Chapter 191

Chapter 191

"In the Clifford Family estate's secret room." Victoria answered truthfully. "Ruby, I'm sorry—I went into the Clifford Family's vault without permission. I saw three daggers locked together in a transparent display case. The other two couldn't be traced, but this one... William said he saw it in his grandfather's study when he was little."

Ruby slowly set down her phone and picked up her cup, taking a sip. She drank slowly, as if using the motion to organize her thoughts. The living room fell so quiet that the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging back and forth.

"It belonged to William's father." After a moment, Ruby finally spoke, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the cup, as if recalling something unpleasant. "This dagger—Quentin never went anywhere without it when he was alive."

"There were three daggers in total. One was Quentin's. The other two belonged to his two closest friends."

Victoria's pupils contracted slightly. "Who were the other two?"

Ruby was silent for a few seconds before saying two names: "Michael and Desmond."

Michael's name was familiar to them—Angela's father.

But who was Desmond? Both William and Victoria were completely in the dark. In all their months of investigation, that name had never come up once. Not in the Howard Group's archives, not in the intelligence Jason and Frank had gathered—no documents anywhere had ever mentioned that name.

Ruby continued, "You don't know Desmond, but what about Damian Powell?" The name dropped into the air of the living room like a stone thrown into a still lake.

William's pupils dilated sharply. Damian—of course he knew that name. The man Scorpion had framed, the man William had mistakenly believed killed his parents, the man he'd personally sent to prison.

"Desmond Powell is Damian Powell." Ruby said slowly, her tone carrying a grief that ten years hadn't fully worn away. "They're the same person."

Ruby lifted her cup and took a sip of the now-lukewarm coffee, her gaze drifting past the rim toward the crescent moon outside the window, as if looking at something very far away. So far it lay across ten years of time, across the distance between life and death.

"When Desmond was young, he was obsessed with astrology and mysticism. He believed in star charts and fortune-telling with every fiber of his being. When he turned twenty-five, he went abroad specifically to find a famous astrologer to read his chart. After looking at his birth chart, the astrologer said his name carried too much aggressive energy—if he kept using it, he might not live past thirty-five."

Victoria's brow twitched slightly. Not living past thirty-five—that kind of prediction would chill anyone to the bone.

"So he changed his name to Damian," William said.

"Exactly." Ruby nodded. "After the name change, things really did go better for him. Even when he stopped partnering with Quentin and the others and went solo, his business kept growing. His fortune multiplied dozens of times over."

"That made Desmond believe even more. He told everyone they could only call him 'Damian' from then on. Later, his business cards said Damian, his contracts were signed Damian, he even changed his ID to Damian. As time went on, fewer and fewer people knew his real name was Desmond."

"But the name Damian only bought him five more years. In the end, he died at William's hands."

"Damian's in prison serving his sentence, isn't he? He's dead?" Victoria asked.

"Yes, he died of sudden illness in his second year of incarceration. Good riddance! To think he'd do something so vicious to Quentin and the others!" Ruby's face showed deep pain, her eyes reddening.

"But if Desmond was Father's friend, why don't I have any memory of him from growing up?" William looked puzzled. In all his memories, Desmond was a complete stranger. He never imagined the man had once been so close to his father.

"You were still very young then..." Ruby began to explain. "The three of them—Quentin, Michael, Desmond—grew up together from childhood."

"But they didn't start from the same place. Quentin and Michael were both rich kids, while Desmond's father, Andrew Powell, was just a thug who collected debts for your grandfather back then. He worked his way up from the bottom."

"Your father when he was young had an even colder temperament than you do now." Ruby glanced at William, a faint trace of amusement in her eyes, as if seeing Quentin's shadow in him. "Quentin was cold, didn't like to talk, but Desmond was different. He had a sweet tongue, a quick mind, picked things up fast, and when he smiled showing all those white teeth, everyone loved him. When Quentin was around him, he'd talk more, and occasionally you could even hear him laugh. Your grandfather saw it all. He didn't say anything, but he was pleased."

"Later Michael joined in. Michael was a year younger than Quentin, and from childhood he was an absolute hellion—climbing onto roofs, climbing trees, there was nothing he wouldn't dare do."

"The first time he came to visit the Howard Family, he saw Quentin and Desmond playing with wooden sticks in the backyard. Without a word, he grabbed a clothes pole and charged right in. All three of them got into a brawl and knocked down half the flower trellis. After that, Michael showed up at the Howard Family every other day—you couldn't chase him away if you tried. Once those three boys got together, the Howard Family never had another moment of peace."

"Their division of labor was established when they were seven years old. Your father was the brains, Michael was the troublemaker, and Desmond cleaned up the messes." Ruby looked at William, a faint tenderness in her eyes. "Once they stole a bottle of wine your grandfather had been saving and ran to the gazebo in the backyard to drink the whole thing. All three got completely wasted, swaying all over the place. When your grandfather found out, he was furious enough to beat your father. It was Desmond who stepped forward and took all the blame, saying he was the one who instigated it. He took the entire punishment by himself. After that, their relationship got even closer."

"Back then, your father and Desmond were practically inseparable in high society circles—always coming and going together. Some people even suspected your father and he were... together, romantically. It wasn't until your mother married in that those rumors died down."

"When you were three, Desmond also got married, to a woman named Renee Barnes. Renee had a son. The child was diagnosed with congenital heart disease right after birth—ventricular septal defect. Medicine couldn't help; he'd need a transplant. At the time, domestic medical conditions weren't good—they could barely perform a decent pediatric heart surgery independently, let alone such a complex major cardiac operation."

"Desmond had no choice but to take his wife and child abroad to the best pediatric cardiac center. The Powell Family's business gradually transferred over there too. Bit by bit, Quentin and Desmond's contact became less frequent."

"Even though later on the Howard Group and the Powell Group competed over some overlapping business interests, every holiday your father would have me help him pick out a gift to send abroad. Toys for the child, jewelry for Renee, or pens for Desmond. He sent something every single holiday, never forgot. Your father said business is business, friendship is friendship—they're two separate things."

"But I never imagined..." Ruby's voice began to tremble on the last few words. She set down her cup, pressing her fingers against her brow bone, pressing hard, as if trying to force back some rising emotion.

Seventy-three years old, and talking about events from twenty years ago could still make her lose her composure.

Not because enough time hadn't passed, but because some wounds never truly heal.

"...that in the end he would actually turn on Quentin."

"Grandmother," William forced the words out, his throat feeling like something was lodged in it. "There's something I need to tell you."