THE DIVORCE PAPERS AT MY BABY SHOWER

The photograph arrived at 6:43 the next morning.

No message.

No explanation.

Just an image sent from an unfamiliar number.

A teenage girl sat on a hospital bed wearing a gray sweatshirt. Her dark hair fell across her face. A white bandage covered her left wrist.

Behind her was a window overlooking a parking garage.

At first, I didn't understand.

Then I recognized the girl.

Grace.

Sofia's missing daughter.

My phone rang.

I answered before the second vibration.

"Hello?"

A man spoke.

"Mrs. Moretti, you have something that belongs to us."

I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter.

"Who is this?"

"The Harbor Ledger."

My blood went cold.

"Where's Grace?"

"Safe enough."

"Let me speak to her."

"Bring the original notebook to the old Bellamy freight office in Newark. Eleven tonight."

I glanced toward Emma.

She saw my face and stood.

"If you involve the police," the man continued, "you won't see the girl again."

The call ended.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

Then I called Margaret.

"No," Margaret said.

She didn't hesitate.

"You are not going anywhere near that building."

"They have a child."

"And handing over evidence won't guarantee her safety."

I knew she was right.

I hated that she was right.

We contacted the police and the investigators already examining the financial transactions.

The photograph was preserved.

The number was documented.

The notebook remained secured.

Margaret insisted that any contact with the kidnappers be handled through law enforcement.

But there was one person I hadn't told.

Dante.

I stared at his name on my phone.

Then I called him.

He answered immediately.

"Isabella?"

"They have Grace."

Silence.

"What?"

"Someone sent me a photograph. They want the Harbor Ledger."

His breathing changed.

"Where?"

"I've already contacted the police."

"Good."

That surprised me.

I had expected him to insist on handling it himself.

Instead, he asked, "Are you somewhere safe?"

"Yes."

"Is Emma with you?"

"Yes."

"Stay there."

"Dante—"

"I'm not coming over unless you want me to."

I closed my eyes.

For the first time in weeks, he had asked nothing of me.

"Do you know who's behind this?"

A pause.

"I have a suspicion."

"Who?"

"Victor Sloane."

"Then tell the investigators."

"I will."

I almost thanked him.

Then I remembered the affidavit.

The baby shower.

The papers.

The way he had looked at me while asking me to sign away rights I didn't even know were being challenged.

"Goodbye, Dante."

"Isabella."

I waited.

"I know you don't trust me."

"No."

"But please trust the police with this."

I looked down at my stomach.

Our son moved beneath my palm.

"I intend to."

By afternoon, investigators had established that the photograph was taken inside a recently closed medical office in New Jersey.

Grace was no longer there.

But the building's security system had recorded a black SUV leaving the parking lot.

Its registration led to a company associated with Northstar Capital.

For the first time, the case was no longer merely a dispute over financial documents.

There was evidence of a possible kidnapping.

And that changed everything.

At six, my father arrived at Emma's apartment.

He looked as though he hadn't slept.

"Isabella, I need to tell you something."

I almost sent him away.

Instead, I let him sit.

He placed an old photograph on the table.

It showed him standing beside my grandfather and a young woman.

Sofia.

She was visibly pregnant.

I stared.

"When was this taken?"

"Seventeen years ago."

"Why were you with her?"

My father swallowed.

"Because your grandfather was helping her leave New York."

I looked up.

"Why?"

"She was afraid of Vincent Vale. He had threatened her, and she believed someone inside Second Harbor was watching her."

"Did you help her?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Your grandfather asked me to keep her location confidential."

I studied his face.

"Even from Dante?"

"Especially from Dante."

My stomach tightened.

"Why?"

Richard looked down.

"Because Dante had signed documents connected to the missing shipment. Your grandfather wasn't certain whether he had been deceived or whether he was involved."

I thought of the letter.

Dante is not an innocent man.

My father continued.

"Sofia needed somewhere safe to give birth. We arranged housing, legal assistance, and a private trust for the baby."

"Grace."

He nodded.

"Did you know who her father was?"

My father closed his eyes.

"Yes."

My heart began pounding.

"Who?"

He looked at me.

"Isabella, before I tell you, you need to understand that this happened long before you met Dante."

I felt suddenly sick.

"Dad."

He wiped his forehead.

"Grace's father was Daniel Bellamy."

My uncle.

My father's younger brother.

The man who had died in a boating accident fifteen years earlier.

I stared.

"Uncle Daniel?"

Richard nodded.

"Daniel and Sofia had an affair after her marriage to Dante fell apart. When she became pregnant, he wanted to acknowledge the baby. But he was involved in the Second Harbor investigation, and your grandfather feared the child would become a target."

I sat back.

Grace wasn't Dante's daughter.

She was my cousin.

My family.

A sixteen-year-old girl who had grown up without knowing the people who belonged to her.

I pressed a hand over my mouth.

"Did Daniel know?"

"Yes."

"Did he ever meet her?"

Richard's eyes filled.

"Twice."

I thought of my uncle's funeral.

The flowers.

The rain.

The way my grandfather had stood alone beside the grave long after everyone else had gone home.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we believed keeping the secret would protect her."

I looked at him.

"And how did that work out?"

He lowered his head.

At 10:38 that night, police located the SUV near an abandoned distribution center.

Officers entered the building after obtaining the necessary authorization.

They found Grace locked inside an office.

She was frightened, dehydrated, and suffering from a minor wrist injury.

But she was alive.

Two men were arrested at the scene.

A third escaped.

I cried when Margaret called.

Not gracefully.

Not quietly.

I sat on Emma's kitchen floor and cried until my sister knelt beside me.

For the first time since the baby shower, the tears weren't only for myself.

They were for a girl I had never met.

For a mother who had spent eight days wondering whether her child was alive.

For my grandfather, who had tried to protect them.

And for the terrible cost of secrets.

The next afternoon, I visited Grace at the hospital with Sofia's permission.

She was smaller than I expected.

Sixteen, but with the wary eyes of someone who had learned too early that adults could be dangerous.

I stood beside her bed.

"Hi, Grace."

She studied me.

"You're Isabella."

I nodded.

"My mom said you helped."

"A lot of people helped."

She looked down at her bandaged wrist.

"Are you related to me?"

The question broke my heart.

"Yes."

Her eyes lifted.

"How?"

I sat beside her.

"Your father was my uncle."

Grace stared.

For a long time, she said nothing.

Then she whispered, "So I have a family?"

I took her hand.

"You always did."

Her face crumpled.

And I held her while she cried.

When I left the room, Dante was standing at the far end of the hallway.

He didn't approach.

He simply watched me.

I walked toward him.

"Did you know Daniel was her father?"

He nodded.

"Not until Sofia wrote to me years after the divorce."

"And you never told me."

"No."

I shook my head.

"Another secret."

"I know."

"How many more?"

He looked at me.

"I don't know."

I believed him.

That was the saddest part.

Then he reached into his coat and handed me a sealed envelope.

"What is this?"

"My resignation."

I stared.

"From what?"

"Moretti Consolidated. Effective upon the board's acceptance."

My mouth opened.

He continued.

"I've also instructed my attorneys to withdraw the affidavit questioning your competence and to correct the record. I've retained independent counsel to cooperate with the financial investigation."

I looked at the envelope.

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because you deserve to know what I'm doing without having to discover it afterward."

For a moment, I couldn't speak.

Then he said, "I found something in Vanessa's files."

"What?"

"A payment authorization dated the day your uncle Daniel died."

I froze.

Dante looked toward Grace's hospital room.

"It came from an account connected to Victor Sloane."

"Who received the money?"

His expression turned grim.