Chapter 5
I stared at Elisa Rochefort's name on the financial report.
For a moment, I couldn't understand what I was seeing.
The woman who chaired a children's charity was connected to companies receiving suspicious payments from my business partner.
The same woman who had humiliated Hope for reaching toward a cake.
I looked at Rachel.
"How long has this been happening?"
She turned a page.
"Some of the transfers date back nearly four years."
My stomach tightened.
"Four years?"
"Yes."
I leaned back.
For four years, Victor had been sitting beside me during board meetings.
He had celebrated company milestones.
He had attended investor dinners.
He had shaken my hand after every successful launch.
And all the while, money may have been moving out of the company through businesses I barely recognized.
I felt foolish.
Angry.
But mostly disappointed.
Victor had been more than my partner.
He had been the closest thing I had to a brother.
We met when I was nineteen.
Both broke.
Both ambitious.
Both convinced we could change our lives.
We shared cheap apartments.
We worked through the night.
We celebrated our first profitable month with pizza because we couldn't afford anything else.
When I started Cross Technologies, Victor joined me.
I trusted him.
I gave him authority.
Access.
A substantial ownership stake.
And now I was staring at evidence that he might have used that trust to betray me.
Rachel watched my expression.
"Damon, we need to be careful."
I nodded.
"Have you contacted independent investigators?"
"Yes. A forensic accounting team is reviewing the transfers, and outside counsel is advising the company."
"Good."
I looked at Elisa's name again.
"What about the charity?"
Rachel hesitated.
"There's a separate concern."
My pulse quickened.
"What?"
"The charity reported raising millions for children's programs. But its publicly available records don't clearly explain where some of the money went."
I stared at her.
"Are you saying they're stealing from hungry children?"
"I'm saying the financial records raise questions that require investigation."
I rubbed my face.
I thought of the gala.
The champagne.
The luxury cars.
The enormous cake.
And Hope standing barefoot beside the dessert table.
I suddenly felt sick.
"Rachel, I want a complete independent audit of every donation Cross Technologies made to that foundation."
She nodded.
"Already requested."
I looked at her.
"And no more donations until we understand what's happening."
"Agreed."
The next morning, I visited Grace.
She was sitting beside the hospital window.
Hope was coloring at a small table.
When she saw me, she jumped up.
"Cake man!"
I smiled.
"Hello, Hope."
She ran into my arms.
I lifted her carefully.
She giggled.
"You're late."
I laughed.
"Am I?"
She nodded.
"By forever."
I kissed the top of her head.
"I'm sorry."
Then I looked at Grace.
She was smiling.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
I sat beside Hope and helped her color a picture.
She chose bright pink for the sky.
Purple for the grass.
And yellow for every flower.
I watched her concentrate.
Then she suddenly asked, "Do you know my daddy?"
My hand froze.
I looked at Grace.
Her expression softened.
She set down the magazine she was holding.
"Hope, sweetheart, remember what we talked about yesterday?"
Hope nodded.
"About my dad?"
"Yes."
Hope turned toward me.
I could barely breathe.
Grace took her hand.
"Remember how I told you your daddy didn't know where we were?"
Hope nodded.
"And remember how I said he might be very happy to meet you?"
She nodded again.
Grace looked at me.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Well, sweetheart, Damon is your daddy."
For a moment, Hope said nothing.
She studied my face.
Then looked at Grace.
"Really?"
Grace nodded.
"Really."
Hope turned back toward me.
Her little eyebrows came together.
"But he's the cake man."
I laughed through tears.
"Yes, sweetheart."
She thought about that.
Then asked, "Can he be both?"
I felt something inside my chest break open.
I knelt beside her chair.
"Hope, I would be very happy to be both."
She stared at me.
Then asked the question I had been dreading.
"Why didn't you come before?"
My throat tightened.
I looked at Grace.
She gave me a small, encouraging nod.
I took a breath.
"Because I didn't know where you were, sweetheart. And because I made some mistakes a long time ago."
Hope looked confused.
"Bad mistakes?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
She studied me.
Then asked, "Are you going to leave again?"
The room went silent.
