Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW MY FATHER
The address led to a small lakeside house nearly an hour outside Chicago.
Alexander wanted to send his men first.
I refused.
“If Isabella has information about my father, I need to hear it from her.”
“It's dangerous.”
“Everything about your family is dangerous.”
He stared at me.
Then he handed me a small security device.
“Keep this with you.”
I accepted it.
Not because I trusted him completely.
Because I wanted to survive.
The house was quiet when we arrived.
A woman opened the door.
She was older than the photographs I had seen, her dark hair now streaked with gray.
But there was no mistaking her.
Isabella Moretti.
She looked at Alexander.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The house smelled of coffee and old books.
A little boy sat on the living-room rug, building a tower with wooden blocks.
Daniel.
When he saw Isabella, he smiled.
“Mommy?”
She bent to kiss his forehead.
Then she looked at Alexander.
“Your son is safe.”
Alexander stood completely still.
“My son?”
Isabella nodded.
“Daniel is yours.”
I looked between them.
The resemblance was unmistakable now.
Alexander took one step forward.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father wanted him dead.”
Alexander's face tightened.
“Who tried to kill him?”
“Your father. Sophia's father. And Eleanor.”
He shook his head.
“My grandmother?”
“She knew about the altered records. She helped hide Daniel because she believed it would protect the family's reputation.”
I sat down slowly.
“Why did you contact me?”
Isabella looked at me.
“Because your father trusted me with something.”
She walked to a cabinet and removed a small wooden box.
Inside were several letters, a key, and a photograph.
My father stood beside Isabella again.
But this time, another man was visible in the background.
Alexander's father.
Isabella handed me one of the letters.
“Your father discovered that the Moretti family had been using his company to conceal illegal transactions. He tried to expose them.”
I unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My father's.
My dearest Claire,
If you're reading this, it means I failed to tell you the truth while I was alive. I am sorry.
The Morettis are not the people they pretend to be. Alexander may love you, but his family will never allow him to choose you freely.
There is a key hidden inside the old family property. It opens a safe containing the original ownership records.
Do not let anyone take it from you.
I looked up.
“Where is the property?”
Isabella gave me an address.
It was the old Bennett estate.
The house where I had spent my childhood.
It had been sold after my father's death.
I looked at Alexander.
“Did you know?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Isabella watched him carefully.
“You need to understand something. Your father didn't simply want to control the company. He wanted the trust because Claire's father had discovered the real owner of the Moretti organization.”
Alexander frowned.
“Who?”
Isabella took another document from the box.
It was a birth certificate.
The child's name was Daniel Moretti.
But the father's name had been left blank.
Attached was a second document.
A DNA report.
Alexander read it.
His face drained of color.
The report confirmed Daniel was his biological son.
But the next page contained another surprise.
A second DNA comparison.
Between Daniel and a man named Vincent Moretti.
Alexander's uncle.
The report showed a biological match.
I looked at Isabella.
“What does this mean?”
She closed her eyes.
“Vincent is Alexander's father's older brother. He was believed to have died twenty years ago.”
Alexander stared at the report.
“That's impossible.”
Isabella shook her head.
“He never died.”
A car door slammed outside.
We all turned.
Through the window, I saw two black vehicles approaching.
Isabella grabbed Daniel.
Alexander pulled out his weapon.
Then a voice came through the house intercom.
“Alexander. It's Vincent.”
A pause.
May you like
“I think it's time you met your real father.”
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