Chapter 2 - The Girl Claire Carried Through Fire
“No,” Claire had told the terrified seven-year-old. “But I’m going to get you to one.”
The memory returned so violently that Claire could almost taste smoke in the Moretti ballroom.
Nineteen years earlier, she had wrapped Lucia in the wet bathroom curtain and pulled the child against her chest.
The hallway outside was worse.
Something collapsed behind them.
Claire ran.
She made it halfway down the third-floor stairs before burning plaster fell from the ceiling. She twisted instinctively, putting her own body between the debris and Lucia.
The heat struck her shoulder.
Pain exploded through her.
Still, she kept moving.
Firefighters met them on the second floor.
Claire remembered surrendering Lucia into gloved arms.
Then nothing.
She woke three days later in Cook County Hospital.
Her shoulder was bandaged. Her lungs burned. A nurse told her the little girl had survived.
That had been enough.
Claire never learned the child's last name.
Now, nineteen years later, Eleanor Moretti stood before her.
“You carried Lucia out,” Eleanor whispered.
Claire swallowed.
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I never knew what happened afterward.”
Eleanor reached for her, then stopped herself.
“May I?”
Claire understood.
Slowly, she nodded.
Eleanor embraced her.
The wealthy matriarch who almost never displayed emotion in public wrapped both arms around the maid her future daughter-in-law had just humiliated.
“Thank you,” Eleanor whispered. “Thank you for bringing my baby back to me.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Across the room, Vanessa looked horrified for an entirely different reason.
Vincent looked stunned.
“My sister?” he asked.
Claire pulled back.
“Lucia is your sister?”
Vincent stared at the scar.
“I was twenty-two. I was in Boston when the fire happened. By the time I got to Chicago, Lucia was already at the hospital.”
He looked toward his mother.
“You told me a firefighter rescued her.”
“That was what we believed.”
Eleanor wiped her cheeks.
“The fire department couldn't identify the young woman who brought her down. Lucia remembered only her first name.”
Claire frowned.
“Claire?”
Eleanor nodded.
“We searched.”
“For me?”
“For years.”
Claire almost smiled from the absurdity.
“I was nineteen. I lived in a rented room above a laundromat.”
“And you disappeared from the hospital.”
“I didn't disappear. I was discharged.”
“You left no forwarding address.”
“I didn't know anyone wanted it.”
Eleanor laughed through her tears.
Then Vincent looked toward Vanessa.
Whatever warmth had entered his face vanished.
“Everyone out.”
The guests hesitated.
“Vincent—” Vanessa began.
“Not you.”
His gaze remained on her.
“Everyone else.”
Within minutes, the ballroom emptied.
Claire wished she could leave with them.
Instead, she stood beside a shattered champagne glass while Eleanor summoned a housekeeper to bring Claire something to wear.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“This is ridiculous.”
Vincent turned.
“You assaulted an employee.”
“I grabbed her dress.”
“You tore it.”
“She pulled away.”
Claire stared at her.
“I didn't move until you shoved me.”
Vanessa's eyes flashed.
“You expect him to believe you?”
“I was standing in a room containing forty witnesses.”
That shut her up.
Eleanor spoke quietly.
“I saw you.”
Vanessa's face changed.
“Eleanor—”
“I saw everything.”
Vincent removed the engagement ring from Vanessa's finger so calmly that Claire initially didn't understand what he was doing.
Vanessa did.
Her face drained.
“What are you doing?”
“Ending this.”
“You can't be serious.”
“I've never been more serious.”
“You're ending our engagement over a maid?”
Vincent's eyes hardened.
“No. I'm ending it because I finally saw what you become when you think someone has less power than you.”
Vanessa laughed once.
It was brittle.
“You'll regret humiliating me.”
“You should leave.”
“My father has two hundred million dollars tied to your Westhaven project.”
Vincent paused.
Claire saw it.
So did Vanessa.
There it was.
Leverage.
Vanessa stepped closer.
“If I walk out that door, Caldwell Capital walks with me.”
“Then walk.”
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
“You think you're untouchable.”
“No.”
Vincent handed her the ring.
“I think some prices aren't worth paying.”
Vanessa closed her fingers around the diamond.
For a moment Claire thought she might throw it.
Instead, Vanessa looked directly at her.
“This isn't over.”
Then she left.
The front doors slammed.
Eleanor exhaled.
Claire looked at Vincent.
“You didn't have to do that because of me.”
“I didn't.”
His answer surprised her.
“I did it because of her.”
A housekeeper appeared with a cardigan.
Claire slipped it around herself.
Then Eleanor asked the question that changed everything again.
“Claire, do you know what happened to Lucia after the fire?”
Claire shook her head.
Eleanor looked at Vincent.
Something silent passed between mother and son.
Vincent's expression darkened.
“What?”
Eleanor's voice became fragile.
“She disappeared nine years later.”
Claire froze.
“Disappeared?”
“Lucia was sixteen.”
Eleanor reached inside her evening bag.
She removed an old photograph.
A smiling teenage girl stood between Eleanor and a younger Vincent.
Claire recognized the eyes immediately.
The terrified little girl in the smoke.
“She ran away?” Claire asked.
“That was what the police concluded.”
“But you don't believe that.”
“No.”
Eleanor turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
Claire read it.
Three words.
Find Claire Bennett.
Her own name.
Written by Lucia.
Claire looked up slowly.
“When did she write this?”
“The night she vanished.”
Claire felt the room tilt.
Vincent stared at his mother.
“You never showed me that.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Eleanor looked toward the closed ballroom doors.
“Because Lucia left something else.”
“What?”
“A letter.”
Vincent's voice dropped.
“Where is it?”
“I hid it.”
“Why?”
Eleanor's face went pale again.
“Because the letter said the fire wasn't an accident.”
Silence.
May you like
Then Eleanor whispered:
“It said someone in our family started it.”
