Chapter 5 - What Damian Cole Refused to Become
“My father knew you.”
Elena didn’t phrase it as a question.
Damian stood across the security room from her, silent.
That silence was enough.
“Oh my God.”
“Elena—”
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
The answer hit harder than she expected.
“How?”
“This isn’t the place.”
“Funny. Five bullets didn’t seem to care about the location.”
“You’re still recovering.”
“Stop using that to control the conversation.”
Damian looked at Victor.
“Take Marcus upstairs. Guard him.”
Victor nodded.
Marcus was led away.
When the door closed, Elena turned back to Damian.
“Start talking.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Your father was Dr. Samuel Whitfield.”
“Yes.”
“He was an oncologist at St. Catherine’s.”
“You already knew that from the background check.”
“I knew before the background check.”
Elena’s pulse quickened.
“How?”
Damian opened a drawer.
He removed an old envelope.
Elena recognized the handwriting instantly.
Her father’s.
Her knees weakened.
“Where did you get that?”
“From him.”
She snatched it.
The envelope read:
Damian Cole — Personal.
Inside was a letter.
Elena read.
Damian,
If you are reading this, I may not have much time left. I kept your mother’s confidence for years because she asked me to, and because the information could have put Elena in danger.
But Voss has resurfaced.
If anything happens to me, protect my daughter.
She knows nothing.
Keep it that way if you can.
—Samuel
Elena read it again.
“What confidence?”
Damian’s voice was low.
“Your father saved my mother once before.”
“What?”
“Twenty-three years ago.”
Margaret’s voice came from the doorway.
Elena turned.
Margaret sat in her wheelchair, Rosa behind her.
“Bring me in.”
Rosa obeyed.
Margaret looked at Elena.
“I should have told you.”
Elena’s throat tightened.
“Told me what?”
“Your father was more than my physician.”
Margaret took a breath.
“Richard Cole—Damian’s father—was a violent man.”
Damian looked toward the wall.
Margaret continued.
“He was charming in public. Generous when it benefited him. But inside this family, he ruled through fear.”
Elena listened.
“One night Adrian Voss came to our home with information that Richard believed proved I had been secretly cooperating with federal investigators.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
Damian’s head turned.
Even he looked surprised.
“You never told me that.”
“I was trying to get you out.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“Your father was turning you into him.”
Damian went still.
Margaret looked back at Elena.
“Richard confronted me. Things became violent. Your father was called because Richard refused hospitals when family matters were involved.”
Elena whispered, “Dad treated you.”
“He saved my life.”
Margaret’s voice trembled.
“He documented my injuries. He kept photographs and medical records. Evidence that could have destroyed Richard and Voss.”
“Where is it?”
“Your father hid it.”
Elena stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because Richard died before Margaret could use it,” Damian said. “And Voss disappeared.”
“How did Richard die?”
Damian’s expression closed.
“Heart attack.”
Elena didn’t entirely believe him, but Margaret nodded.
“It was natural. For all the enemies Richard had, his own heart ended him.”
Elena looked at the letter.
“So my father knew Voss?”
“Yes.”
“And Voss knew Dad had evidence against him.”
“Yes.”
“Then Dad got leukemia.”
Margaret reached for her.
Elena stepped back.
“Was his illness natural?”
Damian answered immediately.
“Yes. We investigated after his letter reached me. There was no indication anyone caused it.”
Elena exhaled shakily.
“Why did he write to you?”
“Because Voss contacted him before he died.”
“What?”
“Samuel received an anonymous message demanding the old records.”
“And he told you?”
“Yes.”
Elena’s eyes burned.
“He never told me.”
“He was protecting you.”
“Everybody keeps saying that while lying to me.”
The words struck the room.
Margaret looked down.
Damian absorbed them without defense.
Elena pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead.
“Where are the records?”
“We don’t know,” Damian said.
“You think Voss believes I do.”
“Yes.”
“So hiring me brought me into your house.”
“I thought bringing you here would protect you.”
Elena laughed bitterly.
“I got shot five times.”
Damian flinched.
Good, part of her thought.
She wanted him to feel it.
“You should’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“You took away my choice.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that!”
Her voice cracked.
Pain pulled through her abdomen.
Damian moved instinctively.
She stepped back.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“You knew my father was scared before he died. You knew somebody might come after me. And you let me walk into this place thinking I was here because I was a good therapist.”
“You are a good therapist.”
“That is not the point.”
“No.”
“Then why me?”
Damian looked at her.
“Because your father asked me to protect you.”
“And the hundred thousand dollars?”
“I knew about the debt.”
Elena’s face burned.
“You investigated my finances?”
“Yes.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I needed a reason you would accept.”
“So you bought me.”
“No.”
“That’s exactly what you did.”
His face tightened.
“I gave you a way out of debt.”
“Without telling me the real price.”
Damian had no answer.
Elena turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“No.”
She spun around.
“You don’t get to say no.”
“Voss knows who you are.”
