Chapter 3 - Seven Pieces of the Truth
Richard Ashford arrived at the mansion at 8:17 that evening.
He walked into Damon’s study smiling.
“You said it was urgent.”
Damon was standing behind the desk.
The velvet ring box sat in front of him.
Richard’s smile disappeared.
That was enough.
“You recognize it,” Damon said.
Richard recovered quickly.
“It was Elena’s.”
“You knew where it was?”
“No.”
“Then why did you access my security archive twenty minutes after I opened the compartment?”
Richard stared.
“Excuse me?”
Damon slid a photograph across the desk.
Richard glanced at the image.
“That could be anyone.”
“It’s you.”
“Then your cameras are wrong.”
“Cameras don’t generally hallucinate my brother.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
The brothers had inherited very different versions of their father.
Damon had inherited discipline.
Richard had inherited charm.
For years, Damon had protected him from the consequences of impulsive decisions.
Elena had often warned him.
Helping someone avoid consequences isn’t always helping them.
Damon had thought she meant Richard’s spending.
Now he wondered whether she had meant something else.
“What did Elena discover?”
Richard looked genuinely confused.
“About what?”
“Seven recordings.”
Something flickered in Richard’s eyes.
Damon saw it.
“You know.”
Richard stood.
“This is insane.”
“Sit down.”
“You don’t command me.”
“Tonight I do.”
Richard laughed bitterly.
“There he is. Damon Ashford, king of everything.”
From the doorway came a tiny voice.
“No. I’m the boss.”
Both men turned.
Zuri stood there holding Naomi’s hand.
Despite everything, Damon almost smiled.
Richard did not.
“Why is the maid’s kid in your study?”
Damon’s expression hardened.
“Her name is Zuri.”
Naomi stepped forward.
“We were leaving.”
“Stay,” Damon said.
Richard scoffed.
“This has become ridiculous.”
Zuri stared at Richard.
Then she hid behind Naomi.
Damon noticed.
“What is it?”
Zuri whispered something.
Naomi bent down.
“What, baby?”
Zuri pointed at Richard.
“He broke the song.”
Silence.
Richard’s face went pale.
Damon stepped around the desk.
“What did she say?”
Naomi repeated it.
Richard backed away.
“This is absurd.”
Damon watched him carefully.
“What does ‘broke the song’ mean?”
“I have no idea.”
But Zuri walked toward the desk.
She pointed at the brass key.
“Bad man wanted the key.”
Richard suddenly moved.
Not toward Zuri.
Toward the desk.
Damon reached it first.
He closed his fist around the key.
Richard stopped.
There was no longer any point pretending.
“What does it open?” Damon asked.
Richard said nothing.
“What does it open?”
“You need to leave this alone.”
Those words confirmed everything.
Damon’s anger became frighteningly calm.
“Elena has been dead three years, and somehow you’re still afraid of what she knew.”
Richard looked toward Naomi.
“Get them out.”
“This is my house.”
“Exactly. And if you want to keep it, stop digging.”
Damon stared at him.
“What did you do?”
Richard’s shoulders fell.
“Not what you think.”
“Then explain.”
Richard paced.
Years of resentment seemed to emerge with every step.
“Dad left you everything that mattered. Control of the company. Voting authority. The estate. The foundation. I got shares and a seat at a table where nobody listened.”
“So you stole?”
Richard snapped around.
“I borrowed.”
Damon closed his eyes.
“How much?”
“It started small.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-two million.”
Naomi gasped.
Damon barely reacted.
“And Elena found it.”
“Yes.”
Richard sat down.
“She discovered irregular transfers through foundation accounts. I begged her not to tell you until I could repay them.”
“You stole charitable money.”
“I moved corporate funds temporarily.”
“Through a charity.”
Richard looked ashamed.
“She gave me thirty days.”
Damon glanced at Elena’s note.
“She recorded evidence.”
“I assumed so.”
“Where are the recordings?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why delete security footage?”
“Because three years ago I searched this room for them.”
Damon felt sick.
“You searched our home while she was dying?”
“After she died.”
“That makes it better?”
Richard said nothing.
Damon looked at the brass key.
“What does this open?”
Richard finally answered.
“A deposit box.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
That part sounded truthful.
Naomi spoke quietly.
“The music box came from St. Matthew’s Church.”
Everyone looked at her.
“The rummage sale.”
Damon remembered Elena volunteering there.
Perhaps the box had not arrived at that church accidentally.
Twenty-five minutes later, Mrs. Whitfield joined them.
When Damon showed her the key, she recognized it.
“Elena had a box at Union Heritage Bank.”
Damon stared.
“You knew?”
“I drove her there once.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I didn’t know what she put inside.”
Damon grabbed his coat.
The bank was closed.
But Damon Ashford owned twelve percent of the institution.
At 10:04 p.m., its regional director opened the private vault.
Box 417.
The brass key fit.
Inside were six envelopes.
Not seven.
Each carried a number.
ONE.
TWO.
THREE.
FOUR.
FIVE.
SIX.
There was also a photograph.
Damon picked it up.
Elena stood outside St. Matthew’s Church.
Beside her was Naomi.
A much younger Naomi.
Pregnant.
Naomi stared at the picture.
“That’s impossible.”
Damon looked at her.
“You knew Elena?”
“No.”
“You’re standing beside her.”
“I’ve never seen that picture.”
Naomi took it with trembling fingers.
Then she saw the date.
Four years earlier.
Six months before Zuri was born.
Naomi whispered, “I remember this day.”
Damon waited.
“I didn’t know who she was.”
Naomi’s eyes filled with tears.
“I was homeless for almost three weeks. Zuri’s father had left. I was pregnant, working temporary jobs. St. Matthew’s had a food program.”
She touched Elena’s face in the photograph.
“This woman helped me.”
Damon could barely breathe.
“What did she do?”
“She sat with me. Bought me lunch. Helped me get into transitional housing.”
“Did she give you her name?”
“Ellie.”
Damon closed his eyes.
Elena.
Ellie.
Naomi continued.
“She told me something.”
“What?”
Naomi looked at Zuri.
“She said if I ever had a daughter, I should teach her that being small didn’t mean being powerless.”
Zuri was asleep against Mrs. Whitfield’s shoulder.
Damon looked at the child who had marched into his study and declared herself boss.
His chest tightened.
He opened envelope one.
Inside was a memory card.
He inserted it into his laptop.
Elena appeared on-screen.
Alive.
Smiling.
Damon stopped breathing.
“Hi, stubborn man,” she said.
His eyes filled immediately.
“If you’re watching this, then somebody finally found my ridiculous little treasure hunt.”
Damon laughed through his tears.
Then Elena’s smile faded.
“There are seven recordings, Damon. The first six will tell you what happened.”
She paused.
“But the seventh will tell you why.”
The screen went black.
Damon looked inside the deposit box.
Six envelopes.
Only six.
Richard whispered:
“Where’s number seven?”
Damon stared at the photograph of Elena and Naomi.
Then at sleeping Zuri.
May you like
He had a terrible feeling that the seventh recording had never been intended for him to find alone.
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