Chapter 2 - The Brother Who Came Back From the Dead
Damian Russo had imagined hearing his brother's voice again a thousand times.
Never once had he imagined wanting to put a gun to the man's head.
“Don't touch that document, Damian.”
The voice came from the hallway.
It was older now. Rougher. There was a slight hesitation between words, as though every sentence had to pass through seventeen years of pain.
But Damian knew it.
He would have recognized that voice in a crowded stadium.
Anthony.
His little brother.
The boy who had followed him around their father's estate, begging to ride in his car.
The nineteen-year-old Damian had buried in his heart after a warehouse fire.
Damian turned slowly.
A man stood beyond the catering room doorway.
He was thirty-eight now, with dark hair streaked prematurely with gray. A pale scar ran from his left temple beneath his collar. His charcoal coat was rain-soaked, and his right hand trembled slightly around the handle of an old leather bag.
Damian took one step toward him.
Then stopped.
“Anthony?”
The man nodded.
“Hello, big brother.”
Damian crossed the distance between them.
For one terrible second, Anthony seemed to believe he was about to be embraced.
Instead, Damian grabbed his coat.
“Seventeen years.”
Anthony didn't resist.
“Damian—”
“Seventeen years I stood beside an empty coffin because they couldn't find enough of you to bury.”
“I know.”
“You knew I was alive. You knew where I lived. You knew I spent every birthday at your grave.”
Anthony lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
Damian released him as though touching him had become unbearable.
“Then give me one reason I shouldn't throw you out.”
Anthony opened his bag.
Inside was a small silver wristwatch.
Damian recognized it immediately.
Their mother had given Anthony the watch on his sixteenth birthday, two years before she died.
The crystal was cracked at seven o'clock.
Damian had accidentally dropped it while teaching Anthony to drive.
Their father had offered to replace it.
Anthony refused.
“Danny broke it,” he'd said, laughing. “That makes it worth keeping.”
Now the watch lay between them.
“I was wearing this the night of the fire,” Anthony said.
Damian stared at it.
“Where have you been?”
“Trying to stay alive.”
“From whom?”
Anthony looked past him.
Straight at Victoria.
“Ask your fiancée.”
Victoria's face drained of color.
“That isn't fair.”
Anthony gave a bitter laugh.
“Fair? You want to discuss fair?”
Damian stepped between them.
“Both of you, stop.”
Ethan appeared in the doorway, followed by two security guards.
“Boss, the guests are asking questions.”
“Send them home.”
“Damian,” Victoria protested, “this is our rehearsal celebration.”
“Then consider it canceled.”
She flinched.
Damian noticed.
It was the first time he'd seen Victoria react to losing something that wasn't money or attention.
But his attention returned to Anthony.
“Start talking.”
Anthony glanced at the cylinder.
“First, put that document away.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever gets the name can use it to find someone our father spent twenty years trying to protect.”
Damian's expression hardened.
“Our father protected people?”
Anthony looked at the floor.
“Not often enough.”
Before Damian could respond, Dr. Harris entered with Rachel.
Her injured arm was secured in a sling. Her face was pale, and there was dried blood near her collarbone.
“I told her to rest,” the doctor said, “but she insisted on speaking to you.”
Rachel stopped when she saw Anthony.
Her fingers tightened around her sling.
Anthony looked equally stunned.
“Rachel?”
Damian turned sharply.
“You know her?”
Anthony swallowed.
“I know her mother.”
Rachel stepped backward.
“No.”
Anthony approached carefully.
“Rachel, please.”
“You don't get to say my name.”
A silence fell.
Damian looked from one to the other.
“What is going on?”
Rachel's eyes filled.
“This is the man who came to our apartment six months ago.”
Anthony closed his eyes.
Rachel continued.
“He told my mother we had to leave Savannah. He said people were looking for us.”
“Rachel—”
“You offered us money.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You frightened my mother so badly she collapsed that night.”
Damian turned toward Anthony.
“Did you threaten them?”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
Anthony reached into his coat and removed a faded photograph.
It showed the same young woman Rachel had seen in Vincent's legal folder.
Only this time, the baby's face was visible.
And standing beside the woman was a boy of about ten.
Anthony.
Rachel stared.
“My mother?”
Anthony nodded.
“Evelyn Foster.”
Damian studied the picture.
He remembered the woman.
Not clearly.
Only fragments.
A kind face at the family Christmas party.
A woman who had once brought lemon cookies to the house.
Their father had introduced her as a bookkeeper.
Then she'd disappeared.
Rachel reached for the photograph.
“Why do you have this?”
“Because your mother gave it to me.”
“When?”
Anthony hesitated.
“The night before the fire.”
Damian felt something tighten in his chest.
“That fire happened seventeen years ago.”
“I know.”
“You're saying Evelyn was involved?”
“I'm saying she tried to stop it.”
Victoria suddenly moved toward the door.
Ethan blocked her.
“Where are you going, ma'am?”
“I need some air.”
Damian didn't look at her.
“Stay.”
Anthony sat at the table, visibly exhausted.
“For years, Dad maintained a private family trust. Officially, it provided for you, me, and his business holdings. Unofficially, he used it to support someone else.”
“Who?”
Anthony looked at Rachel.
She went perfectly still.
“Don't,” she whispered.
Anthony stopped.
Damian noticed the exchange.
He looked down at the taped name.
“Rachel?”
Anthony shook his head.
“Damian, listen to me. The name isn't the entire truth.”
Before he could continue, Ethan's phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
His face changed.
“Boss. There's been a problem at St. Catherine's Medical Center.”
Rachel straightened.
“My mother is there.”
Ethan looked at her, then at Damian.
“Mrs. Foster's private medical funding was canceled twenty-three minutes ago.”
Rachel made a small, broken sound.
“No. Her treatment is tomorrow.”
Damian turned toward Victoria.
“Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”
Victoria's eyes were wet.
“I didn't cancel anything.”
“Then who did?”
She hesitated.
And that hesitation told Damian more than any denial.
Rachel pulled her phone from her pocket.
A hospital administrator had left a message.
Her mother's treatment could not proceed without financial authorization.
Anthony stood abruptly.
“This is how they make people disappear.”
Damian looked at him.
“Who?”
Anthony placed the silver watch on the table.
Then he opened its cracked back.
Folded inside was a tiny piece of paper, yellowed by age.
Three words were written in Vincent Russo's handwriting.
TRUSTEE: MALCOLM VALE.
Damian stared.
Malcolm Vale was his oldest financial adviser.
The man who had handled his father's estate.
The man scheduled to stand beside him at tomorrow's wedding.
And the man who had personally arranged Rachel's mother's medical funding.
Anthony looked his brother in the eye.
“Damian, Malcolm didn't just help bury me seventeen years ago.”
May you like
He pointed toward the taped document.
“He's the reason that baby was never supposed to grow up.”
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