Chapter 6 - THE PRICE OF A MOTHER'S SILENCE
“MY MOTHER WAS MURDERED?”
Clara's voice was barely audible.
Victor Harlan sat at the bottom of the greenhouse staircase, his sleeve dark with blood.
He looked at her with unbearable sadness.
“I don't know exactly how she died, sweetheart. But I know someone threatened her. And I know she was terrified.”
Clara shook her head.
“You just said she died because she wouldn't give them my name.”
“I said what I believe happened. I should have explained.”
“Then explain now.”
Luca stepped between them.
“First, we get him medical attention.”
Victor caught his wrist.
“No hospitals.”
“You've been shot.”
“Grazed. The bullet passed through my upper arm.”
“You're bleeding.”
“And if you take me to a hospital, Robert will know where I am before the doctor finishes stitching me up.”
Luca looked at Caleb.
“Call Dr. Porter. Have her meet us at the estate. Private entrance.”
Caleb nodded.
Clara stood motionless.
Victor looked up at her.
“Your mother was one of the bravest people I ever knew.”
“Don't.”
He stopped.
Clara's eyes were wet.
“Don't tell me how wonderful she was until you tell me why she spent her life afraid.”
Victor lowered his head.
“That's fair.”
Twenty minutes later, they were inside Antonio Moretti's old study.
Dr. Rachel Porter cleaned Victor's wound while Luca stood by the fireplace.
Thomas sat nearby.
Clara refused to leave.
Victor watched the doctor finish the bandage.
“Thank you.”
Rachel gave Luca a pointed look.
“He needs rest. If he develops a fever or loses feeling in that hand, call me immediately.”
Luca nodded.
Once she was gone, he locked the study door.
“Start talking.”
Victor looked around.
The room had barely changed.
Antonio's books lined the walls.
His old desk stood beneath the window.
For a moment, Victor seemed to forget the others were there.
“He used to sit right there,” he murmured.
Luca followed his gaze.
“My father?”
Victor nodded.
“He'd tell me that every fortune carries a debt to the people who helped build it.”
Luca's expression tightened.
“Don't make this sentimental.”
Victor looked at him.
“You have every reason to hate me.”
“I have fifteen years of reasons.”
“And most of them were manufactured.”
“Then give me something real.”
Victor leaned forward.
“Your father created the Moretti Family Trust to support employees and their families. When the legitimate businesses expanded, the trust acquired valuable real estate.”
“I know.”
“Robert Sterling managed some of those properties through his investment company.”
“And stole from them.”
“Not at first.”
Luca frowned.
Victor continued.
“Robert began by transferring properties into shell companies he controlled. Daniel Mercer prepared the legal documents. The trust received payments that looked legitimate, but the properties were worth far more.”
“How much?”
“Eventually, more than eighty million dollars in assets and proceeds.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
Luca stared.
“Eighty million?”
Victor nodded.
“Some of the properties are worth considerably more today.”
“And my father discovered it?”
“Evelyn Ward did.”
Vanessa's mother.
Victor looked toward the window.
“She was Robert's wife, but she was also the accountant who found the discrepancies. She brought them to Antonio.”
Luca folded his arms.
“Why would she betray her husband?”
“Because she discovered where the money was supposed to go.”
Victor reached into his coat and removed a folded document.
It was a list of trust beneficiaries.
Names.
Addresses.
Families.
Children who had lost parents.
Clara noticed one name.
MARGARET HAYES.
Victor saw her reaction.
“Your mother was one of the people Evelyn asked to help verify the records.”
Clara stared.
“Why her?”
“She had worked as a medical records administrator. She knew how to find people who'd moved, married, or changed names.”
“And the two hundred forty thousand dollars?”
Victor's face tightened.
“That wasn't a payment for silence. It was restitution.”
“For what?”
“Money that should have gone to your mother and several other beneficiaries. Margaret agreed to receive the funds into a temporary account so they could be distributed safely.”
Clara shook her head.
