Chapter 5 - The Man Who Sold Her NameThomas Keane made it ninety-two miles.
Matteo found him at a roadside motel outside Albany.
Kate learned this because Damon told her.
Not immediately.
Immediately, Damon lied.
He called it postponing.
Kate called it lying.
They argued about the distinction in her apartment kitchen at eleven thirty that night.
Damon had arrived without warning.
That alone should have irritated her more than it did.
Two security cars remained outside.
He stood inside her tiny kitchen wearing a coat that probably cost more than three months of her rent.
Kate held the recovered transfer document.
“You knew this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“And said you were still investigating.”
“We were.”
“You knew Thomas took money.”
“Yes.”
“That’s lying.”
“I didn’t give you false information.”
“You gave me incomplete information on purpose.”
“That is sometimes called discretion.”
“That is politician language.”
He looked offended.
“Do not compare me to politicians.”
Despite herself, she nearly laughed.
Then remembered Thomas.
Her stomach turned again.
“He sold my name.”
Damon’s expression hardened.
“For twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Kate sat.
The amount bothered her in a way she could not explain.
Maybe because it was so ordinary.
Not a million.
Not enough to retire.
Twenty-five thousand.
A used car.
Credit card debt.
A kitchen renovation.
That was what information about her had been worth.
“Why?”
“He had gambling debts.”
Kate looked up.
“Gambling?”
“Online sports accounts. Private books. Approximately one hundred forty thousand outstanding.”
“So Preston offered him money.”
“Preston’s friend did.”
“And Thomas gave him my information.”
“Yes.”
Kate felt sick.
She remembered Thomas carrying boxes for her.
Thomas telling her she worked too hard.
Thomas once giving her a twenty-dollar bill when she forgot lunch money.
“Did he know why they wanted it?”
Damon was silent.
That was an answer.
Kate’s eyes burned.
“What did he think they were going to do?”
“He claims he believed Caldwell wanted to pursue you romantically.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“Thomas knows me. He knows I would never—”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
The sharpness surprised both of them.
Kate stood.
“You know records. Background reports. Bank accounts. You don’t know me.”
Damon watched her.
“Then tell me.”
She froze.
“What?”
“Tell me what I don’t know.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Why not?”
“Because normal people learn things naturally.”
“I’ve never been accused of being normal.”
Kate pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“This is impossible.”
“Yes.”
He leaned against her counter.
“For what it’s worth, I agree Thomas’s explanation is insulting.”
“What happens to him?”
“He’s being brought back.”
Kate’s stomach tightened.
“To where?”
“To speak with me.”
“Damon.”
“What?”
“Are you going to kill him?”
“No.”
She studied him.
“You answered quickly.”
“Would you prefer suspense?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“What will you do?”
“Terminate him. Recover what evidence he has. Determine whether anyone else in my staff was involved.”
“That’s all?”
Damon’s eyes became colder.
“He will also discover that every casino, private card room, online account and bookmaker willing to extend him credit through Blackwell territory will no longer recognize his name.”
Kate stared.
“You can do that?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“It isn’t.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
Kate sat again.
Her apartment suddenly felt too small for him.
Everything about Damon Blackwell looked designed for enormous rooms.
Broad shoulders.
Controlled posture.
That unsettling stillness.
Yet he did not look uncomfortable beside her chipped refrigerator or old laminate table.
He picked up a grocery-store magnet shaped like a strawberry.
“Your mother gave you this.”
Kate blinked.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“It says LOVE MOM on the back.”
“Oh.”
He put it down.
She smiled despite herself.
“Not everything requires surveillance.”
“I’m learning.”
Silence settled.
Not awkward.
Just quiet.
Kate looked at him.
“Why did you come personally?”
“To tell you about Keane.”
“You could call.”
“Yes.”
“Matteo could come.”
“Yes.”
“Elias could.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you here?”
He looked around her apartment.
Then at her.
“I wanted to see where you live.”
Her heart stumbled.
“Why?”
His eyes held hers.
“Because I know what’s in your bank account and what hospital your mother uses, but until tonight I didn’t know you own twelve mugs despite living alone.”
Kate glanced at the shelf.
“I like mugs.”
“Apparently.”
“One was free.”
“That explains everything.”
She laughed.
There it was again.
That strange transformation in Damon’s face when he made her laugh.
Almost as if he stored the sound.
Then someone knocked.
Three precise taps.
Damon straightened immediately.
The warmth vanished.
Matteo entered.
“We have him.”
Kate stood.
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
Damon looked at her.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Kate.”
“He sold me.”
“I’m aware.”
“I want to hear why.”
“No.”
She stared.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re recovering.”
“My arm is broken, not my ears.”
“He may say things you don’t need to hear.”
“You do not decide what I need to hear.”
The room went silent.
Matteo looked faintly entertained.
Damon did not.
“You’re right.”
Kate blinked.
She had prepared for battle.
“What?”
“You’re right.”
Matteo looked disappointed.
Damon reached for his coat.
“You can come.”
Kate narrowed her eyes.
“That easy?”
“No.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because every instinct I have says to keep you away from him.”
“Then why are you letting me come?”
“Because keeping you safe cannot mean taking your choices.”
Kate stared at him.
