Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER WHO KNEW FIRST
My brother had known about the pregnancy before I did.
That was the thought I carried through the dark streets of Chicago at two in the morning.
Adrian Moretti was thirty-eight, four years younger than me, and everything I wasn't.
He smiled easily.
He remembered birthdays.
He knew how to make people believe they were the only person in a room.
When our father died, Adrian handled the legitimate family businesses while I took control of the operations our father never discussed at dinner.
We trusted each other because we had survived the same childhood.
Or so I believed.
“Don't confront him without understanding the records,” Ethan warned as we approached the Moretti offices.
“He's my brother.”
“That's what concerns me.”
I looked at him.
Ethan kept driving.
The office lights were still on when we arrived.
Adrian was sitting behind his desk with a glass of whiskey and a stack of financial statements.
He smiled when I entered.
“Vincent. You look terrible.”
“Did you know Claire was pregnant?”
The smile disappeared.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he set down his glass.
“Yes.”
One word.
No excuse.
No attempt to misunderstand me.
I felt something inside my chest collapse.
“When?”
“Before she left.”
“How?”
“She came to me.”
I stared at him.
“Why would my wife come to you?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of me?”
Adrian looked away.
“That depends on which version of you we're discussing.”
I crossed the office.
“Careful.”
“No,” he said, rising. “You don't get to do that tonight. You came here for answers. You're going to hear them.”
Ethan remained near the door.
Adrian opened a drawer and removed a folded piece of paper.
It was a photocopy of a laboratory report.
Claire Morgan.
Positive pregnancy test.
The date matched the archived search.
“She came here because she wanted to surprise you,” Adrian said. “She had a gift box picked out. Baby shoes. A little card.”
I remembered Claire shopping online that week.
She had closed her laptop when I walked into the kitchen.
I had assumed she was planning something for my birthday.
“She was happy,” Adrian continued. “Happier than I'd seen her in months.”
“Then why didn't she tell me?”
“Because that afternoon she overheard Vanessa talking about your marriage.”
I stiffened.
“What did Vanessa say?”
“That Claire was temporary. That you were waiting for the right moment to end things.”
“That's a lie.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell her?”
Adrian looked ashamed.
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“She asked me whether Vanessa was sleeping in your bedroom.”
I remembered the cream heels.
The dress shirt.
The wine.
And the conversation Claire never stayed to hear.
Adrian continued quietly.
“She said she needed to see things for herself.”
I leaned against the desk.
“And you let her go.”
“She was your wife, Vincent. Not a prisoner.”
That stopped me.
I had spent fourteen months describing Claire's departure as betrayal.
But Claire had been free to leave.
She had been free to protect herself.
What she hadn't deserved was to have her messages erased.
“Why didn't you tell me she was pregnant?”
Adrian's eyes hardened.
“Because I received a message from your number telling me to stay out of it.”
Ethan moved closer.
“Show us.”
Adrian opened his phone and found the archived exchange.
The message was blunt.
Claire made her decision. Don't mention her or the pregnancy again. This is between my wife and me.
It appeared to come from my private number.
But I had never written it.
Ethan photographed the screen.
“Whoever had access to the household system could spoof the outgoing message,” he said.
Adrian looked between us.
“What household system?”
I explained the deleted notifications.
The false messages.
Vanessa's administrator access.
My brother's face slowly drained of color.
“Vincent,” he said, “there's something else.”
I waited.
“Two months after Claire left, a woman came to my office.”
“Who?”
“She said her name was Margaret Ellis. She claimed to represent Claire.”
“What did she want?”
“Money.”
My jaw tightened.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“For what?”
“She said Claire wanted a clean break. No publicity. No contact. No questions about the pregnancy.”
“Did you pay?”
Adrian nodded.
I stared at him.
“You paid someone claiming to represent my pregnant wife without speaking to Claire?”
“I thought I was protecting you both.”
“You thought wrong.”
He accepted that without argument.
“There's a transfer record,” he said. “I'll give it to Ethan.”
“Did you ever verify that Claire received the money?”
“No.”
“Then we find out where it went.”
My phone rang.
Dr. Mercer.
I answered immediately.
“Doctor?”
“Mr. Moretti, I'm calling because Claire has agreed to speak with you.”
I stopped breathing for a moment.
“When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Somewhere public. She wants to choose the location.”
“I'll be there.”
“There are conditions.”
“Anything.”
“No security entourage. No surprise visitors. And she doesn't want you approaching the children.”
The last condition felt like a hand closing around my throat.
But I understood it.
“Tell her I agree.”
After I hung up, Adrian watched me.
“Are you going to tell her what happened?”
“Yes.”
“And if she doesn't believe you?”
I looked at the pregnancy report.
“Then I'll tell her again when she's ready to listen.”
Ethan's laptop chimed.
He had traced the payment Adrian made to Margaret Ellis.
The account belonged to a consulting company registered in Delaware.
Its listed manager was a woman named Rebecca Shaw.
Ethan frowned.
“That's strange.”
“What?”
“Rebecca Shaw is the name on the hospital's emergency contact authorization for Noah.”
My heart accelerated.
“Claire listed her?”
“Apparently.”
“Who is she?”
Ethan searched the address.
Then he went still.
“Boss.”
I stepped beside him.
The registered office was a small brick building on Chicago's North Side.
The same building housed a private adoption agency that had closed three years earlier following allegations of falsified consent documents.
Adrian whispered, “Why would a company like that be connected to Claire?”
Ethan opened one final document.
It was an unsigned intake form.
The form listed two children.
Emma Morgan.
Noah Morgan.
May you like
And beneath the words prospective guardian, someone had typed a name.
Vanessa Cole.
