Chapter 7 - My Brother Finally Begged
Damian had two broken fingers and fourteen stitches above his left eye.
When I entered the secure hospital room, he looked smaller than I remembered.
Not weaker.
Just human.
I had spent most of my life seeing my brother as a permanent force—loud, arrogant, impossible to embarrass.
Now he was handcuffed to a hospital bed.
Officer Ruiz stood outside.
Detective Brooks remained inside with us.
Damian stared at me.
“You came.”
“Don’t sound grateful.”
His mouth tightened.
“I thought you wanted me dead,” I said.
“I was angry.”
“You cracked three of my ribs.”
“I know.”
“You told me to sign away Dad’s house or die.”
His eyes moved away.
“And your wife told you to finish me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Vanessa says things.”
I laughed.
Pain shot through my side.
“That’s your defense?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Brooks interrupted.
“Elena isn’t here to discuss your assault case.”
“No,” Damian whispered. “She’s here because of Mom.”
My entire body went cold.
“You knew.”
He closed his eyes.
“For about a year.”
I almost struck him.
The only thing stopping me was the officer outside and the cracked ribs reminding me what violence did to families.
“You knew our mother survived?”
“I knew Hawthorne claimed she survived.”
“How?”
“Vanessa told me.”
Of course.
“When?”
“Last summer.”
“Why?”
“Because I started asking questions.”
“About what?”
“The property transfers.”
I stared at him.
“You mean the properties you stole.”
Damian looked toward Brooks.
“My lawyer—”
“You’re already facing attempted coercion, assault, fraud inquiries, and possibly conspiracy. You can keep pretending silence protects you, or you can explain why somebody nearly killed you inside county custody.”
Damian breathed slowly.
Then he looked back at me.
“Hawthorne approached me three years ago.”
“Only three?”
“Yes.”
“What about when you were a child?”
His face changed.
“How do you know?”
“Mom left a letter.”
That hit him harder than I expected.
“What letter?”
“She knew Hawthorne was getting inside your head when you were nine.”
Damian stared at the wall.
“He used to take me to Yankees games.”
“I know.”
“He told me Dad loved strangers more than us.”
“And you believed him.”
“I was nine.”
“What about at thirty-nine?”
His eyes flashed.
“You think I don’t know what I became?”
I said nothing.
That question belonged to him.
He continued.
“Hawthorne came back after Dad refused his development offer. He said Northbridge was sitting on properties worth tens of millions. He said Dad planned to give most of it away.”
“So you forged documents.”
“At first, no.”
“At first?”
“I asked Dad to sell.”
“And he refused.”
“He said the properties weren’t ours to exploit.”
“So you did it behind his back.”
Damian’s voice dropped.
“Hawthorne said we could transfer them temporarily. He had attorneys who would handle everything.”
“Did Vanessa know?”
“She introduced us.”
That surprised me.
“You already knew Hawthorne.”
“Not as an adult. I hadn’t seen him in years.”
“How did Vanessa know him?”
Damian looked ashamed.
“She worked for him.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“Before I met her.”
I stepped closer.
“My wife targeted me.”
The arrogance was gone from his voice.
“She met me at a charity event eight years ago. I thought it was random.”
“When did you learn it wasn’t?”
“After Dad died.”
I felt sick.
“And you stayed with her?”
Damian laughed bitterly.
“By then she had everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“She had records. Messages. Transfer documents. Proof I forged signatures.”
“You were afraid she’d turn you in.”
“Yes.”
“So you agreed to take the house.”
“Hawthorne needed the land.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Two million dollars for six acres is generous.”
“He offered four.”
Marcus had said the official offer was nearly two.
Meaning more money existed off the books.
“Why was our property worth four million to him?”
Damian hesitated.
“That’s when I started asking questions.”
“About Mom?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“Hawthorne told me something is buried on the property.”
“What?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
Brooks leaned closer.
“Buried physically?”
