watched.
Something like hope crossed hers.
Then she began.
Michael discovered Sebastian’s theft fourteen years earlier.
At first, it involved freight.
Cash shipments.
Illegal contracts.
Nothing the Cross family considered shocking.
Then Michael discovered Sebastian had been selling information to competitors.
Men were attacked because routes had been leaked.
Two died.
Michael wanted Sebastian removed.
Their father, Henry, refused.
“Why?”
Damian asked.
“Sebastian had evidence.”
“Of what?”
Margaret’s voice shook.
“Your father.”
Henry Cross had ordered a warehouse fire years earlier to destroy evidence during a federal investigation.
A night watchman died.
Sebastian had proof.
“He blackmailed Dad.”
Damian laughed bitterly.
“So Dad let him stay.”
“Yes.”
“And Michael?”
“Wouldn’t.”
Michael threatened to take the evidence to prosecutors himself.
Three weeks later his boat failed off Cape Ann.
He drowned.
Damian’s father knew almost immediately Sebastian was responsible.
“How?”
“The inspector.”
“Price?”
Margaret nodded.
“He came to your father asking for more money.”
Damian went completely still.
“What did Dad do?”
“Paid him.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Not because Henry killed Michael.
Because he buried it.
Damian whispered:
“Why?”
Margaret cried.
“To keep Sebastian from exposing everything.”
“So he protected Michael’s murderer.”
“Yes.”
“His own son.”
“Yes.”
Damian turned away.
Claire saw his hand close around nothing.
The old instinct.
Violence needed somewhere to go.
Margaret continued.
“Your father told himself he was protecting you.”
Damian spun.
“Do not.”
His voice cracked through the room.
“Do not tell me he did this for me.”
Margaret cried harder.
“He thought if the family collapsed—”
“He thought the family was the organization.”
Silence.
Damian understood the disease.
Power pretending to be love.
Claire had seen versions of it before.
Military officers risking soldiers to preserve careers.
Parents controlling children and calling it concern.
Partners isolating spouses and calling it protection.
Different clothes.
Same wound.
Margaret looked at Claire.
“I asked you here because he listens to you.”
Damian’s face hardened.
Claire answered before he could.
“No.”
Margaret blinked.
“No?”
“I am not responsible for managing your son’s choices.”
Damian looked at her.
Claire continued.
“I can tell him what I think.”
“I can treat him if he is injured.”
“I can leave if I don’t like what he becomes.”
“But I’m not going to be another person secretly steering his life because we’ve decided he can’t handle the truth.”
Damian stared.
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“You’re right.”
That surprised Claire.
Damian too.
Margaret retrieved a lockbox.
Inside were letters.
Michael’s notes.
Henry’s written confession drafted but never sent.
And one photograph.
Sebastian meeting Congressman Hale ten years earlier.
The corruption extended far back.
Enough, perhaps, to finally destroy him.
But one piece remained.
Direct proof Sebastian ordered Michael’s sabotage.
Henry’s confession contained only suspicion.
Leonard Price, the inspector, might provide testimony.
If alive.
Malcolm located him in Florida.
Retired.
Living under another name.
Federal investigators were contacted.
Again, Damian chose law enforcement.
Again, Claire noticed.
That evening, they returned to the penthouse.
Claire was exhausted.
Her crimson dress had survived poison, police, hospital corridors, and family murder revelations.
“I'm burning this.”
Damian looked at her.
“No.”
She stared.
His mouth almost moved.
“Strong opinion.”
“It has historical significance.”
“It cost four hundred eighty dollars.”
“I’ll buy it.”
“No.”
He stopped.
Right.
“Sorry.”
Claire smiled despite herself.
“You really aren’t used to people saying no.”
“No.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Deeply.”
She walked toward the guest bathroom to change.
Then Damian said:
“Claire.”
She turned.
He looked strangely uncertain.
“What?”
“The thing I said when you arrived.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Which thing?”
“Who gave you permission to look like that.”
“Yes.”
“It was inappropriate.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Extremely.”
“I’m sorry.”
That mattered.
Not because the sentence had devastated her.
It had not.
But because powerful men rarely apologized before women forced them to.
“Accepted.”
He nodded.
She waited.
“There’s more.”
“Of course.”
He looked toward the skyline.
“I noticed you before tonight.”
Claire stopped.
Damian continued.
“The dress surprised me.”
“You looked traumatized.”
“I was having a difficult evening.”
She almost smiled.
“But I noticed you.”
“When?”
“The first night you worked at the clinic.”
That surprised her.
“You never spoke to me.”
“You told one of my men to stop bleeding on the blood-pressure cuff.”
“He was ruining it.”
“I remember.”
Claire’s face warmed.
“Why say nothing?”
Damian looked at her.
“Because you worked for me.”
That answer changed the room.
No romantic mythology.
No excuse.
A boundary.
“I had no business making your job uncomfortable.”
“So you ignored me.”
“I attempted to.”
“Very flattering.”
“I said attempted.”
Silence.
The attraction between them finally existed openly.
That was dangerous in a different way.
Claire’s voice softened.
“Nothing happens while I work for Crosswell.”
Damian did not hesitate.
“Agreed.”
“You don't transfer me to make it easier.”
“No.”
“You don't fire me.”
His expression became offended.
“Claire.”
“Just clarifying.”
“Agreed.”
“Good.”
He smiled faintly.
Then his phone rang.
Malcolm.
Damian answered.
“What?”
His face changed.
“When?”
Claire knew immediately.
Something bad.
He ended the call.
“Leonard Price is dead.”
Her stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
“Florida?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Hit-and-run.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Too convenient.
Damian looked toward the city.
Sebastian was cleaning the past before federal agents could reach it.
Then Malcolm called again.
This time his voice was urgent enough Claire could hear.
“Boss, Julian’s gone.”
Damian stiffened.
“What?”
“He disappeared from Mass General.”
Claire stared.
Julian had been recovering under guard.
“How?”
“One of our own men signed him out.”
“Name?”
Malcolm hesitated.
“Evan Cross.”
Damian’s cousin.
Sebastian’s son.
May you like
And the next person in line to control the family businesses if both Damian and Sebastian were removed.
The conspiracy had just grown another generation.
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