Chapter 9 - The Photograph
1593 Words
Vera did not sleep.
The photograph remained on the table beside her bed long after midnight.
Her father.
Richard Voss.
And the stranger.
Three men connected by a moment important enough to preserve—and dangerous enough to hide.
Ask Damian about him.
Four words.
She picked up the photograph again.
The stranger stood slightly behind her father and Richard, his face angled toward the camera. There was something familiar about him.
Not his face.
His posture.
The way he stood as though he belonged in the room without needing anyone’s permission.
Vera reached for her phone.
She opened the message thread with Damian.
Who is the man in this photograph?
She deleted it.
Too direct.
She tried again.
Did your father work with private consultants during the Rossi acquisition?
Deleted.
Too suspicious.
She locked her phone.
She would ask him in person.
The next morning, Damian was already in his office when Vera arrived.
“You are early.”
“So are you.”
“I own the building.”
“That does not make waking up early mandatory.”
His eyes moved toward her.
“You seem unusually argumentative this morning.”
“I did not sleep well.”
Something in his expression changed.
“Why?”
“The Rossi file.”
Damian studied her.
“That is not the only reason.”
Her heart skipped.
“I have a question.”
“Ask.”
She placed the photograph on his desk.
Damian looked down.
For several seconds, he did not move.
Then he picked it up.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone left it outside my apartment.”
His eyes snapped toward hers.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Did you see who?”
“No.”
“Did you tell security?”
“Not yet.”
His jaw tightened.
“You should have.”
“I wanted to know what it was first.”
“You should have called me.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever left this wanted you to find it.”
Vera folded her arms.
“Who is he?”
Damian looked at the photograph again.
Finally, he said, “Adrian Vale.”
The name meant nothing to her.
“Who was he?”
“A consultant.”
“For Voss Group?”
“For my father.”
“What kind of consultant?”
“Private acquisitions.”
Vera’s pulse quickened.
“Did he work on the Rossi deal?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
There it was.
A connection.
“What happened to him?”
Damian’s thumb moved over his signet ring.
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
The same year her father died.
The same year Rossi Holdings collapsed.
“Did anyone look for him?”
“My father did.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrian knew things.”
“What things?”
Damian’s eyes lifted.
“About the Rossi acquisition.”
Vera kept her face neutral.
“Did he know about the altered records?”
“I do not know.”
“You said he knew things.”
“I said he knew things. I did not say I knew what they were.”
She studied him.
For the first time since she had met him, Damian looked genuinely unsettled.
“Why was he standing with your father and mine?”
“I do not know.”
“Then why keep the photograph?”
“I did not.”
“What?”
“I had never seen it.”
She stared at him.
“That is impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because it was found among documents connected to Rossi Holdings.”
The lie left her mouth before she could stop it.
Damian’s gaze sharpened.
“Found where?”
“Among my father’s belongings.”
“Your father kept it?”
“I believe so.”
He said nothing.
Then Damian looked back at the photograph.
“Adrian Vale was the last person my father trusted before he died.”
Vera’s chest tightened.
“How did your father die?”
Damian went still.
“Heart attack.”
“Was it?”
His expression hardened.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you do not sound convinced.”
“My father had a heart condition.”
“That does not mean the circumstances were ordinary.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“It does not.”
Vera looked at Richard’s face.
“Did he know what happened to my father?”
Damian looked at her.
Something passed between them.
A shared understanding that their fathers’ deaths might not have been separate events.
“I do not know,” he said.
This time, Vera believed him.
By noon, Adrian Vale’s name had become an obsession.
Vera searched every database available through Voss Group.
Consultants.
Acquisitions.
Legal filings.
Financial records.
Nothing.
It was as though Adrian had ceased to exist.
She was still searching when Damian appeared at her desk.
“You are looking for Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone thought I should ask you about him.”
His expression changed.
“Someone?”
She nodded.
“Do you know who?”
“No.”
“Then stop looking.”
Vera stared at him.
“No.”
“You do not know what you are getting yourself into.”
“Neither do you.”
Damian placed a folder on her desk.
She opened it.
Another photograph.
This one showed Adrian standing outside a restaurant.
Richard was beside him.
Across from them stood her father.
A handwritten date appeared in the corner.
Five days before Rossi Holdings collapsed.
Vera looked up.
“Where did you find this?”
“My father’s private archive.”
“You said the archive contained Rossi correspondence.”
“It did.”
“And this?”
“I found it behind a false panel.”
“Your father hid it?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I do not know.”
Vera lowered her gaze.
For five years, she had believed the truth was buried with her father.
Now Damian was uncovering pieces of it too.
That frightened her.
Because Damian was getting closer.
Not to her.
To the truth.
And when he reached it, he would eventually reach Elena.
She pushed the photograph back toward him.
“You should stop.”
Damian’s expression changed.
“Stop what?”
“Digging.”
“Why?”
“Because some things are buried for a reason.”
He leaned closer.
“Is that what you believe?”
Vera looked into his eyes.
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
She had no answer.
That evening, Damian found Vera on the rooftop.
She stood near the railing, looking over Chicago.
He stopped beside her.
“My father used to bring me here.”
Vera glanced at him.
“When you were young?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Everything except business.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“He taught me chess.”
“You play?”
“I used to.”
“Who won?”
“My father.”
“Every time?”
“Almost.”
She looked at him.
“Almost?”
“Once.”
“What happened?”
“I cheated.”
Vera smiled.
Damian looked at her.
“There.”
“What?”
“That smile.”
She quickly looked away.
“You are imagining things.”
“I am not.”
The silence that followed was softer than either expected.
Damian rested his arms against the railing.
“You remind me of someone.”
Her heart stopped.
“Who?”
“Someone I knew a long time ago.”
“Who?”
He looked at the city.
“Elena.”
The name struck her like a blow.
She forced herself to breathe.
“Who was Elena?”
“Someone who died.”
“What happened to her?”
“I do not know.”
It was the first time Vera heard something in his voice that sounded like regret.
“People said she was killed.”
“People say a lot of things.”
“Do you believe she is dead?”
Damian looked at her for a long moment.
“I do not know what I believe anymore.”
Vera turned away.
For five years, she had imagined Damian Voss speaking Elena Rossi’s name with hatred.
Instead, there was grief.
Perhaps guilt.
She swallowed.
“You should let her go.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes the past cannot be changed.”
“And sometimes,” he said quietly, “the past comes back because it wants something.”
Vera turned toward him.
Their eyes met.
Then Damian’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes?”
A pause.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Send me the address.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Vera asked.
“Someone broke into my father’s old house.”
Her pulse jumped.
“Was anything taken?”
“We do not know.”
Damian reached for his jacket.
“Stay here.”
“I am coming.”
“Vera—”
“I am coming.”
He stared at her.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
They walked toward the elevator together.
Across the street, Marcus watched them.
He lowered his phone.
He still did not know who Vera really was.
But he knew she was getting dangerously close to something that was supposed to remain buried.
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