Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE GLASS
Damian reached the Wisconsin rehabilitation center shortly after sunrise.
Enzo drove.
Two trusted men followed in another car, staying far enough away not to alarm the staff.
Damian carried Isabelle's old gold locket in his coat pocket.
He had spent the entire drive imagining her face.
Would she recognize him?
Would she hate him?
Would she turn away?
He deserved all three possibilities.
At the reception desk, a nurse checked the name Anna Mercer.
Her expression changed.
“Are you family?”
Damian hesitated.
“Her husband.”
The nurse looked toward a supervisor.
“Please wait here.”
Damian felt a familiar panic rising.
He had waited four years for a chance to see Isabelle.
Now he stood in a quiet hallway smelling of coffee and antiseptic, afraid she might be only a few doors away.
The supervisor appeared.
“Mr. Vescari?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry. Anna Mercer isn't currently a resident here.”
Damian stared.
“But she's scheduled to leave with Adrian Hale today.”
The supervisor's expression tightened.
“Mr. Hale is on our approved visitor list.”
“Approved by whom?”
“Mrs. Mercer.”
Damian felt the room tilt.
“May I see her admission information?”
“Not without authorization.”
He could have threatened the woman.
Four years earlier, he probably would have.
Instead, he removed Isabelle's locket.
“Please ask Mrs. Mercer if she recognizes this.”
The supervisor studied it.
Then disappeared down the hallway.
Ten minutes passed.
Twenty.
Damian sat beneath a framed painting of Lake Michigan.
Every passing footstep made him look up.
Finally, the supervisor returned.
“She'd like to speak with you.”
Damian stood so quickly his chair scraped the floor.
“Where?”
The woman gestured toward a private consultation room.
Inside sat a woman with silver hair and an oxygen tube beneath her nose.
Margaret Hale.
Damian stopped.
Margaret looked older than he remembered.
Her face was thinner.
But her eyes remained sharp.
“Hello, Damian.”
He stared.
“Margaret.”
She smiled sadly.
“I'm sorry about the funeral.”
He couldn't answer.
“You were supposed to stay hidden,” she continued. “Victor had begun asking about the foundation records again.”
Damian sat opposite her.
“Where is Isabelle?”
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“Not here.”
“Why is Adrian coming?”
“To take me somewhere safer.”
Damian stared.
“Adrian is helping you?”
“He has been for eighteen months.”
“He works for Victor.”
“He used to.”
Margaret watched him.
“You've spent your whole life believing a man's loyalty belongs to the person who raised him. Adrian had to learn otherwise.”
Damian remembered the watch.
“Is he the one who followed Isabelle?”
“Yes.”
Damian's hands tightened.
Margaret continued.
“Victor sent Adrian to find her. But when Adrian realized she was protecting a child, he refused to report her location.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“Because you told Victor everything.”
The words landed with terrible precision.
Margaret reached into her handbag.
She removed a small silver rosary.
Damian recognized it.
Isabelle had carried it on their wedding day.
“She asked me to give you this.”
His heart hammered.
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
Damian took the rosary.
“Where is she?”
Margaret hesitated.
“She wants to come home. But she needs one thing first.”
“What?”
“Proof that Victor cannot reach Lily through the law.”
Damian frowned.
Margaret explained.
“Victor learned Elena had adopted Lily. He helped arrange the paperwork through an attorney he controlled.”
“Why?”
“Because if Isabelle ever came forward, Victor could challenge Elena's custody and use the resulting investigation to locate the child.”
Damian felt sick.
“He was keeping Lily vulnerable.”
“Yes.”
“Then why let Elena work at Greystone?”
Margaret looked at him.
“Victor didn't know Elena was the woman protecting Isabelle's daughter until recently.”
“Recently?”
“The request for Lily's birth certificate.”
Damian understood.
Victor had been searching.
And after all these years, he'd finally found the right child.
Margaret touched his hand.
“Adrian has been gathering proof. He knows which attorney Victor used and where the original documents are stored.”
“Then I'll help him.”
Margaret nodded.
“But first, you need to understand something about Isabelle.”
Damian looked up.
“She hasn't spent four years simply hiding.”
Margaret's voice became unsteady.
“She has been receiving medical treatment.”
Damian's stomach dropped.
“For what?”
“Injuries from the night she escaped the river. She suffered complications and needed several surgeries. Some days she could barely walk.”
Damian covered his face.
The woman he loved had been suffering while he lived surrounded by comfort.
Margaret continued.
“She didn't want Lily remembering hospitals and pain. She wanted her daughter to have a childhood.”
Damian lifted his eyes.
“Is she getting better?”
“Yes. Slowly.”
Margaret smiled through tears.
“She recently walked across a room without assistance.”
Damian bent his head.
He cried silently.
Not because he expected forgiveness.
Because Isabelle had endured so much while he had done nothing.
Margaret allowed him a moment.
Then she reached into her handbag again.
“This came yesterday.”
She handed him an envelope.
Inside was a recent photograph of Isabelle standing in a garden.
She looked older.
Thinner.
But she was smiling.
Beside the photograph was a note.
Tell Damian I am not asking him to forgive himself. I am asking him to protect our daughter.
At the bottom was an address.
A small farmhouse near Lake Geneva.
Damian looked up.
“She's there?”
Margaret nodded.
“Today.”
He stood.
Then Margaret caught his sleeve.
“Damian.”
He turned.
She looked frightened.
“Before you go, there's something you must know.”
“What?”
“Victor didn't order Isabelle's car into the river.”
Damian froze.
Margaret's eyes filled.
“He ordered someone to frighten her into surrendering the evidence. The man driving that night went further.”
“Who?”
Margaret swallowed.
“Someone who wanted you to believe she was dead.”
Damian's voice turned cold.
“Tell me his name.”
May you like
Margaret whispered:
“Adrian Hale.”
