Chapter 4 - VICTOR’S VERSION OF THE TRUTH
Richard entered Victor Hale’s office at ten twenty that morning.
He came alone.
Not because he trusted Victor.
Because he wanted to see which version of the man appeared when there were no lawyers, investors, or witnesses to impress.
Victor stood near the windows overlooking downtown Denver.
At fifty-four, he was everything Richard had once admired in powerful men—controlled, polished, difficult to surprise.
Now Richard saw something else.
Fear.
“You knew Helen.”
Victor poured coffee.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Several months.”
“You met her while she was homeless?”
“No.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
Richard placed the photograph on the desk.
Victor glanced at it.
“You’ve been talking to Anna.”
“So you know Anna too.”
“I met her once.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“How did you find Helen?”
Victor looked tired.
“She found me.”
“Why?”
“To get to you.”
Richard’s expression changed.
“She wanted to see me?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
Victor sat.
“Richard, fifteen years ago you weren’t a millionaire. You were ambitious, heavily leveraged, and terrified one bad story could kill your first restaurant.”
“That doesn’t excuse what I did.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“Then stop talking about my balance sheet and tell me why my sister came to you.”
Victor folded his hands.
“She wanted money.”
Richard’s face hardened.
“No.”
“You barely knew her at the end.”
“Anna knew her.”
Victor smiled without warmth.
“Anna loved her. That doesn’t make Anna objective.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
“For what?”
“To hire someone to find Lucy.”
Richard’s anger faltered.
Victor continued.
“She refused to ask you directly.”
“So you gave it to her?”
“No.”
Richard stared.
Victor looked almost ashamed.
“I offered her five.”
“You were worth thirty million dollars.”
“And Helen was addicted.”
“She was clean.”
“According to Anna.”
Richard leaned forward.
“What did you want from her?”
Victor’s eyes lifted.
“There was something she knew about my father.”
Richard paused.
Victor’s father, Warren Hale, had been a real-estate attorney.
Dead ten years.
“What?”
“A property transfer involving David Cross.”
Richard frowned.
“Helen’s husband?”
“Yes.”
Victor stood again.
“My father had represented a group that purchased industrial property in Aurora. David worked at one of the warehouses.”
“The warehouse where he died.”
Victor nodded.
“After the accident, Helen discovered records suggesting David’s death wasn’t accidental.”
Richard’s stomach tightened.
“Who killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Helen?”
“No.”
Victor’s answer came too quickly.
Richard noticed.
“What did she have?”
“A ledger.”
Richard went still.
Victor continued.
“Payments. Shell companies. Bribes. Enough to expose several people.”
“Including your father?”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
Victor’s expression sharpened.
“No.”
“Why did you want it?”
“To keep my father’s name out of the papers.”
Richard laughed bitterly.
“So fifteen years ago, I abandoned my sister to protect my reputation, and six years ago you pressured her to protect yours.”
Victor looked away.
“We’re more alike than you want to admit.”
Richard wanted to hit him.
Instead, he asked the question that mattered.
“Did you kill Helen?”
Victor’s face snapped back.
“No.”
“Did you give her drugs?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“No.”
“Then how did she die two weeks after that photograph?”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
Richard stared.
Victor finally said, “She called me the night before.”
“What did she say?”
“That she had hidden the ledger somewhere I’d never find it.”
Richard’s pulse quickened.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened to her notebook about Lucy?”
Victor said nothing.
Richard’s face changed.
“You took it.”
“I found it after she died.”
“You stole my sister’s search records?”
“I was looking for the ledger.”
Richard stepped forward.
Victor held up a hand.
“I never found it.”
“Where’s the notebook?”
“Gone.”
“What does that mean?”
“I burned it.”
Richard moved before he thought.
His fist struck Victor across the mouth.
Victor staggered into the desk.
For three seconds, neither man spoke.
Richard had not hit anyone since college.
Victor touched his lip.
Blood appeared.
“I probably deserved that.”
“You erased fifteen years of a child’s life.”
“I erased paper.”
“That paper could have found Lucy.”
Victor’s expression hardened.
“You think one notebook would have fixed everything?”
“It would have given us somewhere to start!”
“Us?”
Richard stopped.
Victor laughed once.
“You didn’t even know she existed yesterday.”
The truth hit harder because it was true.
Richard stepped back.
Victor straightened his jacket.
“Lucy disappeared into foster care eight years ago. Names changed. Placements moved. Helen’s notebook was already outdated.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Richard’s phone vibrated.
Detective Blake.
He answered.
“We may have something,” Blake said.
Richard turned away from Victor.
“What?”
“We found the original case number for Lucy Morgan.”
Richard’s heart pounded.
“And?”
“She was initially placed with a family named Dawson.”
“Initially?”
“Six months. Then transferred.”
“To where?”
“A group home.”
Richard gripped the phone.
“Name.”
“Brighton House.”
Victor went visibly pale.
Richard noticed.
Blake continued.
“Brighton House closed four years ago after allegations of financial abuse.”
Richard stared at Victor.
“What?”
Blake repeated it.
Richard barely listened.
Because he recognized the name.
Brighton House.
Brighton Hospitality Foundation was one of Victor Hale’s favorite charities.
Richard had donated nearly six hundred thousand dollars to it over the years.
“You knew,” Richard said.
Victor’s face tightened.
Blake asked, “Knew what?”
Richard ended the call.
“You knew Lucy was at Brighton House.”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
“You just reacted to the name.”
“I knew the organization.”
“You funded it.”
“So did you.”
“Did Helen know?”
Victor’s silence answered.
Richard felt sick.
“She came to you because Lucy was in a home you supported.”
“She believed my father’s network was connected to Brighton.”
“What network?”
Victor turned toward the window.
“The same shell companies from the ledger.”
Richard stared.
“Say it clearly.”
Victor exhaled.
“Some of the money stolen through those warehouses was funneled into nonprofit properties.”
“Brighton?”
“Yes.”
“Children’s homes?”
“Yes.”
Richard’s skin went cold.
“What were they stealing?”
“State funds. Donations. Housing grants.”
Richard could hardly breathe.
“From foster children?”
Victor nodded.
“And Lucy was there.”
“At one point.”
Richard’s hands clenched.
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know.”
His phone rang again.
Blake.
Richard answered.
The detective’s voice was different this time.
“We found a possible match.”
Richard froze.
“A girl?”
“Fifteen years old. Entered the system as Lucy Morgan. Her surname changed after adoption proceedings failed.”
“Where is she?”
“A youth shelter in Lakewood.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Name?”
“She goes by Lucy Reed now.”
Anna’s surname.
Not by blood.
By choice.
Richard whispered, “Does she have heterochromia?”
“No.”
Of course.
The eyes had come through little Helen, not necessarily Lucy.
Blake continued.
“But the shelter supervisor says she wears a silver crescent-moon pendant every day.”
Richard could not speak.
Victor stared at him.
Richard grabbed his coat.
“Where are you going?”
“To find my niece.”
Victor stepped forward.
“Richard.”
He turned.
“There’s something else you need to know before you meet her.”
Richard’s expression hardened.
“What?”
Victor swallowed.
“Helen told Lucy why you abandoned her.”
Silence.
Richard felt the old shame rise.
“And?”
May you like
Victor’s answer was quiet.
“Lucy hates you.”
