FanStory.com - Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 23by Begin Again

While the police secured the yacht and ensured the safety of the rescued girls, Donatelli redirected his attention to the well-dressed men and women who had assembled on the deck, their faces displaying a combination of shock, fear, and anger. These were the potential buyers who had traveled worldwide to take part in this heinous auction.

"Detective, what do we do with them?" one officer asked, gesturing to the assembled group.

Donatelli narrowed his eyes, his disgust barely contained. "We can't let them walk away without consequences."

A familiar voice spoke to him. "It's only a suggestion, but it might be a good time to notify the FBI. It is an international problem, and they handle human trafficking."

Donatelli didn't know where she was, but it probably was for the best. He didn't know how to strangle a ghost, but she was pushing his limits. "You think I should call the Cowboy?"

"Why not? He let you work with him, taking Doyle down."

"He did no such thing. That was Veraci's deal."

"So, you'd rather say you worked with a crime boss than the FBI? I hope you're not looking for a promotion with that line of thinking."

"Fine, I'll call him." Donatelli knew he had no other choice. He learned by now that she would continue to hound him until he saw things her way.

The Coast Guard commander approached. "We'll need to process them. We can't arrest them for purchasing, but we can hold them for questioning and inform their respective embassies."

Donatelli nodded. "Round them up. We'll detain them on suspicion of involvement in human trafficking. Document everything. We'll need all the evidence we can gather. I have it on good authority that the FBI will join us."

The officers moved in, securing everyone's passport and identification. The multi-millionaires protested loudly, their indignation turning to panic as they realized the gravity of the situation.

"You can't do this! I have diplomatic immunity!" one shouted, his face red.

"Maybe in your country, but here you're a suspect in a human trafficking case," Donatelli retorted, his voice ice-cold. "We'll see what your embassy has to say about that."

Donatelli's phone rang. It was the district attorney. He stepped aside to take the call.

"Donatelli, I've been briefed. Good work. We have a delicate situation with the buyers. Many of them hold diplomatic ties or wield significant influence."

"What's our move?" Donatelli asked, his eyes on the group.

"We'll detain them for now. We can hold them on suspicion of criminal activity and for questioning. Notify their embassies. This will cause a diplomatic stir, but we have to send a message that no one is above the law."

"Understood. Sir, I believe the FBI will be assuming command over the sex trafficking. That puts all the paper work in their lap, right?"

"Sounds good to me." Donatelli detected a chuckle as the call ended.

After the call, Donatelli returned to the group. "Listen up! You're all being detained for questioning. Your embassies will be notified. Any attempt to resist or flee will result in immediate arrest."

As the police escorted them off the yacht, Donatelli coordinated with the coast guard to ensure none of them could escape by sea. Several high-ranking officers from various law enforcement agencies had arrived, ready to assist in this complex international situation.

Eleanor's ghostly form reappeared beside him, her expression sad. "Do you think they'll face justice?"

"They'll be questioned, and their involvement will be documented. Some of them might face legal consequences in their own countries. At the very least, they won't be able to hide from what they've done. It will be difficult for them to return to the U.S."

Eleanor nodded, her form flickering. "It's a start."

"Thanks to you, we have a chance to make a real impact," Donatelli said, his voice softening. "Let's get these girls home and start the healing process."

Donatelli felt a sense of grim satisfaction as the authorities continued their work. The raid had been a success, and while the legal battles ahead would be complex, he knew they had taken a significant step in the fight against human trafficking. He also knew he was relieved to hand over all the bureaucracy and triple-copy paperwork to Garth.

*****

Jenna's eyes widened as she read the first lines of the letter. She gasped, "Oh, Dylan. This can't be!"

"What's wrong? What does the letter say?"

Jenna picked the sheet of stationary up, her hands trembling, and read —

Dear Helen,

I've discovered I'm pregnant. Charles doesn't know, and I don't know how to reach him to tell him. The news fills me with joy and terror in equal measure. This child is a reminder of our love, but what future can it have in this world? I'll be sent home soon, and I'll have to make some difficult decisions.

Yours, Eleanor

Jenna stared at the fire, trying to understand the letter — a child Eleanor never mentioned. She reread the letter before saying anything to Dylan.

"I don't understand. A baby? She never mentioned —" A string of tears flowed down her cheek. "Dylan, there's so much Eleanor kept locked inside her and didn't share. No wonder she kept to herself. I wonder what happened?"

"Read another letter. Maybe she told Helen."

