Chapter 2 - AGAIN
“Again,” Damian said.
Charlotte hated the word.
She hated the white tile beneath her palms.
She hated the trembling in her knees.
Most of all, she hated that Damian Moretti had seen her become eight years old again.
Still, she breathed.
In.
Hold.
Out.
The fourth breath went deeper.
The fifth did not hurt as much.
By the seventh, the room had stopped tilting.
Damian remained several feet away.
He never reached for her.
Never said calm down.
Never told her there was nothing to be afraid of.
Charlotte appreciated that more than she wanted to admit.
Her eyes finally dropped to the floor between them.
Something lay beneath the nearest sink.
A phone.
Not hers.
Damian noticed.
“Is that what happened?”
Charlotte’s stomach tightened.
The screen was still glowing.
Paused on an old news video.
Flames poured from the windows of a warehouse.
A reporter stood behind yellow emergency tape.
Charlotte knew the footage before she saw the caption.
She had spent nine years making sure she never watched it.
WHITMORE FINANCIAL SCANDAL ENDS IN DEADLY WAREHOUSE FIRE
Her throat closed again.
Damian followed her stare.
Then looked back at Charlotte.
“That was your father?”
She wished he had asked anything else.
“Yes.”
Footsteps approached outside.
Charlotte panicked.
“No.”
Damian lowered his voice.
“I texted Nurse Patel.”
“No teachers?”
“No.”
“Principal?”
“No.”
“Your friends?”
“I don’t have friends who need live bathroom updates.”
Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped her.
Damian’s mouth moved.
Good.
A knock sounded.
“Charlotte? Damian? It’s Nurse Patel.”
Damian stood.
“Can I open it?”
Charlotte nodded.
The nurse entered alone.
She was small, sixtyish, and one of the few Blackwood adults who never looked at a student’s last name before deciding how warmly to speak.
She crouched near Charlotte.
“What do you need?”
“Five minutes.”
“Done.”
No interrogation.
No audience.
Charlotte nearly cried again.
Nurse Patel noticed the phone.
“So did Damian.
He picked it up only after Charlotte nodded.
A text thread remained open.
Madison Caldwell’s name sat at the top.
Show her the video.
Another message followed.
Then ask whether thieves burn hotter.
Damian’s face changed.
Charlotte had seen students become frightened of the Moretti name before.
She had never understood why.
Now she did.
His anger did not make him louder.
It made him quieter.
“Who brought you in here?”
Charlotte looked away.
“Damian.”
“Who?”
“Madison and Olivia Price.”
“Did they touch you?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Not really.”
His eyes sharpened.
“They blocked the door.”
Nurse Patel’s face tightened.
Charlotte continued before either could interrupt.
“Madison found the article last night. She showed it to people at lunch. I walked away.”
“So she followed you.”
“Yes.”
“She knew about the fire.”
Charlotte swallowed.
“She found out I don’t do fire drills.”
Damian’s gaze shifted.
Blackwood allowed Charlotte to report to the nurse’s office five minutes before scheduled drills.
Officially because of migraines.
Nobody knew the real reason.
Or nobody was supposed to.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
That frightened her almost more than Madison.
Her accommodation existed in a confidential student file.
Nurse Patel stood.
“That part I’m going to find out.”
Charlotte looked down.
Something metallic glinted near the stall.
Her father’s watch.
She lunged for it.
The old silver case was scratched.
The leather strap had split years ago, so Charlotte kept it tucked inside the zippered pocket of her backpack.
Madison must have found it when she dumped Charlotte’s things across the counter.
Damian saw the initials on the back.
G.W.
Then he saw the tiny engraving below them.
His face went completely still.
“What?”
Charlotte covered the watch.
“Nothing.”
“May I see the back?”
“No.”
He nodded immediately.
“All right.”
That surprised her.
“Why?”
“I recognize the inscription.”
Her fingers tightened.
“That’s impossible.”
“My father has a photograph of that watch.”
Everything inside Charlotte stopped.
“What?”
Damian took out his phone.
Not to photograph her.
He opened an old family picture.
Two men stood outside a warehouse office.
One was much younger than Charlotte remembered her father.
Gabriel Whitmore.
Beside him stood a dark-haired man in a charcoal coat.
Charlotte had seen his face in newspapers.
Vittorio Moretti.
Damian’s father.
Gabriel was holding the same silver watch.
Charlotte stared.
“How does your father know mine?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just happened to have this picture?”
“No.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“I saw it years ago. I searched our family archive after you told me your last name in sophomore year.”
Charlotte’s head snapped up.
“You investigated me?”
“I Googled your father after hearing mine mention Whitmore once.”
“That is still weird.”
“Yes.”
He did not defend it.
“At least you know.”
Nurse Patel returned from the sink.
“We need to move Charlotte somewhere private.”
“I can walk.”
Charlotte stood.
Her legs disagreed.
Damian moved forward.
Then stopped before touching her.
“Do you want help?”
The question almost undid her again.
“Just… walk beside me.”
He did.
Not ahead.
Not behind.
Beside.
They made it to the nurse’s office without meeting Madison.
Charlotte sat in the small consultation room while Nurse Patel reported the incident to the headmaster.
This time Charlotte did not protest.
Something had changed.
Maybe seeing the messages.
Maybe seeing her father beside Vittorio Moretti.
Maybe simply being tired.
She had spent two years surviving cruelty by making herself smaller.
It had not worked.
Damian stood by the window.
“I texted my father.”
Charlotte looked up.
“You what?”
“He needs to see the watch.”
“No.”
“I didn’t tell him about your panic attack.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“I told him Gabriel Whitmore’s daughter is at Blackwood.”
“You had no right.”
“You’re right.”
The immediate answer stopped her.
Damian looked at the floor.
“I should have asked.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Before Charlotte could answer, the hallway outside changed.
Voices lowered.
Footsteps stopped.
Even through a closed door, she could feel it.
Then the door opened.
Vittorio Moretti walked in.
Damian looked powerful at seventeen.
His father made power look old.
Controlled.
Expensive black coat.
Silver beginning at his temples.
A face that did not need anger to make a room careful.
He looked first at his son.
Then Nurse Patel.
Then Charlotte.
His eyes dropped to the watch in her hand.
For the first time, every bit of control disappeared.
He whispered one name.
“Gabriel.”
Charlotte stood.
“You knew my father.”
Vittorio did not answer immediately.
His eyes looked almost haunted.
Then he reached slowly inside his coat.
Charlotte stiffened.
He removed a photograph.
The same warehouse.
The same two men.
But this picture had a third person.
Peter Caldwell.
Madison’s father.
Charlotte stopped breathing.
Vittorio turned the photograph over.
Her father’s handwriting covered the back.
One sentence.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, DO NOT LET CALDWELL TOUCH THE SCHOLARSHIP FUND.
Charlotte looked up.
Vittorio’s voice became very quiet.
“Your father did not steal from Blackwood.”
May you like
A pause.
“He died trying to prove who did.”
