Chapter 5 - He Came Looking for His Wife
Damian arrived in Baltimore at 8:17 that evening.
We knew because Robert's investigator saw him.
He wasn't alone.
A black Mercedes pulled into the parking lot outside my house.
Damian stepped out wearing the same expensive coat he had worn the first time I met him.
Perfect hair.
Perfect shoes.
Perfect smile.
The smile of a man who believed the world belonged to him.
But this time, he wasn't carrying flowers.
He was carrying a folder.
Robert watched him through the security camera.
“Don't go outside.”
I stood beside Chloe.
“I wasn't planning to.”
Damian knocked.
Three times.
Slowly.
Then he called my phone.
I ignored it.
He called again.
Still nothing.
Finally, a message appeared.
Margaret, we need to talk.
Then another.
This has gone too far.
Then:
Bring my wife outside.
Chloe stared at the screen.
“My wife.”
She whispered the words as if they no longer belonged to her.
Robert took the phone.
“Don't respond.”
Damian knocked again.
“Margaret!”
His voice echoed through the house.
“I know she's there.”
Chloe flinched.
I put my arm around her.
“You don't have to see him.”
But Damian wasn't leaving.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Finally, headlights appeared at the end of the street.
A police cruiser.
Damian saw it.
His smile disappeared.
He walked back to his car.
Before getting inside, he looked directly at the house.
Even from behind the curtain, I could see his expression.
It wasn't anger.
It was calculation.
Then he drove away.
Robert watched the vehicle disappear.
“He wanted us to know he found you.”
“Why?”
“Because he's sending a message.”
“What message?”
“That he can reach you whenever he wants.”
Chloe sat down.
“He's trying to scare me.”
“Yes.”
“It's working.”
Robert nodded.
“Good.”
She looked at him, surprised.
“What?”
“Fear is useful if it keeps you alive.”
The next morning, Robert filed for an emergency protective order.
We also submitted the documents concerning the trust.
But there was a problem.
The money had already moved.
Four hundred eighty thousand dollars.
Gone.
Or so we thought.
Robert traced the transfer.
Then another.
And another.
The money had moved through four companies.
Three were based in Georgia.
One was registered in Delaware.
And the final account belonged to a private investment firm.
Robert stared at the screen.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“This company doesn't belong to Damian.”
“Then who owns it?”
He searched.
The answer appeared.
Richard Prescott.
Damian's father.
But Richard had supposedly died eleven years earlier.
I stared at the screen.
“That's impossible.”
Robert didn't answer.
He checked corporate records.
The company was still active.
Annual filings had been submitted every year.
Someone had been operating it.
“Who?”
Robert pulled the latest filing.
The authorized representative was listed as:
Damian Prescott.
My stomach dropped.
“He inherited the company.”
“Apparently.”
“Then why hide it?”
“Because the company has no public assets.”
Robert opened the financial statements.
Then he frowned.
“That's not true.”
“What?”
“There are assets.”
“How much?”
He stared at the screen.
“Millions.”
Chloe stepped closer.
“How many?”
“Approximately thirty-two million dollars.”
Nobody spoke.
My daughter whispered:
“He told me he was barely keeping the restaurant open.”
Robert nodded.
“That's the lie.”
We spent the next several hours reconstructing Damian's finances.
The Hearth was losing money on paper.
But another company owned the property.
Another owned the equipment.
Another controlled the employees.
Another received consulting fees.
Money moved in circles.
Expenses were inflated.
Revenue was redirected.
And every trail seemed to lead back to Prescott Holdings.
Then Robert found something.
A payment.
To Damian.
From Chloe's trust.
Not $480,000.
$480,000 was only the first transfer.
There were seven others.
The total exceeded $1.2 million.
Chloe sat down.
“My father's money…”
Robert nodded.
“Your father left you considerably more than we thought.”
“How much?”
He looked at her.
“Enough to make Damian very interested in marrying you.”
The room went silent.
Then Chloe asked the question none of us wanted to answer.
“If he married me for the money…”
She looked at me.
“Did he ever love me?”
I sat beside her.
“I don't know.”
Her eyes filled.
“But I know what he did.”
That was enough.
At 4:32 p.m., Robert received a call from the investigator.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
He listened.
“Are you certain?”
He hung up.
“What?”
“Someone broke into The Hearth.”
“Damian?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Robert looked at Chloe.
“Evelyn.”
My heart stopped.
“Why would she go there?”
“She didn't.”
“Then who?”
He took a breath.
“They found Evelyn's car abandoned outside the restaurant.”
Chloe stood.
“What happened to her?”
“We don't know.”
Robert grabbed his coat.
“We're going.”
“No,” I said.
“Margaret—”
“You said we were building a case.”
“We are.”
“Then we don't walk into his trap.”
Robert stopped.
I looked at Chloe.
“Damian wants us to react.”
Robert slowly nodded.
“You're right.”
Then his phone rang again.
This time, the caller was Evelyn.
She was alive.
And she was whispering.
“Robert…”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Evelyn, are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Silence.
Then:
“I found the basement.”
Robert's face went pale.
“What did you find?”
Evelyn whispered:
“Files.”
“What files?”
“Not employee files.”
“What then?”
Her breathing became faster.
“Files about women who disappeared from Damian's life.”
Chloe stared at me.
Evelyn continued:
May you like
“And one of those files has your mother's name on it.”
The line went dead.
