Chapter 2 - Following the Ghost
Damian had been wrapped up in high-stakes investor meetings in Detroit, but an unexpected flight cancellation allowed him to return to Paradise Valley hours ahead of schedule. Deciding to bypass the formal front entrance, he directed his chauffeur to pull around the side service driveway.
As the vehicle glided silently into the shaded parking area near the garage, Damian noticed movement by the side service door.
It was Fiona.
She wore a simple, faded pair of jeans, an old cable-knit cardigan, and carried a worn cloth bag over her shoulder. She looked around cautiously, her expression tense, before slipping behind the wheel of an old, battered compact car that Damian was entirely certain had broken down and been sold off years ago. Without a word to the security staff or housekeepers, she backed out of the driveway and drove away.
Damian froze. Why wasn't she driving the luxury SUV he had bought her? Where was she going in secret, looking like a completely different person?
An uncomfortable knot twisted in his chest. For the first time in twenty years of marriage, a chilling wave of suspicion washed over him. Was she hiding another life? Was there someone else?
Without thinking, Damian told his chauffeur to stay put, slid into a spare sedan parked in the garage, and began to tail her at a careful distance.
Fiona drove for nearly forty minutes, weaving through traffic until she reached a faded, unassuming apartment complex in a working-class neighborhood. She parked near the curb, grabbed her cloth bag, and disappeared inside one of the aging brick buildings.
Damian parked his car across the street, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Ten minutes passed. Then thirty. Nearly an hour ticked by on the dashboard clock. His mind raced through a dozen painful scenarios. Was she meeting a lover? Was she involved in something illegal?
When Fiona finally emerged from the building, the cloth bag she carried was visibly empty. But instead of turning the car toward home, she drove to a local discount supermarket.
Damian parked far enough away to remain unseen, slipping inside through a side entrance and tracking her movements from behind towering cereal displays. He watched in absolute bewilderment as she loaded her shopping cart with basic necessities: bulk rice, affordable milk, oats, fresh vegetables, and household cleaning supplies. From there, she walked over to the pharmacy counter, where she quietly picked up a bag filled with prescription medications.
Nothing luxurious. Nothing for herself. Everything practical, utilitarian, and modest.
Confused and deeply unsettled, Damian returned home late that evening and quietly pulled the household staff aside in the private study, demanding answers about his wife's movements. Most of the staff lowered their eyes, terrified of crossing Brenda or Gertrude. Finally, Helena, an executive cook who had faithfully served the household for nearly six years, cleared her throat and decided to speak.
"The woman Mrs. Fiona visits is Miriam, Mr. Damian," Helena said softly, twisting her apron in her hands.
Damian frowned, searching his memory. "Miriam?"
"She worked as a housekeeper here before you expanded the estate and hired the corporate agency," Helena explained. "Her husband passed away a few months ago from cancer, leaving her with massive medical debt and no income."
Damian remembered the name vaguely. "What does Fiona have to do with that?"
Helena hesitated, glancing toward the hallway. "She pays for Miriam’s rent support and her medication."
Damian stared at her, stunned. "She uses household accounts?"
Helena lowered her voice to a near-whisper. "No, sir. Mrs. Fiona uses her own personal savings. And... she helps more people than that, Mr. Damian."
"What do you mean, more people?" Damian asked, his heart hammering against his ribs.
May you like
Helena swallowed hard. "Many more than you will ever realize."
---
