by Noelle Adams
“I know.”
“So what’s your point?” she exclaimed, sitting up straight in bed, wishing he’d never brought this painful subject up. “My grandpapa has occasionally wondered if you…if the Damons faked the report. But now that I’ve met your uncle, I just can’t believe—”
“My uncle wouldn’t have done something like that.”
“So you see! My thing with beer has nothing to do with the accident. Just let it go.”
Harrison didn’t argue. But she could read his face by now. He wasn’t going to let it go.
…
Later that morning, Harrison returned to London.
The previous day, he had gone through the Damon legal records and opened the enormous computer file on the Edwardses his family had kept for years, filled with scanned copies of all the relevant documents and meticulously detailed notes. He’d found the document verifying the negative toxicology report on Michael, and it looked aboveboard.
But the heavy feeling in his gut warned him something was wrong. He’d felt the same way the last month he’d been engaged to Grace, and he’d stupidly ignored his instincts. He wasn’t going to ignore them now.
So yesterday he’d gone to talk to the police—interviewing whomever he could find who had worked the accident. A lot of time had passed, but most of the officers remembered the incident. A Damon had died in the crash, after all. It had been front-page news for more than a week.
Using the Damon influence, Harrison got copies of the official police records and had taken them home. Before Marietta had bullied him out of his office, he’d been comparing the police records with the electronic files. There didn’t appear to be any inconsistencies.
Which left one weak link to investigate.
After his discussion with Marietta, Harrison dressed and headed to London without telling anyone his plans.
A couple of hours later, he pulled onto a narrow street in the London suburbs. It was a blue-collar neighborhood, and he had trouble finding parking on the street. Eventually, he stood at the front door of an apartment building. He buzzed the unit and was let in.
A bald man with a beer gut greeted him at the door to a second-floor flat. “Mr. Damon. Come in. I’m Russell Abbot. I was really surprised to hear from you.”
Harrison responded politely and accepted a seat on the couch and the offer of coffee.
“What can I do for you?” Abbot said at last, sitting stiffly in a well-worn recliner.
“You were the medical examiner who worked on my cousin Michael.”
“I was. A sad case. And that poor young lady. And her poor little sister.”
Harrison thought about Marietta with an odd pang. “It was a tragedy. Yes. But I think it’s time someone followed up on your role in the investigation.”
He’d considered what to say carefully, planning each word with calculated precision. He waited, holding his breath and watching every small gesture on the man’s unshaven face.
Abbot tensed visibly. “Follow up?”
“I think you know what I’m talking about.”
“I assure you, Mr. Damon, I’ve never spoken to anyone—anyone—about what happened. I kept my end of the bargain.”
Harrison’s heart sank. He’d desperately hoped things hadn’t occurred the way he’d begun to suspect. “Have you? The money?” He was guessing but had no doubts about what he’d hear in response.
“It was spent long ago. But I never asked for more. I could have, you know. It’s not like I live in the lap of luxury here.”
“But you’re not a blackmailer. I understand.”
Abbot wasn’t a blackmailer. He was just a city official who’d been offered a bribe. A large enough temptation. One Abbot hadn’t been able to refuse.
The only question left was who had offered that bribe.
“And the real report?” Harrison prompted.
“It was destroyed, just as I said it would be. No one has ever questioned it. And as far as I know, no one suspects your cousin was intoxicated when he drove into that cement barrier.”
Harrison shut his eyes. His cousin had caused his own death. Harrison’s family was responsible for Melissa Edwards’s death and Marietta’s spending thirteen years in a wheelchair. And then they’d covered it up.
“Who did you deal with?” Harrison asked, more curtly than he’d intended.
For the first time, Abbot looked suspicious. “Why are you asking me all this?”
Harrison just stared at him.
“I was instructed not to speak of this to anyone. Anyone. I’m not sure I should be—”
Harrison stood. “You will tell me exactly what happened, and you will tell me now.”
…
“He must have been drinking on the plane. He was flying first-class,” Harrison said, rubbing his aching head and afraid to look at his uncle. “There was no evidence of alcohol in the car, but Michael was well over the legal limit. Melissa was a pretty girl. He would have been trying to impress her in the car. You can imagine.”
Damon had been in a good mood when Harrison arrived home from London. Now his uncle looked old as he leaned back in his chair. Old and absolutely exhausted. “He was only eighteen.”
Harrison was in no mood to feel sorry for his stupid, careless cousin. “He knew better. And to drive in that condition with two girls in the car—one only ten years old.”
“Oh God!” Damon’s face twisted. “Marietta always claimed that she begged him to slow down, begged him to stop. We insisted she was lying. What have we done?”
“You didn’t know,” Harrison said, his voice hoarse as he tried to drive from his mind the image of a ten-year-old Marietta pleading with his drunken cousin. “We didn’t know.”
“All these years we’ve assumed they were mercenary schemers.” Damon was taking the news hard—as Harrison had known he would. “I’ll never forgive myself.”
“You’ll have to. We’ll do what we can now to make up for it. Provide them a generous settlement. What else can we do?”
