Chapter 6 - ROOM SEVENTEEN
Dominic wanted names.
Isabella refused to give them until they reached the old estate.
“Room Seventeen contains the evidence,” she told him. “If I tell you now, you might not believe me. If you see it yourself, you'll understand.”
The North Wing stood behind a row of bare trees on the Moretti property, sealed off since the fire. The building smelled of wet stone and burned wood. Plastic sheets covered broken windows, and dust coated the floor.
Marcus brought a small team. Dominic insisted on going inside himself.
Isabella followed, one hand resting against the wall whenever she needed support. Dominic offered his arm, but she shook her head.
“I spent seven years being told where I could go,” she said quietly. “Let me walk.”
He let her.
At the end of the corridor, the brass key fit a narrow lock hidden behind a damaged panel. The door opened with a groan.
Room Seventeen had survived the fire because it was built into the estate's stone foundation. Inside stood a metal filing cabinet, a desk, and a safe bolted to the floor.
Dominic examined the walls.
“This was never on the estate plans.”
“Victor had it built in secret,” Isabella said. “He used it to store documents he couldn't risk keeping in his office.”
The brass key opened the cabinet. Inside were folders containing bank transfers, medical reports, and photographs. Dominic found records showing that money had been diverted from the family foundation through a chain of companies controlled by Victor.
Then he found a file labeled ISABELLA BENNETT — INCIDENT REPORT.
The first page contained a photograph of her wrecked car.
The second contained a hospital report stating that the driver had survived the crash.
Dominic stared at the document.
“You were alive. They knew you were alive.”
Isabella nodded.
“They transferred me to a private clinic under another name. I escaped three weeks later.”
“Who signed the transfer order?”
She pointed to the bottom of the page.
Dominic read the name.
Vanessa Sterling.
He felt the room grow cold.
Behind that report was another file: a medical assessment of Antonio Moretti, dated two days before his stroke. It included a note about a medication change approved by an outside physician.
Dominic turned toward Isabella.
“Do you think they caused Dad's stroke?”
“I think someone wanted him unable to speak for himself. I never found proof that the medication caused it.”
He appreciated that she wouldn't claim more than she knew. For years, he had allowed certainty to replace evidence. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.
Marcus opened the safe with a combination found in Victor's ledger.
Inside lay a digital recorder, a sealed envelope, and a small silver bracelet bearing a rose charm.
Isabella reached for the bracelet.
“My mother's.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Your mother?”
“She disappeared when I was a child. I was told she died overseas.”
“Who told you?”
“Victor.”
The implications were beginning to connect, but one piece remained missing.
Dominic took the recorder to the desk and pressed play.
A man's voice filled the room.
“If you're hearing this, the transfer has been completed. Isabella is no longer a threat. Antonio will remain under medical supervision, and Dominic will inherit the company without ever knowing how much was taken.”
A second voice replied.
“What about the baby?”
Dominic's blood ran cold.
The first man answered, “The child is not part of the agreement. If the mother survives, the child becomes a problem.”
Isabella gripped the edge of the desk.
Dominic stopped the recording.
He couldn't listen to another word without knowing who was speaking.
Marcus examined the recorder.
“The file is damaged. I can send it to an audio specialist.”
“Do it.”
A faint click sounded behind them.
Dominic turned.
The door had begun to close.
Marcus lunged, but the lock engaged from the outside. A second later, smoke curled beneath the threshold.
“They're setting the wing on fire!” Marcus shouted.
Dominic grabbed Isabella's hand. She stumbled, gasping, and he caught her before she fell.
“Marcus, get the door open!”
The security chief drove his shoulder into it. The wood shuddered but held.
Dominic searched the room, found a narrow service hatch behind the filing cabinet, and pulled it open. A crawlspace led toward the old cellar.
“Isabella, go.”
She shook her head.
“Lily—”
“She's safe. Marcus will get us out.”
The smoke thickened.
Dominic pushed the evidence into his jacket, then helped Isabella through the hatch. Marcus followed after forcing the door enough to squeeze through.
They emerged into the cellar moments before flames spread across the corridor.
Outside, firefighters were already arriving.
Dominic turned toward the estate's main drive.
A black sedan was speeding away through the gates.
For a split second, he saw the driver clearly.
His cousin, Michael Moretti.
The man who had comforted Dominic at Isabella's funeral.
The man who had stood beside him at every family gathering for seven years.
Dominic watched the car disappear.
Then his phone vibrated.
May you like
A message from Michael appeared on the screen.
You should have let the dead stay dead.