Jenna hesitated and opened another letter. A few just mentioned how difficult it was to remain in France without being with Charles or knowing how he was. She worried about his recovery and, more importantly, the baby growing inside her.

Then Jenna found a letter dated January 5, 1944.

Dear Helen,

I'm back home now, and every day brings new challenges. The child is growing inside me, and with it, the love I have for Charles and the hope for a future. But I know what I must do. I'll have to give this baby up for adoption. It's the hardest decision I've ever made, but it's for the best. This child deserves a life I can't provide right now.

With a heavy heart, Eleanor

"Oh, Dylan, poor Eleanor. She not only lost Charles but had to make a decision about the baby, too. She must have been heartbroken."

Jenna searched the postmarks looking for more letters to Helen about the pregnancy and her decision but found none until one dated May 30, 1944. Jenna paused, holding the letter, she touched the postmark.

"What's wrong, Jenna?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just the next letter was written on my birthday. My life was just beginning, and Eleanor's —" Jenna laid the letter on her lap, softly crying. "Either letters are missing, which I doubt, or Eleanor faced her pregnancy alone, even without her best friend. I wonder why?"

"Well, read another one. Your answers are in the letters, Jenna. Eleanor wanted you to know for some reason."

Jenna nodded, wiped away her tears, and opened the letter.

Dear Helen,

The day has come. I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I named her Jennifer. Placing her in the arms of her adoptive parents was the hardest thing I've ever done. I pray she'll have a wonderful life, full of love and opportunity. I'll never forget her, and I hope one day, she'll understand why I did what I had to do. Charles will never know about her, and it breaks my heart.

Forever, Eleanor

"That's why Eleanor shut herself off from the world, except for her paintings. She couldn't face any more heartbreak. Dylan, I never knew she carried so much pain and sorrow. She never shared it with me."

"I think she preferred to enjoy the happiness she found when the two of you became friends. Your friendship became her healing suave."

"Do you really think so? I love her so much. I wish I could have helped more."

"I think you did. She enjoyed sharing her love of painting with you and you with her. It was very special."

"I wish I could talk to her — tell her how much she meant to me."

Dylan smiled and reached out for Jenna's hand. "She knew, Jenna. She knew."

"I just need one of her famous hugs we shared."

*****

In her heart, Eleanor knew she needed to be with Jenna. There was so much to explain, but she also needed to see John Doyle's reign of evil come to an end. Invisible, she stood in a corner of the interrogation room, listening and watching as Doyle's high-powered attorney confidently reassured his client that everything would go their way. Unaware of the raid on the yacht, their expressions were smug, eager to show they had the upper hand in these negotiations.

Doyle looked at his watch, a smirk on his face. "Have you arranged my bail? I want to be able to get a round of golf in this afternoon."

"Everything is running like clockwork, John. Just tell them what we discussed."

"I know—I know. We've been over it a hundred times. I'll tell them that I have an unnamed informant willing to tell me where the girl is being held in exchange for this art-dealing stuff to disappear. If I have to use a little more pressure, which is unlikely, I can hint that there might be other girls involved."

"Just don't be too eager. If you get too cocky, things might not go as planned. Okay?"

"Don't worry. I've got this town eating out of my hand. Donatelli will be knocked down to a beat cop by the time I'm through."

Outside, in a separate room, officers carefully and discreetly escorted Megan. Donatelli's plan to throw the book at Doyle was in motion.

Margaret, her heart pounding with anger, anxiety, and a dash of hope stood nervously near the glass window — the barrier between her and the judge. Her hands were clasped tightly together, and her eyes fixed on him, but now, with the same amount of passion, she wanted her revenge.

An officer opened the door where Margaret was waiting. "It's time."

Margaret nodded and stepped into the hallway where Donatelli waited. He reached out and touched her arm. "Are you sure you want to do this, Margaret?"

She pursed her lips and stared into the detective's eyes. "It's not a matter of wanting to do it. I need to purge myself of everything he meant to me. It was all lies, and I was such a fool."

Remembering how difficult it had been for him to accept the flaws in Doyle's character, Donatelli smiled at Margaret. "Don't be so hard on yourself. He played the game well and fooled all of us. Now, it's our turn to show him who has the winning hand."

Margaret nodded, holding her head high, and walked toward the interrogation room. Every step brought her closer to confronting the man who had shattered her world. The man she had once loved.