“I’ve tried so hard to keep the Damon reputation flawless. I can’t believe Cassell did this.”
Cassell had discovered the toxicology results first. He’d bribed the medical examiner and hidden all evidence of Michael’s intoxication.
Harrison snorted. “I believe it. Cassell knows you never wanted any hint of scandal.”
Damon turned sharply toward his nephew. “Are you saying I would have condoned such a—”
“Of course not,” Harrison said tiredly. “Cassell knows you wouldn’t have, too. That’s why he kept it from you. But in his warped way, he probably thought he was protecting you and the family. He’s devoted. Just not moral, unfortunately. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll have to let him go,” Damon said, his voice raspy. “I can’t have someone on staff who’s willing to…who let us spend years supporting a lie.”
Harrison knew how hard it would be for his uncle. Cassell had been his faithful advisor for over thirty years.
“Are you going to make it public?” Harrison asked after a moment. Perhaps the hardest question of all.
“I think that will be up to Edwards. I can hardly hope to keep it secret when they deserve to have justice done.”
“The world will assume you’ve known all along. They’ll think you—”
“Even so,” Damon said with a small shrug. “Michael was one of us. We will take the responsibility.”
Nodding, Harrison leaned back in his chair, a heavy weight sitting in his gut.
Damon asked, “Will you fly to California to tell Benjamin? He was Michael’s brother, yet he won’t talk to me. He should be told the truth by a member of the family.”
Benjamin Damon had never accepted his uncle’s philosophy and lifestyle, and resented the pressure to participate in the family business. Five years ago, it had erupted in a bitter confrontation, and he’d stormed out of their lives completely. He hadn’t spoken to his uncle since. Even Harrison heard from his cousin only once or twice
a year, always through e-mail.
“Of course I will,” Harrison said. “I’ll make arrangements as soon as I talk to Etta.”
Damon frowned. “I will tell Ms. Edwards. I should be the one to do it.”
“I’d rather tell her myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Are you still thinking about…pursuing a relationship? Now that you know the truth?”
“Why wouldn’t I? She didn’t have anything to do—”
“Not her,” Damon interrupted, the break in civility a sure sign of his ruffled state of mind. “But we did. We did. Dare we tie her to the family that killed her sister and put her in a wheelchair for most of her life?”
Harrison froze. Finally, he said, “She wouldn’t be angry at me. At us. She’s not like that.”
“Of course she’s not like that. That’s hardly the point.”
Understanding slowly dawned on Harrison. This was about his uncle’s outdated sense of honor and family pride. Michael was one of them. Michael had shamed them. So all of them were shamed. “What Michael did or didn’t do shouldn’t have any bearing on my relationship with Marietta.”
“If you were in a public relationship with her, the world would start investigating the accident again. The truth would come out. Our name would be ruined.” Damon’s voice was cold and clipped now.
“It might come out anyway. The Edwards family can tell their story if they want.”
“I don’t think they will. Either way, it’s irrelevant. My point was simply to dispute your claim that the past has no bearing on the present. Of course it does. Given who you are, given who we are, I would advise against talking to Ms. Edwards before you leave.”
Harrison stared at his uncle. He couldn’t believe his uncle’s stance, and yet it made sense. Profoundly bitter sense.
It wasn’t about reputation, it was about Cyrus Damon’s ability to live with himself after what his nephew had done fifteen years ago.
Andrew was always right about people. When it came down to a choice between one of them and their uncle’s honor, his honor would always win.
Damon genuinely liked Marietta and would have been happy to have her as part of the family. But now she represented something he could never accept. He couldn’t deal with seeing a living reminder of Michael and their family’s failure every day.
Harrison cleared his throat, torn between what he desperately wanted and what his uncle needed. “I don’t think it’s right.”
“The choice is yours, naturally.” The chilly words were a warning, and the message was clear. There would be consequences if Harrison defied him.
Harrison wasn’t particularly afraid of consequences. But he had never let his family down.
Or rather, he’d only let them down once. When he hadn’t picked his cousin up from the airport.
“You don’t have to decide now,” Damon said. “Go to California this afternoon. Think about it. You can talk to Ms. Edwards when you return.”
Since he was twelve years old, Harrison had done whatever his uncle required, bearing the burdens of his family. He was the one who took care of things. He was the fixer. He was responsible.
He was a Damon, over and above anything else.
He’d known Marietta for a couple of weeks. To have her, he would have to watch his entire world—everything he’d worked so hard to hold onto—slip through his fingers.
His vision darkened at the bleak realization, and he closed his hand into a fist. “Okay. I’ll go for now, and think about what to do later. I’ll make arrangements.”
He left his uncle and walked blindly down the hall and up the stairs to his room. Having phoned an assistant to arrange the flight, he started to pack. He was almost done when Andrew burst into the room without knocking.
“He told me what happened and that you’re leaving. What the hell are you thinking?”
Harrison looked over at his brother but didn’t answer.
“You’re not going to even talk to her before you leave?” Andrew appeared dead serious, which was rare enough to be unsettling.