“He knew before I came.”
“He may believe you have the records.”
“I don’t.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“Not my problem.”
“It becomes your problem when he puts a gun against your head.”
“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before manipulating me into moving here.”
Damian stepped closer.
“You leave this estate now and I cannot guarantee your safety.”
“You couldn’t guarantee it inside the estate.”
That stopped him.
Elena walked out.
She packed slowly because every movement hurt.
Her arm remained in a brace.
Bandages still wrapped her abdomen.
She could barely bend.
Rosa found her struggling with a suitcase.
“Please don’t.”
Elena didn’t look up.
“I have to.”
“Mr. Cole—”
“This isn’t about him.”
Rosa sat beside the suitcase.
“Then what is it about?”
“My father.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“I spent eighteen months believing I knew how his life ended. Now I find out he died carrying a secret connected to this family.”
Rosa touched her shoulder.
“He loved you.”
“I know.”
“That is why he kept it from you.”
“I know.”
“Knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.”
Elena finally looked at her.
“No.”
Rosa helped close the suitcase.
“You should decide your own life.”
“Thank you.”
“But take security.”
Elena almost protested.
Rosa raised a hand.
“Freedom and stupidity are not the same thing.”
Despite everything, Elena smiled.
Damian didn’t stop her.
That surprised her.
He waited near the front entrance as Victor placed her suitcase in an SUV.
“You’ll have two cars.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“I’m not negotiating.”
“Neither am I.”
Elena stared at him.
“Fine.”
Damian held out a phone.
“Encrypted.”
“I have a phone.”
“Take it.”
She did.
“Temporary apartment,” he said. “Not yours.”
“Why?”
“Your building isn’t secure.”
“I’m not letting you relocate me.”
“Elena.”
“What?”
“Be angry.”
His voice softened.
“Be furious. Hate me if you need to. But stay alive while you do it.”
That stole her response.
He opened the car door.
She hesitated.
“Did you ever meet my father in person?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say about me?”
Damian looked away for a second.
“He said you were stubborn.”
Elena almost laughed.
“What else?”
“That you always tried to rescue things.”
“What things?”
“Dogs. Birds. People.”
A faint sadness touched Damian’s face.
“He said one day you’d try to save somebody who didn’t deserve you.”
Elena stared at him.
“Was he talking about you?”
Damian’s eyes met hers.
“I’ve wondered.”
She got into the car.
The temporary apartment was in Manhattan, high above the East River.
Elena hated that she liked it.
She spent the evening going through her father’s old digital files.
Nothing.
At 11:38 p.m., she found an email.
Not from her father.
From herself.
Years earlier.
She had emailed him photographs after helping him move offices.
One image showed his old medical textbooks.
Another showed Elena making a face beside a stack of boxes.
Then she noticed something.
Behind her was a wooden model of a sailboat.
Her father had loved sailing.
After his death, Elena had taken that model home.
It was sitting in her apartment in Queens.
A memory surfaced.
Her father once telling her:
If you ever feel lost, Ellie, check where the boat is pointed.
At the time, she had assumed it was one of his sentimental sayings.
Now her skin prickled.
She called Damian.
He answered on the first ring.
“What happened?”
“I need to go to my apartment.”
“No.”
“Damian.”
“Why?”
“I think Dad left me something.”
Silence.
“Stay where you are.”
“I’m going.”
“Elena—”
“You can come or I go without you.”
Twenty-eight minutes later, Damian arrived.
No suit.
No entourage except Victor.
They drove to Queens.
Elena’s apartment door was closed.
Damian stopped her before she unlocked it.
“Wait.”
He examined the frame.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
“Someone’s been inside.”
Elena’s blood chilled.
Damian drew a handgun.
“Stay behind me.”
They entered.
The apartment had been destroyed.
Drawers dumped.
Mattress cut open.
Books ripped apart.
Photographs scattered.
Elena stared.
“No.”
Her father’s belongings were everywhere.
She ran toward the shelf.
The sailboat was gone.
“No!”
“Elena.”
“They took it.”
Damian searched the room.
Then Victor called from the kitchen.
“Boss.”
They found him staring at the refrigerator.
A photograph had been pinned there with a knife.
Elena recognized it.
It showed her leaving the clinic the day Victor recruited her.
Someone had been watching her before she ever took the job.
On the back, written in black marker, were four words:
ASK DAMIAN WHO KILLED RICHARD.
Elena slowly looked at him.
Damian’s face had gone pale.
“Damian?”
He said nothing.
Her heart began pounding.
“You told me your father died of a heart attack.”
“He did.”
“Then why would Voss write this?”
Damian stared at the message.
“Because he knows the truth is worse.”
Elena whispered, “What truth?”
Damian looked at her.
“My father’s heart stopped naturally.”
A pause.
“But I was standing beside him when it happened.”
His eyes were empty now.
“And I could have saved him.”
May you like
Elena stopped breathing.
“I chose not to.”