John Doyle and his attorney sat on one side of the cold metal table. Donatelli entered the room and stood with his back to the glass window. Eleanor moved to stand at Donatelli's side. A slight breeze told him she was there. He nodded to the officer at the door.

Doyle's face lit up with relief as Margaret entered the room. He truly believed she was there to save him, and his smirk made her stomach turn.

"Margaret," Doyle said, his voice dripping with false charm. "I knew you'd come. I've been so worried about you, but as you can see, the detective has made a terrible mistake. It will be over soon, and I'll be there for you."

Donatelli nodded encouragingly at Margaret, confident that her testimony would seal Doyle's case. But Margaret's expression was unreadable, a calm facade masking the storm within.

Doyle leaned forward, his eyes glistening with feigned affection. "My love, please. You know they're just trying to tear us apart. Remember all the times we've shared, the plans we made? We can still have that future together. Tell them — tell them I was with you. They've got it all wrong."

Margaret clenched her fists at her sides, the words cutting deep. How dare he speak of their dreams after what he had done? She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and met Doyle's eyes with a piercing gaze. "I can't do that, John."

Doyle's smirk faded, replaced by confusion and a flicker of fear. "What are you talking about? You know I was with you."

Margaret shook her head, a bitter smile forming on her lips. "No, John, you weren't. You lied, and now it's time to face the consequences."

Doyle's expression twisted into one of panic. He reached out, trying to grasp her hand. "Margaret, my darling, think about us. Think about Megan. We can put this all behind us. Just tell them I was with you."

His touch, once comforting, now felt like a poison. Margaret yanked her hand away, her eyes blazing with rage. "You dare mention Megan? You took my daughter!"

Doyle's facade of control and confidence crumbled before her eyes. "Margaret, no. You have to help me! You know I love you."

But Margaret had already reached her breaking point. Her hands trembled, not with fear, but with rage. All the pain, betrayal, and heartbreak surged within her, and before she realized it, she lunged across the table.

"You destroyed my life!" she screamed, her fists pounding against Doyle's chest. The guards rushed in, but Margaret's fury made her strong, momentarily unstoppable. "You think you can manipulate me? You think I'll protect you after what you did?"

Doyle tried to shield himself, his cries of protest drowned out by Margaret's raw, anguished shouts. The guards finally pulled her away, her body still trembling with adrenaline.

As they restrained her, Margaret's breathing became ragged, and her eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and fury. "You'll pay for what you did," she vowed, her voice barely more than a whisper but laced with unwavering determination. "I swear it."

Doyle slumped in his chair, shaken and exposed. Margaret's words weighed heavily on everyone in the room, a stark reminder that some betrayals could never be forgiven, only avenged.

Doyle's attorney jumped to his feet, enraged. "Get her out of here! I want her arrested for assault."

Donatelli smiled. "You'll have to file charges, but we have a little unfinished business for now." He turned to the officer. "Please show Mrs. Ashley to the other room." He felt the coolness leave his side and knew Margaret wasn't alone.

Once Margaret had left the room, the door opened, and Megan stepped in, flanked by two officers. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but her eyes held a fierce determination.

Seeing her daughter, Margaret pressed her hands against the glass, tears streaming down her cheeks. Eleanor materialized and wrapped her arms around her sister. Their eyes met, and years of jealousy and misunderstandings washed away.

The judge's smirk faded as he stared at Megan. "What is this?" he demanded, rising from his seat. "Megan —"

The door opened before he could finish his sentence, and the Cowboy stepped in. Removing his Stetson, he nodded toward Donatelli and turned to face the two men at the table. "Judge, you are under arrest for your involvement in the abduction of Megan Ashley and human trafficking, which is a federal offense."

Doyle's face contorted with disbelief. "This is a set-up. You can't do this!"

The attorney looked around in panic, but it was too late. The officer was also placing handcuffs on him. A satisfied grin covered Garth's face. "I'm afraid you are also under arrest for conspiring to conceal criminal offenses and participating in those activities for payment."

"You can't do this."

"I'm afraid I can, and it's done." Garth nodded, and the officers led Doyle and his attorney from the room.

Once the Judge and his attorney were gone, the officers opened the door, allowing Megan and Margaret to embrace. They held each other tightly, their sobs of relief a testament to the strength of their bond.

"Megan," Margaret whispered, her voice trembling, "I thought I'd lost you."

Her daughter answered, "I love you, Mom."

Meanwhile, Eleanor's body faded from view, content that her family was back together.