Chapter 7 - TWO YEARS LATER
Two years changed Cora Walsh’s life in ways she never would have believed while standing outside the Thorne gates in shoes with holes in them.
She finished her veterinary technician certification at night.
Damian paid tuition.
She tried refusing.
He ignored her.
Cora repaid every dollar anyway by depositing money monthly into an account Mrs. Bell secretly helped her create.
Damian discovered it after eleven months.
He confronted her at breakfast.
“What is this?”
“A bank statement.”
“I can read.”
“Congratulations.”
“You’re paying me back.”
“Yes.”
“I said tuition was part of your employment.”
“I didn’t agree.”
“You accepted the money.”
“I needed it.”
Damian stared at her.
Cora buttered toast.
“I’m still paying.”
He sighed.
“You are exhausting.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Nero sat beneath the table.
Damian dropped a piece of bacon.
Cora slapped his wrist.
“No.”
He stared at her.
“Did you just hit me?”
“You’re ruining his diet.”
“This is my house.”
“That is his pancreas.”
Mrs. Bell left the room to hide a laugh.
By then, Nero was almost unrecognizable from the dog Cora had first met.
His scars remained.
His fear did too.
But fear no longer ran his life.
He slept in open rooms.
Accepted touch from selected staff.
Walked through crowds.
And every afternoon at four, he waited outside Damian’s office for a walk.
Some days Cora took him.
Some days Damian did.
The three of them had become a strange family nobody discussed.
Warren Pike pleaded guilty to trespassing, animal cruelty and several related charges.
He received prison time.
Not much.
Less than Cora thought he deserved.
Calvin Reed was never charged.
The evidence tied him to financial misconduct but not directly to Warren’s crimes.
Then investigators made a mistake.
They told Calvin exactly how close they were to proving more.
He disappeared.
Six months later, his abandoned car was found in Arkansas.
No body.
No passport activity.
No confirmed sighting.
Damian assumed he was alive.
Cora hoped he was not interested anymore.
Life moved on.
Until the morning of the charity gala.
The Thorne Foundation had begun funding animal-rehabilitation programs across Tennessee.
Cora hated the name.
“You named a dog charity after yourself.”
Damian looked offended.
“It already existed.”
“You could rename it.”
“To what?”
“The Nero Foundation.”
Nero barked.
Damian pointed at him.
“He has enough ego.”
The gala was scheduled for Saturday evening at a hotel in Nashville.
Cora had been asked to speak.
She almost refused.
Mrs. Bell made the decision for her by ordering a dress.
Cora stared at the garment bag.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not wearing something that costs more than my first car.”
“Your first car cost four hundred dollars.”
“Exactly.”
The speech terrified Cora more than any dog ever had.
She practiced in the kennel.
Nero listened.
“Two years ago,” she began, “I met a dog everyone called dangerous.”
Nero yawned.
“Thank you.”
She tried again.
“Sometimes behavior is a wound.”
Nero rolled onto his back.
“Very supportive.”
Someone clapped from behind her.
Cora turned.
Damian.
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to know the dog is bored.”
Cora threw a towel at him.
He caught it.
“You’ll be fine.”
“I hate speaking.”
“You speak to me constantly.”
“You’re one person.”
“I’ve had senators ask permission before speaking in my office.”
“That explains a lot.”
Damian smiled.
Then Nero suddenly stood.
He stared past them.
A delivery truck had pulled near the service gate.
Nothing unusual.
Except Nero growled.
Cora frowned.
“What is it?”
The driver stepped out.
Baseball cap.
Nero’s body stiffened.
The man carried a box toward the gate.
Security checked his ID.
Valid.
He left.
Cora watched the truck drive away.
Nero remained tense.
“Still hates hats,” Damian said.
“Maybe.”
Cora looked at the package.
It contained printed gala programs.
Nothing more.
She told herself she was overreacting.
That night, Nero refused his ceramic dinner bowl.
Cora immediately stopped.
“What?”
He sniffed.
Backed away.
Her skin prickled.
She replaced the food.
He ate normally.
Cora saved the first bowl for testing.
Dr. Hart called an hour later.
“Nothing toxic.”
Cora exhaled.
“But there’s an unusual residue.”
“What kind?”
“Industrial lubricant.”
Cora frowned.
“From what?”
“Machinery maybe.”
The next morning, the kennel gate malfunctioned.
Then the security camera above Cora’s quarters froze for four minutes.
Marcus replaced the system.
Damian doubled guards.
Nothing happened.
Friday night, one day before the gala, Cora sat beside Nero in the quiet kennel.
“Maybe we’re both paranoid.”
Nero rested his head in her lap.
She scratched his neck.
“You know what’s funny?”
He sighed.
“Two years ago I was sleeping in a room with mold on the ceiling.”
Nero opened one eye.
“Now I have health insurance.”
She laughed softly.
“Look at us.”
Nero’s tail tapped once.
Cora leaned back.
“I think we made it.”
Across the estate, inside an unused maintenance building, a hidden phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
TOMORROW.
A gloved hand picked it up.
Another message followed.
MAKE SURE THE DOG SURVIVES.
The reply came seconds later.
AND THE GIRL?
A pause.
May you like
Then:
SHE NEEDS TO LOOK GUILTY.