I felt tears rolling down my face.
I knew better than to promise something impossible.
Life could change.
Circumstances could change.
But I could promise commitment.
I took her little hands.
"Hope, I'm going to do everything I can to be here for you."
She stared at me.
"Every day?"
"As often as I can. And we'll make sure you always know how to reach me."
She thought about that.
Then smiled.
"Okay."
She climbed into my arms.
And I held my daughter for the first time knowing she understood who I was.
Grace began crying.
I looked at her over Hope's shoulder.
There were six years of pain between us.
Six years of misunderstandings.
Six years of loneliness.
But that moment belonged to Hope.
And I refused to let anything steal it.
Two days later, Grace was discharged from the hospital.
She agreed to move temporarily into the furnished apartment I'd arranged, after Rachel helped document the terms so Grace could feel secure and independent.
The apartment had two bedrooms.
A bright kitchen.
A small balcony.
And a children's room decorated with cheerful pictures.
Hope ran from room to room.
"Mama!"
Grace laughed.
"Yes, baby?"
"There's a bathtub!"
I smiled.
Hope rushed into the kitchen.
"And a big fridge!"
Then she opened one of the cabinets.
"Look! Plates!"
Grace covered her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes.
I pretended to be interested in the kitchen counter because I didn't want Hope to see me crying.
Then my daughter opened the refrigerator.
It was filled with fresh food.
Fruit.
Vegetables.
Milk.
Eggs.
Bread.
And a small cake.
Hope stared.
"All this food?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
She looked at Grace.
"Mama, we can eat whenever we're hungry?"
Grace knelt beside her.
"Yes, sweetheart."
Hope smiled.
Then she did something that nearly brought me to my knees.
She picked up an apple.
Held it against her chest.
And whispered, "Can we save this for tomorrow?"
I turned away.
I couldn't let her see my face.
I had never felt so wealthy.
Or so ashamed of how little I'd understood about poverty.
That evening, after Hope fell asleep, Grace and I sat on the balcony.
For the first time, we talked without anger.
She told me about the shelter.
The jobs she'd worked.
The nights she'd skipped meals so Hope could eat.
I listened.
I didn't interrupt.
I didn't try to fix every memory with money.
I simply listened.
Then I told her about Victor.
Her expression hardened.
"I knew he was dangerous."
I nodded.
"You were right."
She looked at me.
"Are you going to confront him?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because I want the evidence preserved properly."
She studied me.
Then nodded.
"Good."
I looked toward Hope's bedroom.
"Grace, I need to ask you something."
She turned.
"What?"
"Would you consider letting me become part of Hope's daily life?"
Her eyes filled.
"You already are."
I smiled faintly.
"I mean permanently."
She looked down.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, "I want her to have her father."
My chest tightened.
"But I need to know you won't disappear when things become difficult."
I nodded.
"That's fair."
She looked into my eyes.
"Prove it, Damon."
I reached for her hand.
"I will."
The next morning, Rachel called.
Her voice was urgent.
"Damon, we've identified the company Victor used to route several of the suspicious transfers."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Who owns it?"
She paused.
"Elisa Rochefort's brother."
I closed my eyes.
Then she continued.
"There's more. The charity's gala expenses were billed through the same network."
I stared at the wall.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we need to determine whether charitable funds were being diverted through related-party contracts."
I took a breath.
"Do the authorities know?"
"Yes. Relevant information has been referred for review."
I looked toward Hope.
She was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast.
For once, she wasn't worried about saving food.
She was laughing at something Grace had said.
I felt anger rise.
Not the reckless anger I'd felt when I was younger.
Something colder.
Something determined.
I looked at Rachel's name on my phone.
"Then let's find out exactly what they did."
But before she could answer, another call appeared.
Victor Hale.
I stared at the screen.
Then answered.
"Damon."
His voice was smooth.
Friendly.
Familiar.
"Brother, we need to talk."
I said nothing.
Then he added something that made my blood run cold.
"I know Hope is your daughter."
And for the first time, I understood that Victor wasn't simply afraid of losing money.
May you like
He was afraid of what my daughter represented.
The truth.
