Chapter 2 - THE RECORDING FROM THE NIGHT ISABELLA DIED
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For three seconds, Dominic Moretti forgot how to breathe.
The name Isabella had not been spoken in his house without a careful glance toward the windows in almost a year.
His wife had died in a car accident on a rain-soaked road outside New Orleans. The official report said she had lost control of her vehicle while returning from a charity dinner. Dominic had been in Chicago negotiating a deal when the call came.
By the time he reached the hospital, Isabella was gone.
Vanessa had held his hand at the funeral. She had organized the flowers, spoken to the press, and stayed beside him while he stared at the polished coffin.
She had told him that grief would eventually become bearable.
He had believed her.
Now his six-year-old daughter was looking at him as though the truth might destroy the only family she had left.
“Sweetheart,” Dominic said, forcing his voice to remain gentle, “what did Vanessa say about your mother?”
Emma twisted the sleeve of his shirt between her fingers.
“She said Mommy went away because she didn't want to live with us anymore.”
Something inside him cracked.
“Your mother loved you more than anything.”
“Then why didn't she come back?”
Dominic pulled Emma against his chest.
“Because she couldn't, baby. Not because she didn't want to.”
Emma began to cry quietly.
Sophie crouched beside them and offered the teddy bear. Emma clutched it, burying her face against its worn fur.
Dominic looked toward Vanessa.
She stood beside the fireplace, her face pale but her eyes moving rapidly as she searched for an escape.
“Everyone out,” he ordered his security men. “Nobody leaves the estate. Nobody touches that recorder.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“You can't seriously believe a six-year-old's toys can tell you what happened three years ago.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“I believe my daughter is afraid of you.”
“She's confused!”
“Then you should have no reason to fear what she recorded.”
Vanessa's mouth opened, but no words came.
Dominic turned to Sophie.
“Can you get the recording to play?”
“I think so, sir. Emma said she hid the recorder inside the bear because she wanted to remember her bedtime stories.”
“And the other recordings?”
“She told me she sometimes pressed the button when she heard Mrs. Sterling shouting. She thought if she saved the sounds, you'd finally understand.”
Dominic looked at his daughter.
Emma was watching him with enormous, frightened eyes.
He lowered himself to her level.
“You did the right thing, princess. None of this is your fault.”
“Are you going to be mad at me?”
“Never.”
“Even if Mommy's recording makes you sad?”
Dominic swallowed hard.
“Even then.”
He carried Emma into his private study, where the door locked from the inside. Sophie followed with the bear. Vanessa was ordered to remain in the living room under the supervision of two guards.
On the study desk, Dominic placed the recorder beside an old photograph of Isabella holding newborn Emma.
He had kept that photograph facedown for months because looking at it hurt too much.
Tonight, he turned it upright.
Sophie carefully opened the bear's loose seam. Hidden beneath the stuffing was a small plastic compartment with a second memory card.
“Emma must have put this inside,” she whispered.
Dominic stared at it.
“How long has it been there?”
“I don't know, sir.”
He inserted the card into his computer. Most of the files were ordinary sounds: Emma singing to her bear, asking imaginary questions, or whispering that she missed her mother.
Then he found a file dated three years earlier.
The night Isabella died.
He pressed play.
At first, there was the sound of rain and a television playing faintly in the background.
Then Isabella's voice.
“Vanessa, give it back.”
Dominic went rigid.
Another woman answered.
“You're making a terrible mistake.”
“It's mine. I know what you did.”
A chair scraped across the floor.
Isabella sounded frightened now.
“If Dominic finds out, he'll never forgive you.”
Vanessa's reply was almost inaudible.
“He'll never find out.”
A sudden crash followed.
Then Isabella shouted, “Don't touch me!”
The recording ended with several seconds of static.
Dominic stared at the screen.
Sophie covered her mouth.
“That was Mrs. Moretti.”
He replayed the last twenty seconds. Isabella's voice was unmistakable. So was Vanessa's.
But the recording didn't establish what had happened next.
“Where was Emma that night?” Dominic asked.
“In her room, sir. She was only three.”
Dominic remembered that night differently. Vanessa had called him after the accident, crying so hard he could barely understand her. She told him Isabella had left the charity dinner early because she felt unwell.
She had said nothing about an argument.
He opened another file.
A man's voice emerged from the speakers.
“Is the car ready?”
Vanessa answered, “It will be.”
Dominic stopped the recording.
His blood turned cold.
“Who was that man?”
Sophie shook her head.
“I don't know.”
The next sound was a door slamming, followed by Isabella's voice again.
“Please. Not tonight.”
Then the recording cut off.
Dominic rose so abruptly that his chair crashed against the wall.
“Get me the original accident report. Every photograph, every witness statement, every piece of evidence.”
“Yes, sir,” Sophie whispered.
“And find the doctor who signed Isabella's death certificate.”
Sophie nodded.
A quiet knock came from the door.
One of Dominic's senior security men entered.
“Boss, there's a problem.”
“What?”
“Someone accessed the security system remotely ten minutes ago. They attempted to erase the hallway footage from the night Mrs. Moretti died.”
Dominic's gaze sharpened.
“Did they succeed?”
“Not entirely. We recovered a partial backup.”
“Show me.”
The guard placed a tablet on the desk.
Grainy footage showed the mansion's rear entrance at 11:43 p.m. A woman wearing Isabella's coat stepped outside.
Thirty seconds later, a black sedan pulled into the driveway.
The driver's face was hidden.
The woman approached the vehicle.
Then, just before entering, she turned toward the security camera.
Dominic leaned closer.
It wasn't Isabella.
It was Vanessa.
And in the final second before the footage ended, the driver raised his face toward the camera.
Dominic recognized him instantly.
It was his own father-in-law, Isabella's father, Richard Vale.
A man who had supposedly been overseas on business that entire week.
Dominic slowly looked at the teddy bear.
Then his phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent him a photograph of Emma sleeping in her bed.
Beneath it was a message.
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STOP PLAYING THE RECORDINGS, DOMINIC. YOUR WIFE WASN'T THE ONLY PERSON WHO DIED THAT NIGHT.
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