“No,” Harrison’s voice was thick. “I’m not going to talk to her.”
Andrew grabbed his arm. “You can’t be that proud and stupid. We’re not blind, you know. We all know you—”
“You know what?” Harrison arched his eyebrows.
“We know how you feel about her.”
“That doesn’t matter.
Andrew snapped. “It does matter. You love her.”
“That isn’t the issue.”
“Then what the hell is the issue?”
Harrison didn’t answer.
“Damn it.” Andrew slammed down the top to Harrison’s suitcase. “This whole fucked-up family isn’t your responsibility. It’s his shit.” He gestured toward the downstairs to indicate their uncle. “It’s Michael’s shit. It’s not yours.”
Harrison quietly opened his suitcase again.
Andrew’s angry intensity dissipated and he drooped. “Damn it,” he muttered. “I warned you it would eventually break you.”
Marietta had told him something similar. “I’m not broken. I’m a Damon. I’m not going to give it up now.”
“So you’re going to give her up? For him?”
There was no way Harrison could possibly explain.
“Not just for him.”
…
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, my dear,” Damon told her gently. They were seated on the terrace watching the sun set in shades of orange and violet. “Harrison, me, the rest of the family—we didn’t know, of course. But that’s no excuse for the way we’ve treated you and your family.”
“Of course it’s an excuse.” Marietta was stunned to learn Michael Damon’s condition before the accident. But instead of feeling emotional, all she felt was blank. “If the truth was kept from you, what could you think but that we were out for money?”
Damon shook his head. “You’re a remarkably generous young woman. You have every right to hate us and demand a great deal of compensation for ill treatment.”
“I don’t want compensation. That was never the point. I am glad to know the truth, though. And it will mean a lot to my grandpapa. I can only imagine how hard this is for you. You lost your nephew. You loved him. And to learn this…”
“His choices led him there. His fault.”
Marietta smiled sadly. “That does nothing to lessen the tragedy.”
Damon patted her hand. “It was a tragedy for you too, dear.”
Marietta’s heart twisted as she remembered her sister, Melissa. In some ways, it was harder to think of her now, knowing how much of life she’d been cheated out of.
“I hope your grandfather will be able to forgive us,” Damon said softly.
Marietta smiled, feeling nothing but respect and sympathy for this man who seemed to belong to an age where honor and courtesy were more than empty words. She wondered how much his ideals had cost him over the years. “I think Grandpapa will forgive you. He’s hung onto the lawsuit for reasons of his own. But I think knowing the truth will help.”
After a pause, she dared ask, “H-Harrison didn’t want to tell me himself?”
Damon stiffened and her heart sank. “He’s flying to California shortly. Benjamin, his cousin, was Michael’s brother. He needs to be told in person.”
“Oh.” That’s why she hadn’t seen Harrison all day. “I suppose he was the one who discovered the truth.”
“Yes. It was your reaction to beer, you see, that gave him the clue he needed.”
Marietta gulped. “I’ll catch him before he leaves.”
“He may not have time, dear. He’s on a tight schedule.”
Everything was happening too fast. “Do you think he… Is this going to be a problem for him? I mean…” She found it impossible to ask the right questions.
“You know Harrison,” he said, his expression stiff. “He understands responsibility.”
Marietta stared at a spot just over Damon’s shoulder.
She couldn’t understand what a sense of responsibility had to do with anything, but somehow it meant leaving without a word to her.
Damon cleared his throat. “I’m making arrangements to meet with your grandfather, so I can apologize in person and settle this to the best of our ability.”
“Thank you. I think…I think he’ll appreciate that.”
“What will you do now, my dear? Of course, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like. But I’m sure you’ll want to get back to your family soon.”
Marietta closed her eyes. Damon thought she should go home. Harrison must be avoiding her and Damon didn’t want her hurt by it.
If only she could think clearly. Everything blurred.
“I’ll probably head home,” she said hoarsely. She reached out her hand to Cyrus Damon, a man she’d once blamed for everything wrong with her life. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”
“Thank you, my dear. You’re like sunshine. Don’t let it go out.” He squeezed her hand; his gaze seemed kind, but resonated something she couldn’t identify.
When she returned to her room, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the beautiful antique carpet. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to talk to Harrison and figure out what was happening. She wanted to shake some sense into him.
It was too soon to make assumptions. He might have needed time to adjust. He might have felt guilty and awkward and had needed space before he saw her again. Nothing had been said, but she knew he cared for her. There had been real feeling, real tenderness and hunger in his eyes. Their lovemaking had been far more than sex.
With a shaky sigh, she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed. Why were things always so complicated?
In a way, she understood. What Damon had hinted at earlier began to make sense.
Harrison’s cousin had caused Melissa’s death.
Harrison would take responsibility. For everything. For his cousin’s actions fifteen years ago. For her sister’s death. For those years she couldn’t walk. For his family’s insistence on Michael’s innocence. His whole world was falling apart, and he would do whatever he could to keep it from happening again.
That was what he did. That was who he was.
The perfect idiot.