Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO STOLE A DEAD GIRL'S NAMEThe first thing Vincent Moretti did after Sophia Reynolds confessed was lock the door.
The second was call his head of security.
“Find out who helped her,” he said.
Sophia stood beside his desk, trembling so badly that the diamond bracelet on her wrist rattled against her glass.
“Vincent, please. I can explain.”
“You already explained.”
His voice was dangerously quiet.
“You told me you were there that night.”
“I was.”
“You told me you pulled my sister out of the car.”
“I tried.”
“You told me she died holding your hand.”
Sophia began crying.
Vincent leaned forward.
“Then explain why the woman who actually held Isabella's hand was my wife.”
Three hours earlier, Sophia had walked into Vincent's private office expecting an argument about Claire.
She had prepared herself for accusations, perhaps even an apology.
She had not expected him to know about the photograph.
It was a hospital photograph taken eleven years earlier, shortly after the crash that killed Vincent's nineteen-year-old sister, Isabella.
The picture showed two young women sitting in a hospital corridor.
One was Sophia Reynolds.
The other was Claire Bennett.
And the handwritten statement attached to it identified Claire as the young woman who had stayed beside Isabella Moretti until emergency workers arrived.
Sophia had told Vincent that Claire was merely a stranger who happened to be nearby.
That lie had survived for eleven years.
Until Claire handed her the original witness statement inside a red envelope.
“You let me believe you saved Isabella,” Vincent said.
Sophia wiped her cheeks.
“I never said I saved her.”
“You said she asked you to tell me she loved me.”
“She did.”
“Isabella was unconscious when you arrived.”
Sophia's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Vincent stood.
He was six feet three, broad-shouldered, and accustomed to making powerful men nervous simply by entering a room.
But tonight, the most frightening thing about him was his restraint.
“Start talking.”
Sophia sank into the chair.
The truth emerged slowly.
Eleven years earlier, Isabella had been involved in a terrible crash on Lake Shore Drive.
Claire, then a twenty-year-old nursing student, had been driving home from a late shift when she witnessed the collision.
She stopped.
She called 911.
She climbed into the wreckage and held Isabella's hand.
And when Isabella realized she was dying, she whispered something that Claire would never forget.
“Tell Vincent it wasn't an accident.”
Sophia had arrived later.
She was dating Vincent at the time, and Isabella had called her earlier that evening.
Sophia saw the ambulance lights.
She saw Claire covered in blood.
And she saw an opportunity.
“Why?” Vincent asked.
Sophia stared at the floor.
“Because you were slipping away from me.”
Vincent laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“My sister was dying.”
“And you loved her more than anyone.”
He looked at Sophia as though he had never seen her before.
“I thought if I became the person who comforted her, you'd never leave me.”
Vincent remembered those months.
He remembered Sophia sitting beside him at Isabella's funeral.
He remembered her describing Isabella's final words.
He remembered thanking her for being there.
For years, he had believed Sophia was the last person his sister trusted.
And Claire?
Claire had never mentioned the accident.
Not once during their marriage.
Vincent reached for his phone.
His security chief answered immediately.
“Boss?”
“Bring me everything on Isabella's crash. Original reports, photographs, witness interviews. Everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Marco?”
“Sir?”
“Find Claire.”
Sophia shot to her feet.
“Vincent, don't.”
He turned.
She looked terrified now.
Not jealous.
Terrified.
“There's something else,” she whispered.
Vincent waited.
Sophia swallowed.
“Claire doesn't know everything about that night.”
A cold sensation traveled down his spine.
“What does that mean?”
Sophia shook her head.
“I can't tell you.”
Vincent approached her.
“You're standing in my house, wearing jewelry I bought you, after admitting you built our entire relationship around my sister's death.”
His eyes hardened.
“You don't get to decide what I deserve to know.”
Sophia began backing away.
“Your mother knew.”
Vincent stopped.
For the first time that evening, his composure cracked.
“What?”
Sophia's tears returned.
“Your mother knew Claire was the witness. She knew before you married her.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then his phone vibrated.
Marco had sent a message.
CLAIRE BENNETT CHECKED INTO THE BLACKSTONE HOTEL. ROOM 1708.
A second message followed.
BOSS, THERE'S SOMETHING YOU NEED TO SEE.
Vincent opened the attachment.
It was a photograph of Claire leaving a medical clinic that morning.
She held a small white envelope against her chest.
On the building behind her, a sign read:
CHICAGO WOMEN'S HEALTH CENTER.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
Then Marco called.
“Boss, I checked the timeline you asked about.”
“What timeline?”
“Your wife's recent appointments.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Don't access her medical records.”
“I didn't. But someone else has been watching her.”
“Who?”
Marco hesitated.
“That's the problem.”
Vincent looked toward Sophia.
She had gone completely still.
Marco continued.
May you like
“The surveillance order came from your mother's office.”
And Vincent realized the lies surrounding his marriage had begun long before Sophia returned to Chicago.
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