Chapter 8 - The Will That Changed Everything
Emma was discharged four days later.
The doctors were optimistic, although she would need regular follow-up appointments and careful monitoring.
Claire decided to return to Chicago.
I offered to arrange transportation.
She refused.
Daniel drove them back.
I followed in my own car, keeping several vehicles behind.
I didn't want Claire to think I was monitoring her.
But I also couldn't bear the thought of something happening to them.
When we reached the flower shop, Oliver jumped out of the car.
"Mommy! We're home!"
Claire laughed.
I stood near my vehicle, watching.
Daniel carried Emma inside.
For a moment, I felt like an outsider watching someone else's family.
Then Oliver turned around.
"Mr. Alexander!"
I looked at him.
He was holding the stuffed rabbit.
"Are you coming?"
I glanced toward Claire.
She was standing in the doorway.
She hesitated.
Then she nodded.
I followed Oliver inside.
It was the first time I had entered the shop without being treated like an intruder.
The twins had a small play area upstairs. Their drawings covered the walls. There were photographs of birthdays, holidays, and trips to the park.
In one photograph, Daniel was holding Oliver on his shoulders while Claire carried Emma.
They all looked happy.
I studied the picture.
"That's last Christmas," Daniel said quietly.
I nodded.
"You've been good to them."
He looked surprised.
"Thank you."
"I mean it."
He placed a box on the table.
"Claire never wanted them to grow up believing the world was dangerous. She wanted them to have ordinary childhoods."
I looked around.
A small bookshelf.
A toy kitchen.
A crooked paper snowflake hanging from the ceiling.
"She gave them that."
"Yes."
I glanced at him.
"Do you love her?"
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "That's not a question you have the right to ask."
"You're right."
He studied me.
"But since you asked, I do care about her. More than I've ever told her."
My chest tightened.
"Have you asked her to marry you?"
He looked toward the stairs.
"Once."
I felt my stomach drop.
"What did she say?"
"She said she wasn't ready."
I nodded slowly.
I couldn't blame him.
He had been there when I wasn't.
He had held my children when they were sick.
He had watched Claire cry and helped her rebuild a life I had destroyed.
If he loved her, he had earned the right to tell her.
And if she loved him, I would have no right to interfere.
That evening, Michael arrived at my house with a lawyer.
"Sir, we found your father's original estate documents."
I opened the folder.
My mother's will had been amended two months before her death.
The amendment created a protected trust for any children born to me.
But there was an unusual condition.
The trust would remain under the supervision of an independent guardian until the children reached adulthood.
The guardian's name was:
Claire Moretti.
I stared at it.
My mother had chosen Claire.
Not me.
Not my father.
My wife.
The woman I had thrown out of my home.
I read the next page.
The trust included shares in several companies, property holdings, and investment accounts worth approximately $420 million.
My father had attempted to challenge the will after my mother's death.
But the court had rejected his petition because the documents had been properly witnessed.
I looked at Michael.
"Why wasn't I told about this?"
"Your father controlled the legal correspondence after your mother's death. He instructed the attorneys to keep the amendment confidential."
"Did Claire know?"
"She was notified through her attorney."
I closed the folder.
"That's why she disappeared."
Michael nodded.
"Possibly. The trust was designed to protect your children from anyone attempting to seize their inheritance."
I thought about the threatening message.
The destroyed nursery.
The surveillance.
The medical payments.
My father hadn't simply wanted to keep Claire away from me.
He wanted control of the children and their inheritance.
And he had used my selfishness to accomplish it.
I called Claire.
She answered after several rings.
"What is it?"
"My mother left the twins a trust."
Silence.
"I know."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you weren't there when the documents were delivered."
"Claire, it's worth hundreds of millions."
"I don't care."
"They deserve to know."
"They deserve a childhood without people fighting over their money."
I rubbed my forehead.
"I want to protect them."
"Then protect them from your father."
The call ended.
I looked at the documents.
There was one more condition.
If anyone attempted to take control of the trust through fraud, coercion, or concealment of a beneficiary, the entire estate would transfer to a separate charitable foundation.
My father had been trying to control it for years.
But there was something else.
The amendment included a sealed letter addressed to me.
I opened it.
My mother's handwriting was unmistakable.
Alexander,
If Claire has been forced to raise your children without you, then I can only hope you have finally understood the difference between being powerful and being worthy of love.
There is something I never told you.
Your father did not die in an accident.
I helped him disappear.
He was involved in a matter that threatened our family, and I believed that keeping him away was the only way to protect you.
But I made one terrible mistake.
I trusted the wrong person.
The person who helped your father disappear is also the person who knows the truth about your birth.
I read the last sentence twice.
My birth?
I had always believed Vincent was my biological father.
There had never been a reason to question it.
I picked up the phone.
"Michael, find my mother's personal physician."
"We have his records, sir."
"Then bring them to me."
Michael hesitated.
"There's a problem."
"What?"
"The physician died eleven years ago."
I closed my eyes.
"Then find his family."
"We did."
"And?"
Michael lowered his voice.
"His daughter has been trying to contact you for three weeks."
"Why?"
"She says her father left a sealed medical file specifically for you."
"Where is she?"
"She's downstairs."
I turned toward the study door.
A young woman entered.
She looked to be in her early thirties and carried a small leather case.
"Mr. Moretti?"
"Yes."
"My name is Rebecca Collins. My father was Dr. Samuel Collins."
I gestured toward the chair.
"What did he leave me?"
She placed the case on the desk.
"Something he believed you would eventually need."
I opened it.
Inside was a medical report dated the year I was born.
My mother's name appeared at the top.
My father's name appeared below it.
But next to the words Biological Father, there was another name.
UNKNOWN.
I looked up.
Rebecca's eyes filled with sympathy.
"Your mother wasn't sure who your biological father was."
My entire world shifted.
"That's impossible."
She shook her head.
"My father kept the original blood test results. He believed your mother had been forced to hide the truth."
I stared at the report.
Then I saw a second document.
A handwritten note.
It was from my mother.
If Alexander ever discovers the truth, tell him that the man who raised him was not necessarily the man who gave him life.
I sat down.
May you like
For the first time, I wondered whether Vincent Moretti had spent my entire life controlling me because I was his son.
Or because I wasn't.
