Chapter 6 - The Enemy Inside Our HomeThe photograph of Emma changed everything.
Until that moment, I had believed my husband's secrets were dangerous because they could destroy our marriage.
Now I understood they could endanger our daughter.
Vincent stood beside me outside the courthouse, staring at the photograph on his phone.
“Where was this taken?” he asked.
“Daniel's house.”
“When?”
“This morning. Emma was outside with Natalie for a few minutes before they went to the library.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
He called his security director, Michael Grant.
“Someone photographed Emma at her uncle's house. I want the original message preserved and the police notified.”
Michael asked a question I couldn't hear.
“No,” Vincent said sharply. “Nobody approaches the property. Nobody frightens my daughter. Coordinate with the detective.”
He ended the call.
Then looked at me.
“Claire, I want you and Emma somewhere safer.”
I felt anger rise immediately.
“Don't start giving me orders.”
“Someone is watching her.”
“I know that.”
“Then let me help.”
I looked at the man who had once controlled every door in our home.
“You don't get to decide where we live.”
His face tightened.
Then, surprisingly, he nodded.
“Okay.”
The single word unsettled me more than an argument would have.
“I'll have Michael coordinate with Daniel and the police,” he said. “You can approve any security arrangements before they're made.”
Rebecca stepped beside us.
“That is how we'll handle it.”
By late afternoon, the Chicago police had opened an investigation into the threatening message.
A detective named Olivia Bennett met us at Rebecca's office.
She was in her early forties, with short brown hair and the steady expression of someone who had heard too many lies to be impressed by expensive suits.
She examined the photograph.
“Do you recognize the vehicle reflected in the window behind Emma?”
I leaned closer.
A dark sedan appeared in the glass.
“No.”
Vincent studied it.
“Michael can provide a list of vehicles used by my employees.”
Detective Bennett looked at him.
“That would be helpful.”
She turned toward me.
“Mrs. Moretti, has anyone contacted you directly?”
“Someone sent me a photograph of my husband outside a fertility clinic.”
“Any threats?”
“Not in that message.”
“Did you preserve the envelope?”
“Yes. My investigator has it.”
“Good.”
She took notes.
Then asked Vincent, “Are you aware of anyone who might benefit from frightening your wife?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“Several people,” he said.
Bennett raised an eyebrow.
“That's not a reassuring answer.”
“I understand.”
“Then start naming them.”
For the next hour, Vincent described Adrian Vale, Sterling Harbor Holdings, Sophia Reynolds, and the possibility that Antonio Moretti was alive.
Bennett listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she closed her notebook.
“Mr. Moretti, I need you to understand something. If someone is threatening your child, this is no longer a private business disagreement.”
“I understand.”
“And if you withhold information because it implicates your companies, that will make our work harder.”
Vincent met her eyes.
“I won't.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I had learned how dangerous wanting could be.
That night, Emma slept in Daniel's guest room.
I sat beside her, watching the rise and fall of her chest.
She was getting stronger.
Her fever had not returned.
But she had started asking whether the doors were locked.
A six-year-old should worry about losing a toy.
Not whether someone might come through the front door.
Natalie appeared in the doorway.
“Tea?”
I shook my head.
She sat beside me.
“You haven't slept properly in three days.”
“I close my eyes and see that photograph.”
“I know.”
I looked toward Emma.
“Did I make things worse by leaving?”
Natalie took my hand.
“Claire, you left because your daughter needed stability. Whoever sent that photograph made the decision to threaten her. You didn't.”
I nodded.
But the fear remained.
A few minutes later, Daniel appeared.
“There's someone here.”
I stood.
“Who?”
“A woman. Says she worked for Vincent.”
My heart accelerated.
“What's her name?”
“Rosa Martinez.”
Vincent's housekeeper.
Rosa had worked at the Moretti mansion for nine years.
She was sixty-three, soft-spoken, and fiercely protective of Emma.
She had taught my daughter to make cinnamon cookies and secretly let her eat the broken ones before dinner.
When she entered Daniel's kitchen, she looked frightened.
“Mrs. Moretti.”
“Rosa, what happened?”
She sat down.
“I should have come sooner.”
Daniel closed the kitchen door.
Rosa placed a small flash drive on the table.
“I found something in Mr. Vale's old office.”
Adrian.
My stomach tightened.
“What is it?”
“Security footage.”
“From the mansion?”
She nodded.
“Mr. Vale asked the technician to remove recordings from several cameras. He said there had been a system upgrade.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
The same period as the financial transfers.
Rosa continued.
“I was cleaning the office when I heard him speaking to Miss Reynolds.”
“Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
Rosa looked down.
“He told her Mrs. Moretti was beginning to ask too many questions.”
I felt cold.
“What questions?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what happened?”
Rosa's hands trembled.
“Miss Reynolds said, ‘Once Claire leaves, the trust becomes easier to reach.’”
Daniel swore under his breath.
I stared at Rosa.
“Why would my leaving affect Emma's trust?”
“I don't know, ma'am.”
She pushed the flash drive toward me.
“The technician made a backup before he was ordered to delete the recordings. He gave me a copy because he was afraid something illegal was happening.”
“Where is he now?”
“He quit.”
I reached for the drive.
Daniel stopped me.
“Give it to Rebecca and the police. Don't plug it into anything here.”
He was right.
We needed to preserve whatever was on it.
Rosa began crying.
“I should have said something before Emma got hurt.”
I knelt beside her.
“You didn't hurt Emma.”
“But I heard them.”
I squeezed her hands.
“Then help us tell the truth.”
The following morning, Detective Bennett arranged for the drive to be examined.
By afternoon, she called Rebecca with preliminary findings.
Several files were recoverable.
One showed Adrian entering Vincent's private office after midnight.
Another showed Sophia walking into the same room carrying a folder.
But the most important recording came from the hallway camera.
The footage showed Adrian meeting a man near the service entrance.
The man's face was partially hidden.
He wore a dark coat and carried a leather briefcase.
Detective Bennett paused the footage.
“Do you recognize him?” she asked Vincent.
He leaned toward the screen.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his face went pale.
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
Vincent swallowed.
“My father's attorney.”
Rebecca frowned.
“Antonio's attorney?”
Vincent nodded.
“His name is Charles Whitcomb. He handled my father's private affairs before the boating accident.”
Detective Bennett studied the image.
“Is he still practicing?”
“No. He disappeared around the same time my father died.”
She looked back at the screen.
“So a man missing for eleven years appears inside your home six weeks ago.”
Vincent's expression darkened.
“Yes.”
Then the technician advanced the recording.
Whitcomb turned toward the camera.
For a brief moment, his face was fully visible.
He looked directly into the lens.
And smiled.
But that was not the most disturbing part.
As he walked away, he handed Adrian a folder.
May you like
Printed across the front were three words:
EMMA MORETTI TRUST.
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