“She never told me.”
“She was afraid.”
“Of Robert?”
“Of someone who knew much more about her than Robert did.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Who?”
Victor hesitated.
“Daniel Mercer.”
Luca stared.
“My father's lawyer?”
“Daniel had access to every family trust, every property record, and every private agreement Antonio signed.”
“Why didn't my father fire him?”
“Because we needed evidence that would stand up in court. If Daniel knew we suspected him, the records would disappear.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“And did they?”
Victor looked at the brass key.
“Some did.”
“Vault Seventeen.”
Victor nodded.
“Your father and I divided the evidence. He kept one key. I kept the other.”
“Then who emptied the vault?”
Victor looked confused.
“What?”
Luca handed him the withdrawal record.
Victor studied it.
His face changed.
“That's not possible.”
“That's becoming a popular phrase tonight.”
Victor pointed to the date.
“I was in Montreal that week. Antonio was in Boston with you.”
“And Evelyn had been dead eleven years.”
Victor stared at her signature.
Then he whispered:
“This isn't Evelyn's handwriting.”
“Vanessa said the same thing.”
“No. I mean I've seen this exact signature before.”
Luca stepped closer.
“Where?”
Victor looked at Clara.
“On the documents that were used to take your mother's house.”
Clara froze.
“My mother's house?”
Victor nodded.
“Margaret owned a small home in Queens. After she died, Daniel handled the estate. He told everyone the house had been sold to cover debts.”
Clara's voice shook.
“He told me that too.”
Victor closed his eyes.
“It wasn't sold.”
Luca frowned.
“What happened to it?”
“It was transferred.”
“To whom?”
Victor looked directly at him.
“To a company owned by Robert Sterling.”
Clara felt the room tilt.
Her mother had worked her entire life.
She had saved every dollar.
And after her death, Clara had been left with almost nothing.
She remembered packing their belongings into cardboard boxes.
Remembered Daniel Mercer telling her there was no inheritance.
Remembered thanking him for helping with the funeral.
“Daniel lied to me,” she whispered.
Victor nodded.
Clara pressed a hand against her mouth.
Then another memory surfaced.
“The night before my mother died, she gave me a small wooden music box.”
Victor looked up sharply.
“What kind of music box?”
“Dark wood. A little brass bird on the lid.”
Victor gripped the arms of his chair.
“Where is it?”
“In my room.”
Luca frowned.
“Why?”
Victor's voice dropped.
“Because Margaret told me she had hidden something where nobody would think to look.”
Clara stared.
“She told me never to sell it.”
Luca moved toward the door.
“Get it.”
Clara hurried upstairs.
She returned carrying a small wooden box.
The brass bird was worn smooth.
Inside, a tiny ballerina turned when Clara wound the mechanism.
A delicate melody filled the study.
Victor began crying.
“Margaret loved that song.”
Clara looked at him.
“Do you know how to open it?”
Victor nodded.
“Turn the bird's head.”
She did.
Nothing happened.
“Now press the left wing.”
A quiet click sounded.
The bottom panel lifted.
Inside was a small memory card wrapped in waxed paper.
And a handwritten note.
Clara unfolded it.
The handwriting was unmistakably her mother's.
My darling Clara,
If you ever find this, I am sorry I couldn't tell you the truth myself.
There are people who will tell you that your life began with a tragedy.
It didn't.
It began with love.
Clara's tears fell onto the paper.
She continued reading.
The man you believe was your father died before you were born. That part is true.
But he did not die in the accident they described.
He died protecting a child who wasn't his.
Clara stopped.
Luca moved closer.
Victor's face had gone white.
At the bottom of the note was one final sentence.
ASK VICTOR WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FIRST STERLING BABY.
Clara looked up.
Victor was trembling.
Luca stared at him.
“What first baby?”
Victor covered his face.
May you like
And whispered:
“THE CHILD ROBERT STERLING TOLD THE WORLD HAD DIED AT BIRTH.”
