Chapter 3 - The Name Everyone Remembered
Vivian sat beside Sebastian Moretti.
Damon sat across from her.
Nobody at the table touched their food.
Finally, Vivian said, “Someone should explain.”
Sebastian folded his hands.
“Your mother worked for Damon’s father.”
Vivian’s face changed.
“My mother was a bookkeeper.”
“For Nathaniel Cross.”
Damon leaned forward.
“My father never employed an Eleanor Marsh.”
“Not officially.”
Sebastian looked at him.
“She found discrepancies in his accounts twenty-nine years ago.”
Vivian stared at him.
“What kind?”
“The kind that could have started a war.”
Julian shifted uneasily.
“This is ancient history.”
Sebastian turned toward him.
“Then you won’t mind hearing it.”
Julian went quiet.
Sebastian continued.
“Eleanor discovered someone was stealing from the Cross organization and moving the money through Moretti companies to make it appear that we were responsible.”
Damon’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
“She never proved it.”
“But she suspected someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Sebastian looked toward Julian.
Not at Julian himself.
At the gold ring on his hand.
The Cross family crest.
“Someone inside your family.”
Vivian pushed her chair back slightly.
“My mother died when I was nine.”
“I know.”
“Car accident.”
Sebastian said nothing.
Vivian understood the silence.
“No.”
Damon spoke immediately.
“Sebastian.”
“I’m telling her what I know.”
“You’re suggesting my father—”
“I’m suggesting nothing.”
Sebastian looked at Vivian.
“Eleanor gave me a copy of a ledger two days before she died.”
Vivian’s face drained of color.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t have it anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because she asked me to return it.”
“To whom?”
Sebastian’s gaze settled on her.
“To you.”
Vivian almost laughed.
“I was nine.”
“She said you would know when you were old enough.”
“I never received anything.”
Damon’s expression hardened.
“Who delivered it?”
“One of Nathaniel’s lawyers.”
“Name.”
“Arthur Vale.”
Damon immediately stood.
Julian frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Vale.”
“He retired ten years ago.”
“He’s still alive.”
Vivian rose.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Excuse me?”
“If this involves my father—”
“It involves my mother.”
The entire table fell silent.
Damon stared at her.
For three years, Vivian had answered every instruction with yes, Mr. Cross.
Now there was steel in her voice.
He found himself almost smiling.
“Fine.”
Julian stood.
“I’ll come too.”
Vivian looked at him.
“No.”
His expression darkened.
“And why exactly—”
“Because you wanted me here as entertainment.”
She lifted her purse.
“You’ve been entertained.”
Then she walked away.
Damon followed.
In the elevator, silence stretched between them.
Finally he said, “I owe you an apology.”
Vivian watched the floor numbers descend.
“Yes.”
Damon looked at her.
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting? For me to make it easier for you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The elevator continued downward.
“You knew,” he said.
“About the joke?”
“Yes.”
“Immediately?”
“I manage your calendar, Mr. Cross. I knew the gala had no mandatory staff attendance.”
Damon exhaled.
“Why come?”
Vivian finally turned toward him.
“Because I got tired of making myself smaller so powerful men would feel bigger.”
The doors opened.
She stepped out.
Damon remained still for half a second.
Then followed.
Arthur Vale lived in a guarded townhouse on the Upper East Side.
When his housekeeper opened the door and saw Damon, she immediately disappeared upstairs.
Arthur appeared moments later.
Eighty years old. Thin. Alert.
“Damon.”
“Eleanor Marsh.”
Arthur stopped.
Vivian stepped forward.
“I’m her daughter.”
The old man’s face collapsed.
“Oh, God.”
Vivian swallowed.
“Mr. Vale, did my mother leave something for me?”
Arthur stared at her for several seconds.
Then he whispered:
“I wondered when you would finally come.”
He led them into his study.
From a locked cabinet, Arthur removed an old envelope.
Across the front, in faded handwriting, were two words.
For Vivian.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside was a small brass key.
And a note.
Vivian read it aloud.
“Numbers lie when people make them. Find the originals.”
Damon frowned.
“Originals where?”
Arthur looked at Vivian.
“Your mother rented a safe-deposit box.”
Vivian stared at the key.
“Which bank?”
Arthur told her.
Damon’s face went still.
He knew the address.
It was directly across the street from Cross headquarters.
Vivian whispered, “She hid it where they could see it every day.”
Damon looked at her.
“No.”
A strange admiration entered his voice.
May you like
“She hid it where nobody would think to look.”
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