Page 75 of A Touch of Dark
“Just tell me.” The desperation in my voice startles me. “That’s why you’ve been so patient, right? To deliver the blow when I least expect it? I’m at rock bottom now, so just tell me now.”
Of all reactions, he…flinches. “Juliana—”
“Are you going to have nudes of me plastered around city hall during the press conference?” The thought makes me shudder—but it’s surprisingly low on the list of potential revenge plots. There are so many much worse. It’s a dangerous game to play, jumping into the brain of a criminal mastermind. He already knows more than enough to decimate me. “Will you have my little recording play on the speakers? Tell me. I know you have something planned.”
“And if I don’t?” His tone cuts into me, sharp and demanding.You think you know me, Ms. Thorne? Think again.“What if my plan was far simpler?”
“What?” I ask. “If you truly give a damn about my ‘welfare,’ like you said, you’d just tell me—”
“What if I only had to tell you the truth? That your nightmares and your pain and the terror you feel at night could have been resolved years ago? That the man you worship hasn’t done a damn thing to protect you. If anything, he’s used you as a pawn in his own sick, twisted scheme meant to cover his tracks.”
I swallow hard, hating the gruff earnest in his voice. It’s harder to ignore than his usual smug mocking. “Like how?”
“All this time… You have no clue, do you? Think back to when he first adopted you, Juliana. Did you ever ask yourself why a man like him would take in a child like you? Whyyourcase in particular drew the notice of such a cavalier defense attorney who rarely participated in even charity events?”
“Are you blaming my father for Leslie’s death too?” I scoff. “Very funny.”
But he isn’t laughing. “Nothing could prevent what happened to you, except justice. Justice served to the man who hurt you before you could ever cross his path.”
“The police never found him,” I croak. “Does the all-knowing Damien claim to know his identity too?”
“What if I told you that you weren’t the first or the second victim of this man. This killer? That several girls your age had suffered through a similar hell. Died. Mere shreds of evidence tied them to one suspect who escaped prosecution—not through fate, but intention?”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, what if that monster had a damn good lawyer? A lawyer who got him off scot-free and had the records expunged so that the world would never even learn his name? A powerful man, with a powerful lawyer who allowed him to terrorize two little girls, killing one and leaving the other traumatized for life? Only after his mistake did that same lawyer adopt a victim of a crime he himself enabled and yet pretended to have suddenly grown a heart? A lawyer who likes to think himself a beacon of all things just.”
His words create an invisible noose that wraps around my throat, tightening by the second. “No…”
“Should I be blunter?” Damien wonders, cocking his head. “What if that lawyer’s name was Heyworth Thorne, and that everything he claimed to believe in was a lie?”
“You’re lying.”
“No. He has been lying. To you, most likely since the day he came into your life. It wasn’t an act of goodwill that led him to you, Juliana. It was guilt. But guilt that hasn’t led him to do the right thing and name your tormentor, even after all these years. He knows his name. He’s known all along—”
“Stop.”
“Why else erase the records?” He sounds so calm, though it feels like he’s shouting. “Why else suddenly take an interest in supposed ‘justice’? Heyworth Thorne never loved you. He merely used you like a trophy to assuage his own fucking conscience—”
“Stop!” Tears spray down my cheeks like bullets as I scramble to my feet and stagger toward the door. “You’re lying!”
“Juliana, wait—”
“Leave me alone!” I’m running, escaping into the hall without bothering with a coat or shoes. Downstairs a car is waiting as promised, but when I enter it, I break.
Because I know that Damien wasn’t lying.
If he could turn me against my father, he’d have everything to gain.
But Heyworth Thorne has a lot more to lose.
Enough that he’d use me as a pawn to keep it all.
* * *
Town Hall sitswithin a maze of reporters jostling for the right vantage point to cover my father’s moment of triumph. It’s a buzz of activity I quickly adjusted to while growing up in the Thorne family. From the age of eight, I learned how to smile on cue and nod solemnly when asked to explain how grateful I was to my father for adopting me.
When all along…
