Chapter 6 - The First WomanAmelia Ross lived in Philadelphia under another name.
Damon found her in forty-eight hours.
Kate hated that part of herself was no longer surprised by what Damon could find.
The woman who had once folded Blackwell linens with military precision now managed a small bookstore near Rittenhouse Square.
She refused Damon’s call.
She refused Matteo’s.
She refused a lawyer’s.
Then Kate sent one message.
I remember the laundry room. I believe you.
Amelia answered eleven minutes later.
They met after closing.
Kate insisted on going without Damon.
Damon insisted on coming.
They compromised in a way that satisfied neither.
He remained across the street inside a black SUV.
Kate entered alone.
Amelia looked older than thirty.
Fear did that to people.
She recognized Kate immediately.
“Oh.”
Kate closed the bookstore door.
“Hi.”
Amelia looked at the cast.
“They got you too.”
Four words.
Kate’s heart broke.
“Preston?”
“Graham.”
Kate nodded.
Amelia turned the lock.
For the next two hours, she told Kate everything.
The private party.
The alcohol she had not wanted.
The bedroom door.
The threats afterward.
The lawyer Graham’s family sent.
The settlement.
The nondisclosure agreement.
The photograph of Amelia’s undocumented cousin included inside an envelope as a warning.
Kate listened.
She did not interrupt.
At the end, Amelia said, “Why now?”
Kate knew what she meant.
Why help now?
Why Blackwell?
Why had no one protected her before?
“I don’t know.”
“Your boss didn’t care when it happened to me.”
“He didn’t know.”
“That’s what powerful men always say.”
Kate did not defend Damon.
Amelia noticed.
“You believe him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Kate looked toward the window.
Across the street, Damon’s SUV remained parked beneath a streetlamp.
“He could have made everything disappear.”
Amelia laughed bitterly.
“That’s literally what men like him do.”
“No.”
Kate met her eyes.
“He could have made Preston disappear. Instead he preserved evidence.”
Amelia’s expression changed slightly.
“He could have threatened Thomas into silence. Instead he gave him lawyers and put his testimony on record.”
“You know Thomas?”
“He sold my information.”
Amelia looked sick.
“Mine too.”
Kate closed her eyes.
Of course.
“Do you want to speak to an attorney?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Amelia blinked.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to convince me?”
“No.”
“Blackwell sent you.”
“I asked to come.”
“Why?”
Kate thought about it.
“Because after Preston broke my arm, I spent days thinking about all the things I should have done differently.”
She looked at her cast.
“Then Damon asked me what I could do now.”
Amelia stared.
“So this is what you’re doing?”
“I guess.”
Silence.
Amelia sat.
“There was another girl.”
Kate felt her stomach tighten.
“Who?”
“Lena Morris.”
Kate remembered Lena.
Twenty-two.
Temporary waitress.
Gone after one weekend.
“Do you know where she is?”
“No.”
Amelia looked down.
“But I know she had a baby.”
Across the street, Damon watched the bookstore window.
Matteo sat beside him.
“You’re staring.”
Damon did not move.
“At the bookstore.”
“At Kate.”
Damon turned.
Matteo studied his phone.
“Terrible weather.”
“Say what you’re trying to say.”
“You like her.”
Damon’s expression became dangerous.
“I employ her.”
“You reorganized the employment contracts of thirty-seven people because she didn’t want special treatment.”
“They needed improvement.”
“You spent four hours selecting daisies.”
“I spent six minutes.”
“Still too long.”
Damon looked through the glass.
Kate was speaking.
Her expression was serious.
Amelia cried.
Kate reached across the table.
Matteo watched Damon watching her.
“You’re in trouble.”
“No.”
“You are.”
Damon leaned back.
“Matteo.”
“Yes?”
“If you continue this conversation, I will assign you to supervise my grandmother’s charity luncheon.”
Matteo went pale.
“Understood.”
Ten minutes later, Kate emerged.
Damon got out.
She looked exhausted.
“How did it go?”
“There’s another woman.”
His face hardened.
“Name?”
“Lena Morris.”
Matteo was already typing.
Kate looked at Damon.
“Amelia isn’t ready.”
“She doesn’t have to be.”
“I told her that.”
“Good.”
They began walking.
“Damon.”
“Yes?”
“She asked why you didn’t protect her.”
His steps slowed.
“What did you say?”
“That you didn’t know.”
He looked away.
“She didn’t believe me.”
“Neither would I.”
Kate stopped.
He did too.
“You really didn’t know.”
“No.”
“But you blame yourself.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you told me not to do.”
“I’m frequently hypocritical.”
She almost smiled.
Then looked at him carefully.
“When your mother died, did someone blame you?”
His entire body stilled.
Kate instantly regretted asking.
“You don’t have to answer.”
They walked twenty feet.
Then he said, “My father did.”
Kate said nothing.
Damon kept walking.
“She got sick when I was nine. He believed illness was weakness. Doctors recommended treatment overseas. He delayed because he was negotiating something.”