“I think so.”
“Where?”
“Near Dad’s old workshop.”
My mind returned to the hidden safe.
“What did Hawthorne say exactly?”
Damian’s face tightened.
“He said, ‘Victor has been sitting on my grave for thirty years.’”
Nobody spoke.
That did not sound like money.
It sounded like evidence.
“Did you tell Dad?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I thought Hawthorne was exaggerating.”
“And the missing $3.8 million?”
Damian looked at me.
“I didn’t take all of it.”
“How much?”
“About $1.2 million.”
I stared at him.
He said it as though stealing only one-third somehow helped.
“Where did the rest go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vanessa?”
“Probably.”
“Where is she now?”
Brooks answered.
“Released pending investigation.”
I turned.
“What?”
“We did not have grounds to hold her beyond the assault-related questioning.”
“She told Damian to kill me.”
“And we’re building that case. But Damian hasn’t given a statement confirming it.”
I looked at him.
He looked away.
“You’re still protecting her.”
“No.”
“Then say it.”
Damian’s throat moved.
Brooks opened her recorder.
He whispered, “Vanessa told me to finish Elena.”
Louder.
“She told me to kill my sister.”
The room changed.
For the first time, Damian had chosen something that hurt himself and helped me.
It didn’t erase anything.
But it mattered.
Then he added, “She also gave Dad his pills the night he died.”
My skin prickled.
“You saw her?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Dad told her he felt sick. Vanessa made tea.”
“The tea?”
“She crushed something into it.”
Brooks stood.
“You saw this and said nothing?”
“I didn’t know what it was.”
“After your father died?”
Damian began crying.
I had seen my brother rage.
Lie.
Manipulate.
Mock.
I had never seen him cry.
“I knew,” he whispered.
There it was.
Not that he knew the drug.
That he knew enough to suspect.
“And you still tried to steal my house.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Vanessa showed me a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
He looked directly at me.
“Mom.”
I stopped breathing.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did it show?”
“She looked older. Much older.”
My knees weakened.
“That means nothing without a date.”
“There was a newspaper beside her.”
“What date?”
“Eleven months ago.”
Silence.
My mother had not merely survived the accident thirty-two years earlier.
If the photograph was real, she had survived nearly all of it.
“Where was she?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Give me the photograph.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Who does?”
“Vanessa.”
My hands curled.
“Why did she show you?”
Damian looked devastated.
“To make sure I kept doing what Hawthorne wanted.”
“What did she say?”
His voice broke.
“She said if I stopped transferring properties, the next photograph of Mom would be inside a coffin.”
Detective Brooks went very still.
I could barely hear my own voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Damian looked at me.
And for the first time in my life, my brother had no lie left.
“Because by then I’d already done so many things that I was more afraid of prison than I was afraid of losing her.”
I stared at him.
That sentence explained Damian better than anything else ever had.
Fear had not created his selfishness.
It had simply exposed how far it could go.
Before I left, he called my name.
“Elena.”
I stopped at the door.
“There’s something else about the house.”
“What?”
“Dad showed me a hidden cellar once when we were kids.”
“I don’t remember a cellar.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Where?”
“Under the workshop.”
“That’s where police found the safe.”
“No.”
Damian shook his head.
“The safe room isn’t the cellar.”
My pulse jumped.
“What’s inside?”
“I never saw. Dad made me promise never to open it.”
“Then why does Hawthorne want the property?”
Damian looked toward the security officer outside.
“Because the cellar isn’t on any building plan.”
“So?”
“So when I told Hawthorne I remembered it, he offered me another million dollars.”
“For a cellar?”
Damian nodded.
“And he said one thing.”
“What?”
“If Victor left what I think he left down there, the Moretti family owns my life.
That night, for the first time since my brother attacked me, I returned to my father’s house.
Not to recover.
May you like
Not to mourn.
To find the room someone was willing to kill my entire family to reach.