The sentence sounded rehearsed.
“Did Eleanor tell you that?”
His jaw tightened.
Kate smiled.
“She did.”
“I regret introducing you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I regret my grandmother meeting you.”
Matteo cleared his throat.
“We should leave before this becomes whatever this is.”
Damon gave him a lethal look.
Matteo opened the door.
They drove to an office building near the river.
Not a warehouse.
Not a basement.
That surprised Kate.
Thomas sat inside a conference room with two lawyers.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Pale.
Terrified.
When Kate entered, his face crumpled.
“Oh, God.”
She stopped.
He stood.
“Kate.”
Damon’s hand touched the center of her back.
Barely.
A question.
She nodded.
He removed it.
Thomas stared at her cast.
“I didn’t know.”
Kate said nothing.
“I swear to God, I didn’t know they’d hurt you.”
“What did you think?”
He swallowed.
“That Caldwell wanted to meet you.”
“In a locked library?”
“I didn’t know about that.”
“You told them my mother was sick.”
His face fell.
“I—”
“You told them I needed the job.”
“I was desperate.”
“You told them I lived alone.”
Thomas started crying.
Kate felt nothing.
That frightened her.
“I owed people money.”
“So you sold me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Kate, I gave them information. I didn’t sell you.”
Her voice became very quiet.
“What do you think the difference is?”
Thomas looked down.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
Her life reduced to details on a screen.
Kate sat opposite him.
“Who asked?”
“Graham Pike.”
“Who else knew?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thomas.”
“I swear.”
Damon remained near the wall, silent.
Thomas’s eyes flicked toward him.
Pure fear.
Kate noticed.
“Look at me.”
Thomas did.
“Not him. Me.”
His shoulders collapsed.
“Graham said they had a game.”
Damon’s face changed.
Kate’s skin crawled.
“What game?”
Thomas shook his head.
“I didn’t understand.”
“What game?”
“They’d choose women at private events.”
Kate stopped breathing.
Thomas continued, words breaking apart.
“Women who couldn’t make trouble. Staff. Assistants. Interns. Women with debt, immigration problems, sick family members. They’d make bets.”
Matteo muttered something under his breath.
Kate felt Damon’s anger from across the room like heat.
“What kind of bets?” she whispered.
“Who could get them upstairs. Who could get their phone number. Who could…”
Thomas stopped.
Kate did not ask him to finish.
“How long?”
“Years.”
“Did you give them other names?”
Silence.
Kate knew.
“How many?”
“Three.”
Damon pushed away from the wall.
Thomas recoiled.
Kate lifted her good hand.
Damon stopped.
The fact that he stopped because she signaled him was not lost on anyone.
“Names,” Kate said.
Thomas gave them.
All former Blackwell employees.
One had quit suddenly.
One had moved to Philadelphia.
One Kate remembered crying inside a laundry room eighteen months ago.
Her name was Amelia Ross.
Kate stood.
She could not breathe.
Damon moved forward.
“Enough.”
She shook her head.
“I want everything.”
“You have enough for tonight.”
“No.”
His eyes met hers.
Not command now.
Concern.
Kate hated how much she wanted to lean into it.
“I need air.”
He took her outside.
Snow had begun falling.
Soft.
Slow.
The river reflected city lights.
Kate stood beneath the awning.
“Amelia cried for three days before she quit.”
Damon was silent.
“I asked if she was okay.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“She said she was homesick.”
“Kate.”
“I believed her.”
“That was not a failure.”
“I should have done something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
She looked at him.
“Does it ever stop?”
“What?”
“Feeling responsible for everything you could not see.”
Damon looked toward the river.
“No.”
The honesty hurt.
“But you learn to ask a different question.”
“What question?”
“Not what should I have known.”
He turned toward her.
“What can I do now?”
Kate stared.
“What can we do?”
Something shifted between them at the word we.
Damon nodded.
“Find the women.”
“And?”
“Offer lawyers. Money. Security. Nothing conditional.”
“Will they testify?”
“Some may.”
“And if they don’t?”
“They still get help.”
Kate breathed slowly.
“Okay.”
Damon watched snow settle on the pavement.
“Thomas will cooperate.”
“How do you know?”
“He enjoys having kneecaps.”
Kate stared.
He looked at her.
“That was a joke.”
“I genuinely cannot tell with you.”
“I know.”
She laughed.
Then unexpectedly, she started crying.
Damon froze.
Kate covered her face with her good hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I hate crying.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He stood there awkwardly.
A man capable of dismantling corporate empires apparently had no idea what to do with a crying woman.
That somehow made it worse.
Kate stepped forward.
She rested her forehead against his chest.
Damon went perfectly still.
She almost moved away.
Then very slowly, he lifted one hand.
He placed it against the back of her head.
Nothing else.
No possession.
No pressure.
Just warmth.
“I’m tired,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I’m so tired.”
His voice lowered.
“Then stop carrying everything.”
“What happens if I do?”
“I’ll carry some.”
Kate closed her eyes.
That was the moment the danger changed.
Not Preston.
Not Thomas.
Not the fifteen men whose world was collapsing.
May you like
The dangerous thing was this.
Believing Damon Blackwell might actually mean what he said.
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