Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Photograph
“The treatment goes ahead.”
Damian said it before anyone else could speak.
Ethan already had his phone out.
“Boss, the hospital says the funding account has been frozen.”
“Then don't use the account.”
Damian looked at Rachel.
“Your mother's medical bills are mine until we straighten this out.”
Rachel stared at him.
“I can't accept—”
“You're not asking for a favor.”
His voice softened.
“You were hurt in my home by someone I allowed into it. That's my responsibility.”
Victoria looked away.
For the first time that night, Rachel didn't thank him.
She just nodded.
Somehow, Damian respected that more.
Ethan stepped into the hallway to contact St. Catherine's.
Dr. Harris urged Rachel to sit.
Anthony remained near the table, one hand resting against his injured hip.
Damian noticed the way he stood.
“Was that from the fire?”
Anthony nodded.
“Part of it.”
“What happened that night?”
Anthony glanced toward Victoria.
“Not with her listening.”
Victoria folded her arms.
“You think I enjoy being accused of things I don't understand?”
Rachel spoke before Damian could answer.
“You understood perfectly when you shoved me into that cabinet.”
Victoria's lips parted.
Then closed.
Damian turned to her.
“Did you hurt Rachel?”
Victoria looked at Rachel's sling.
“I grabbed her.”
“You told me she injured herself.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Victoria swallowed.
“Because she found something she wasn't supposed to see.”
“That's not an explanation.”
“No,” Victoria said quietly. “It isn't.”
Damian studied the woman he'd planned to marry.
He had met Victoria eighteen months earlier at a children's hospital fundraiser.
She'd been raising money for families who couldn't afford specialized treatment.
She remembered nurses' names.
She worked late into the night.
She'd cried when a six-year-old patient finally went home.
That was the woman he'd fallen in love with.
Now Rachel stood in front of him with her arm in a sling.
Both things were true.
And Damian didn't know how to reconcile them.
“Go to the library,” he told Victoria. “Ethan will have someone stay with you.”
She looked startled.
“Am I a prisoner?”
“No. But you're not leaving until I know what's happened here.”
Victoria walked out without another word.
Anthony watched her leave.
“You still love her.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“That isn't your concern.”
“It will be.”
“Enough.”
Rachel shifted in her chair.
“Mr. Russo, may I see the photograph again?”
Anthony handed it over.
Rachel held it carefully.
Her mother was much younger in the picture, with long auburn hair and a plain blue dress.
The baby was wrapped in a white blanket.
A small gold bracelet circled its wrist.
Rachel frowned.
“My mother kept that blanket.”
Damian looked up.
“What?”
“She still has it. In a cedar chest beside her bed.”
Anthony leaned forward.
“Did she keep the bracelet?”
Rachel shook her head.
“I don't know.”
For some reason, that seemed to trouble him.
Damian placed the two photographs side by side.
The one Rachel had found was formal.
Vincent stood with Evelyn and the baby, looking uncomfortable.
In Anthony's photograph, Vincent wasn't holding the child.
He was staring at her.
Not with affection.
With fear.
Damian looked at his brother.
“What was he afraid of?”
Anthony rubbed his face.
“Dad made enemies long before we were old enough to understand. By the time I was eighteen, I had started working in the family offices.”
“I remember.”
“You remember telling me not to.”
“Because I knew what those offices were.”
Anthony almost smiled.
“Yeah. You did.”
Then his expression darkened.
“I found records showing that money meant for Evelyn and her child had been moved into another account. Millions of dollars, Damian.”
“By Malcolm?”
“His authorization was on the transfers.”
“Did Dad know?”
“I thought he did.”
“And now?”
Anthony stared at their father's name engraved on the cylinder.
“Now I'm not sure what he knew.”
Damian sat opposite him.
“You said Malcolm buried you.”
Anthony drew a slow breath.
“The night of the warehouse fire, I was supposed to meet Evelyn. She had found proof that someone had forged a change to the family trust.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn't tell me over the phone.”
Damian waited.
“I arrived early. Someone had already been inside. There were overturned filing cabinets and gasoline on the floor.”
“Why didn't you leave?”
“Because I heard someone crying.”
Anthony looked toward Rachel.
“A woman was trapped in the records office. I got her out through a side exit. Then the building went up.”
Damian remembered the funeral.
The closed coffin.
Vincent's expressionless face.
His own refusal to believe that Anthony was gone.
“You survived.”
“Barely. I woke up in a private clinic two days later.”
“Who took you there?”
“Thomas Whitaker.”
Their father's attorney.
Damian felt anger rising.
“Whitaker knew you were alive?”
“Yes.”
“He watched me bury you?”
Anthony's eyes filled.
“He thought telling you would get you killed.”
“That's convenient.”
“I know.”
“No, Anthony. You don't.”
Damian stood.
“You don't know what it was like to watch Dad turn your bedroom into an office six months after you supposedly died. You don't know what it was like to inherit his empire while wondering whether I could have saved you.”
Anthony looked down.
“I tried to come back.”
“When?”
“Three years after the fire.”
Damian froze.
Anthony continued.
“I came to Savannah. I went to the old house. I saw you through the window.”
“And?”
“There were two men parked across the street. I recognized one from the warehouse.”
Damian waited.
“I followed him. Two days later, I found out he'd been paid to watch your movements.”
“By whom?”
“An account controlled by Malcolm.”
Damian turned toward the window.
He'd spent seventeen years believing his brother had abandoned him through death.
Now he was being asked to believe someone had stolen those years deliberately.
Neither truth offered much comfort.
Ethan returned.
“Mrs. Foster's treatment is authorized. The hospital has confirmed the payment.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
“Thank you.”
Ethan continued.
“There's something else.”
He held out a tablet.
“The funding account was frozen using an emergency authorization from the Russo Family Medical Trust. The request came from Malcolm Vale's office.”
Damian wasn't surprised.
Then Ethan enlarged the document.
A second signature appeared beneath Malcolm's.
Victoria Sinclair.
Rachel stared.
Anthony whispered something angry under his breath.
But Damian noticed the timestamp.
Victoria's authorization had been entered at 8:14 p.m.
At 8:14, Victoria had been in the ballroom threatening Rachel.
Someone had submitted the authorization using her credentials.
“Get me the access records,” Damian said.
Ethan nodded.
Rachel's phone rang.
It was her mother.
She answered immediately.
“Mom?”
For a moment, Rachel listened.
Then her face went white.
“Slow down. What do you mean?”
Everyone watched her.
Rachel lowered the phone.
“My mother says Malcolm Vale came to see her yesterday.”
Damian stepped closer.
“What did he want?”
Rachel's voice shook.
“He asked whether she still had the little gold bracelet.”
Anthony rose so suddenly his chair scraped across the floor.
Rachel looked at him.
“Mom told him she threw it away years ago.”
Anthony's face drained.
“Did she?”
“No.”
Rachel reached into the pocket of her maid's uniform.
She removed a delicate gold bracelet with a broken clasp.
“My mother gave it to me when I turned eighteen.”
Damian leaned closer.
Inside the bracelet were two engraved letters.
V.R.
And beside them, almost invisible, was a date.
The day Rachel Foster was born.
Anthony looked at Damian.
Then at Rachel.
“Your mother didn't tell you because she was trying to protect you.”
Rachel's eyes filled.
“Protect me from what?”
Anthony reached for the bracelet but stopped himself.
“Rachel, that bracelet was made for Vincent Russo's daughter.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Damian looked from the bracelet to the woman he'd known as his maid.
May you like
And understood why the old photograph had been hidden.
“Rachel,” he said quietly, “I think you're my sister.”
Related Stories
