Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO RAISED A MONSTER
My mother had been dead for eleven years.
For several seconds, I couldn't understand what Claire had said.
Then I looked at her.
“Claire, my mother died before we met.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Claire shifted Noah against her shoulder.
“The woman said she was your mother.”
Ethan and I exchanged a glance.
“Describe her,” I said.
Claire hesitated.
“Late sixties, maybe early seventies. Gray hair. Very elegant. She wore a dark green coat and carried a cane with a silver handle.”
I felt a strange pressure behind my ribs.
My mother, Isabella Moretti, had been buried in a closed casket after a car accident outside Lake Geneva.
I had identified her through jewelry and documents because the body was too badly damaged for visual confirmation.
But the cane.
My mother had owned a silver-handled cane.
A gift from my father after she injured her hip.
I hadn't seen it since the funeral.
“What did she say?” I asked.
Claire looked frightened by my expression.
“She said the Moretti family had enemies. She said the babies would never be safe if they stayed with me.”
“Did she give you a name?”
“She called herself Mrs. Moretti.”
Ethan spoke carefully.
“Boss, someone could have used the family name to intimidate her.”
I nodded.
That was the reasonable explanation.
The only reasonable explanation.
Yet something about the description bothered me.
“Did she have a scar?” I asked.
Claire frowned.
“Where?”
“On her left hand.”
Claire thought for a moment.
“Yes. Across two fingers.”
My knees nearly weakened.
When I was twelve, my mother had cut her hand pulling me away from a broken window during a house fire.
The scar crossed her index and middle fingers.
I had kissed that scar when I was a boy.
No one outside our family knew the story.
“Vincent?” Claire whispered.
I forced myself to breathe.
“Did she touch you?”
“No.”
“Did she touch the children?”
“She asked to hold Emma. I refused.”
“Good.”
Claire looked down.
“She told me something else.”
“What?”
“She said Vanessa wasn't acting alone.”
My phone rang before I could answer.
Adrian.
I stepped aside.
“Tell me you found something,” I said.
“I found Margaret Ellis.”
“Where?”
“She came to my office.”
“Why?”
“She wants another payment.”
“For what?”
Adrian's voice tightened.
“She says she can make the adoption problem disappear.”
“Don't give her anything.”
“I haven't.”
“Where is she now?”
“Waiting downstairs.”
“Call Rachel. Let her handle it.”
“Vincent—”
“What?”
Adrian lowered his voice.
“Margaret says she has proof our mother didn't die in that accident.”
I looked through the glass at Claire holding Noah.
Emma was sleeping in Rachel's arms.
For a moment, I couldn't hear the traffic outside.
“What proof?”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“Mom. Taken last month.”
I ended the call and turned to Ethan.
“We're going to Adrian's office.”
Claire stepped toward me.
“Vincent.”
I stopped.
She looked at the sleeping baby in Rachel's arms.
Then at me.
“Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't make them pay for it.”
The words settled over me.
I had been raised to believe that family loyalty justified almost anything.
Claire was asking me to believe the opposite.
That love meant restraint.
“I won't,” I said.
She studied my face.
“I want to believe you.”
“Then don't believe my words yet.”
I glanced at Emma.
“Watch what I do.”
At Adrian's office, Margaret Ellis was sitting in the conference room with a lawyer.
She was a thin woman in her fifties, wearing a navy suit and a pearl necklace.
She looked entirely ordinary.
I had expected someone more sinister.
That was my mistake.
People who hurt families rarely announced themselves with dramatic entrances.
Margaret stood when I entered.
“Mr. Moretti.”
I remained near the door.
“My attorney is on the way,” I said. “Until then, we won't discuss money or agreements.”
Her smile tightened.
“I was hoping we could resolve this privately.”
“You attempted to obtain consent for an adoption using documents my wife says she never signed.”
“That's a serious allegation.”
“Yes.”
I sat across from her.
“So let's take it seriously.”
Rachel arrived minutes later.
She reviewed the photograph Margaret had brought.
It showed an elderly woman entering a private residence near Lake Geneva.
The date was printed in the corner.
Three weeks earlier.
The woman's face was partly turned away.
But the silver-handled cane was unmistakable.
Margaret watched me study it.
“Your mother has been alive for eleven years,” she said.
I looked up.
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because she has been financing the operation that kept Claire Morgan away from you.”
Adrian made a strangled sound.
Margaret continued.
“Your mother believes the Moretti bloodline belongs under her protection.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Are you claiming Isabella Moretti arranged the attempted adoption?”
Margaret smiled faintly.
“I'm saying Mrs. Moretti doesn't trust her sons to raise the next generation.”
I felt sick.
“Where is she?”
Margaret folded her hands.
“That information has a price.”
Rachel stood.
“This meeting is over.”
Margaret's smile vanished.
“You don't understand what you're dealing with.”
“Then explain it to law enforcement,” Rachel said.
Margaret gathered her documents.
Before leaving, she turned to me.
“You think Vanessa wanted your money?”
I said nothing.
“She wanted your position. Your influence. Your family name.”
“Who helped her?”
Margaret glanced at Adrian.
Then back at me.
“Ask your brother what really happened the night your mother died.”
She walked out.
I turned slowly.
Adrian was staring at the floor.
“Look at me.”
He didn't.
“Adrian.”
His eyes filled.
I had not seen my brother cry since our father's funeral.
“I was nineteen,” he whispered.
“What did you do?”
He swallowed.
“I drove her to the lake house.”
“Why?”
“She told me she was leaving Dad. She said she needed to disappear before he found out.”
I stared at him.
“You knew she was alive?”
Adrian shook his head violently.
“No. I thought she died afterward. I swear.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Dad threatened me.”
My hands went cold.
“What did he say?”
Adrian finally looked up.
“He said if I ever told you where I took her, you'd be next.”
A silence settled over the room.
Then Ethan's phone rang.
He listened.
His expression hardened.
“Boss, Claire's apartment has been broken into.”
I stood.
“Are they safe?”
“Claire and the twins are with Rachel's associate. Nobody was home.”
“What was taken?”
Ethan hesitated.
“Nothing valuable.”
“Then what?”
“The intruder opened the nursery closet and removed one thing.”
May you like
I waited.
“The folder Vanessa gave Claire at the hospital.”
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