Chapter 1
Damien ended the party within ten minutes.
No announcement.
No explanation.
His security chief quietly informed guests that their cars were waiting.
The musicians stopped playing.
Caterers covered untouched food.
Family members who had arrived expecting several more hours of drinking, gossip, and private business suddenly found themselves being escorted toward the mansion doors.
Celestine remained beside the ruined dessert table.
Champagne dripped from her hair.
“You cannot throw me out of my own family’s house.”
Damien looked at her.
“That sentence is becoming interesting.”
Her expression tightened.
He turned away.
His mother came first.
Agnes sat in a private sitting room with Arthur Keane, the Rourke family lawyer.
A bruise was already developing along her forearm where she had struck the chair.
Damien crouched in front of her.
“Anywhere else?”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I said no.”
Arthur cleared his throat.
“She should still be examined.”
Agnes glared at him.
“You’re a lawyer.”
“I’m sixty-two. I know when someone should see a doctor.”
“I’m seventy-nine, not ninety.”
“Then I’ve insulted you terribly.”
Despite herself, Agnes almost smiled.
Damien did not.
His attention returned to the ancient ring in her hand.
Dark gold.
The Rourke crest worn nearly smooth from age.
“I’ve never seen that.”
Agnes looked at Arthur.
The lawyer answered.
“It belonged to your father before he inherited the later family signet.”
Damien frowned.
“Then why does Mom have it?”
“Because Patrick gave it to her when he bought this estate.”
Damien looked toward the ownership document Arthur had carried from the ballroom.
“What exactly am I looking at?”
Arthur placed it flat on the table.
An original deed.
Forty-one years old.
The property description matched the mansion and seventy-three surrounding acres.
Damien read the owner’s name.
Then read it again.
Agnes Eleanor Rourke.
Not Patrick.
Not a family company.
Not a trust.
Agnes.
Damien slowly looked up.
“This house belongs to you?”
Agnes gave him a tired look.
“It always has.”
“Why don’t I know that?”
“That is a longer conversation.”
“Start.”
Before she could, Greta Lane appeared in the doorway.
The longtime housekeeper looked frightened.
“Mr. Rourke?”
“What?”
“Mrs. Celestine’s room.”
Damien stood.
“What about it?”
“The safe is empty.”
“Jewelry?”
“No, sir.”
Greta swallowed.
“She kept property files there.”
Arthur immediately closed his briefcase.
Damien looked back toward the hallway.
Within minutes of seeing Agnes’s ring and the old deed, Celestine had apparently tried to remove documents from the mansion.
May you like
The party had not created the problem.
It had interrupted something already underway.