Kate’s chest hurt.
“She died?”
“Eight months later.”
“And he blamed you?”
“He said she spent too much energy worrying about me.”
Kate stopped again.
“That is monstrous.”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“He told a ten-year-old that his mother died because she worried about him?”
“Yes.”
Kate understood so much at once.
The surveillance.
The control.
The obsession with solving every problem before it reached people he cared about.
Damon Blackwell did not protect because he enjoyed control.
He controlled because once, when he had been powerless, someone convinced him that helplessness made him responsible.
Kate touched his sleeve.
He looked down.
“You were a child.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His eyes met hers.
For once, Damon had no answer.
They drove back to New York after midnight.
Kate fell asleep halfway.
When she woke, her head rested against Damon’s shoulder.
She sat up quickly.
“Sorry.”
He looked away from the window.
“For what?”
“I was sleeping on you.”
“I noticed.”
“You could move.”
“You looked comfortable.”
Her heart did something deeply unhelpful.
She looked outside.
City lights approached.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Amelia.
I’ll talk to the lawyer.
Kate showed Damon.
He read it.
Then nodded.
No celebration.
No satisfaction.
Just quiet relief.
Three days later, Lena Morris was found.
Alive.
Living in Maryland.
She had a four-year-old daughter.
The father listed on the birth certificate was blank.
But recovered private messages between Preston Caldwell and Graham Pike included a joke from four years earlier.
ONE OF US MAY HAVE LEFT A SOUVENIR IN BALTIMORE.
The investigation changed overnight.
What had begun as assault allegations became something larger.
A pattern.
A network.
Blackmail.
Coercion.
Payments.
Threats.
And possibly a child whose biological father belonged to the group.
When Damon told Kate, she became silent.
“Does Lena know?”
“No.”
“Don’t tell her like this.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Let her control how she finds out.”
“Yes.”
Kate looked surprised.
“What?”
“You expected an argument.”
“A little.”
“I am capable of learning.”
“Slowly.”
“Careful.”
She smiled.
Damon stared at her smile a second too long.
Kate noticed.
The air changed.
They were standing inside his study.
Late afternoon sunlight cut across the carpet.
Her cast was now covered in signatures from hospital nurses and one enormous cartoon flower her mother had drawn.
Damon stepped closer.
Not touching.
“Kate.”
Her pulse accelerated.
“Yes?”
He looked as if he intended to say something.
Then Matteo opened the door without knocking.
“Problem.”
Damon closed his eyes.
Kate almost laughed.
Matteo stopped.
“Oh.”
“What?” Damon said.
“Should I come back?”
“No.”
Kate looked down to hide her smile.
Matteo placed a file on the desk.
“Senator Caldwell is moving against us.”
Damon opened it.
“How?”
“Financial crimes committee. He’s requesting subpoenas into three Blackwell companies.”
Kate’s smile disappeared.
“Because of Preston?”
“Yes,” Damon said.
Matteo continued.
“And he has help.”
“Who?”
Matteo looked at Kate.
“Federal Judge Richard Caldwell.”
Preston’s cousin.
The same judge Kate had feared from the beginning.
Damon slowly closed the folder.
Kate felt guilt rise.
“This is because of me.”
His eyes snapped to hers.
“No.”
“If I hadn’t—”
“No.”
“But—”
Damon came around the desk.
He stopped inches away.
“Kate Bennett.”
The use of her full name silenced her.
“You are never going to finish a sentence that begins with ‘if I hadn’t been attacked.’”
She stared at him.
“Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Matteo quietly looked toward the ceiling.
Damon stepped back.
“What does Caldwell want?”
“He sent an intermediary.”
“And?”
“Drop cooperation with prosecutors. Destroy the files. Amelia, Lena and Kate sign confidentiality agreements.”
Kate’s stomach turned.
“What do we get?”
Matteo smiled without humor.
“They stop trying to dismantle the Blackwell organization.”
Damon looked almost bored.
“No.”
“Thought so.”
Kate stared.
“You didn’t even think.”
“There’s nothing to think about.”
“He could destroy your businesses.”
“He can try.”
“People could lose jobs.”
“We’ll protect them.”
“Damon.”
He looked at her.
“You are not signing anything.”
“What if—”
“No.”
“You said keeping me safe couldn’t mean taking my choices.”
His face tightened.
Kate folded her good arm.
“Remember?”
Matteo became fascinated by the bookshelf.
Damon exhaled slowly.
“Fine.”
Kate waited.
“What do you want to do?”
She thought about Amelia.
Lena.
Thomas.
The photograph in the library.
The little girl in Maryland.
Then she looked at Damon.
“I want Senator Caldwell to understand something.”
“What?”
Kate’s voice became quiet.
“He picked the wrong maid.”
For the first time since the investigation began, Damon smiled like the man people whispered about.
Cold.
Sharp.
Proud.
May you like
“Yes,” he said.
“He did.”
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