Chapter 20 - THE MAN WHO WANTED HIS NAME BACKThomas Vale contacted me the following evening.
He did not hide his number.
He did not use a distorted voice.
He simply called and said, “Your mother told you everything.”
“Not everything.”
A soft laugh.
“She never could.”
“Where is Daniel?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you cannot reach him.”
I gripped the phone.
“You have no right to keep a child from his caregiver.”
“Lydia was paid to care for him. She was never his mother.”
“Neither were you.”
Silence.
Then Thomas said, “You sound like Gabriel.”
“I'll take that as an insult.”
“You should.”
I forced myself to remain calm.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because Michael has spent his life searching for a family that doesn't want him.”
“Then let him meet us.”
“You think that's what he wants?”
“I think he deserves the choice.”
Thomas's voice hardened.
“You have no idea what he remembers.”
“Then let him tell me.”
For several seconds, I heard nothing.
Then he said, “Meet me at the lake house tomorrow. Come without your brother. Bring no police.”
“No.”
A pause.
“You've changed.”
“I've learned something.”
“What?”
“People who demand that you come alone are usually afraid of witnesses.”
Thomas laughed.
“Then bring your witnesses. But if you want to see the child, come prepared to learn the truth about your family.”
He ended the call.
I immediately forwarded the details to Rachel and the investigators.
The meeting was arranged under their supervision.
Claire insisted on knowing everything.
When I explained what Thomas had said, she remained silent for a long time.
Then she asked, “Do you think Michael wants to meet you?”
“I don't know.”
“What if he blames you for what happened?”
“He has every right to ask me questions.”
“Even though you didn't know?”
“Especially because I didn't know.”
She took my hand.
“I don't want you to lose yourself trying to fix what your family did.”
I looked at her.
“I'm not trying to fix the past.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“Make sure the next generation doesn't inherit it.”
She leaned against me.
For a few minutes, we sat together in silence.
Then she said, “Come back tomorrow.”
“I will.”
“And Vincent?”
“Yes?”
“Don't confuse finding Michael with deciding what he needs.”
I kissed her forehead.
“I won't.”
The lake house stood beneath a gray sky.
Police vehicles were positioned out of sight, and investigators had secured the surrounding property.
I entered through the front door.
Thomas was waiting in the old study.
He looked almost exactly like my father had looked in the final photographs taken before his death.
Same face.
Same posture.
Same cold eyes.
But I knew the difference now.
He was not my father.
He was the man who had taken my father's place.
“Vincent,” he said.
“Thomas.”
His expression flickered.
“You've learned the name.”
“I've learned several.”
He gestured toward a chair.
I remained standing.
“Where is Daniel?”
“Safe.”
“Show me.”
Thomas smiled.
“Always the impatient one.”
“I learned from the best.”
He opened a drawer and removed a folder.
Inside were photographs of Michael at different ages.
A toddler holding a toy truck.
A teenager standing outside a school.
A young man sitting on a park bench.
And finally, the photograph my mother had shown me.
Michael at thirty-nine.
I stared at the images.
“Where is he?”
Thomas closed the folder.
“Closer than you think.”
“Then why haven't you brought him here?”
“Because he doesn't trust you.”
“I've never met him.”
“Exactly.”
I felt anger rise.
“You spent decades making sure he couldn't.”
Thomas leaned back.
“Your father wanted the Moretti name to pass to his legitimate sons. Michael was an inconvenience. I offered to take him away.”
“You stole him from his mother.”
“I protected him.”
“You hid him.”
“Those are sometimes the same thing.”
“No,” I said. “They aren't.”
For the first time, Thomas looked genuinely angry.
“You think you can judge me? You built an empire on fear.”
“I know what I built.”
“And now you want to pretend you've become a different man because you hold babies and buy groceries?”
I thought of Emma falling asleep against my chest.
Of Noah's tiny fingers wrapped around mine.
Of Claire trying to smile when she was exhausted.
“No,” I said. “I know changing doesn't erase what I've done. It means I stop using my past as an excuse to do more damage.”
Thomas stared at me.
Then he opened another folder.
Inside was a document signed by my father before his death.
It transferred a substantial portion of the family trust to an unnamed beneficiary.
The beneficiary's identity had been sealed.
Thomas placed the document on the desk.
“Michael is entitled to the inheritance.”
I looked at him.
“Then let the courts decide that.”
Thomas laughed.
“Your father would be ashamed of you.”
“Good.”
He rose slowly.
“You really believe you can give up everything the Moretti family built?”
“If it was built by stealing a child's identity, yes.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he walked to the window.
“Gabriel died believing he had protected you.”
“He died believing you were his brother.”
Thomas turned.
“We were brothers.”
“You stole his life.”
His face hardened.
“I took what he was too weak to keep.”
I looked at the folder.
“And Michael?”
Thomas lowered his eyes.
“He was supposed to be the one thing I could protect.”
“Then why did you take Daniel?”
His expression changed.
For the first time, I saw something that looked like fear.
“I didn't take Daniel.”
“Your car was outside Lydia's house.”
“Someone used my car.”
“Who?”
Thomas looked at me.
Then he whispered, “Michael.”
The room went still.
I stared at him.
“Why would Michael take a child?”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Because he believes Daniel is his son.”
My heart began hammering.
“Is he?”
Thomas did not answer.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and removed a photograph.
It showed Michael standing beside a young woman holding a newborn.
The child had a small crescent-shaped mark beneath his left ear.
I stared at the image.
“Who is the woman?”
“Someone who died.”
“And the child?”
Thomas looked directly at me.
“Daniel Cross is Michael's son.”
I felt the room tilt.
The missing infant might not be my child.
He might be my nephew.
May you like
And the man who had taken him might not have been trying to steal a Moretti heir.
He might have been trying to reclaim his own son.
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