Chapter 9 - The Moretti Family's Last Lie
I didn't believe him.
Not immediately.
Isabella had been cruel. Manipulative. Self-serving.
But ordering a fire that nearly killed a child was something else entirely.
"You're lying," I said.
"I wish I were."
"Your mother raised you."
"She raised me to inherit an empire. She didn't raise me to question it."
"Why would she hurt Nicholas?"
"Because he was supposed to inherit everything."
Alexander explained that Victoria had discovered Isabella was transferring family assets into companies controlled by her relatives.
Nicholas had threatened to expose the transactions.
The fire had been arranged to destroy the records and eliminate him.
Victoria died.
Nicholas survived.
Alexander had been sixteen.
He had seen enough to know something terrible had happened, but his father convinced him that revealing the truth would bring the entire family down.
For years, Alexander obeyed.
"Why did you marry me?" I asked.
He was silent.
"Tell me the truth."
"Because I loved you."
I closed my eyes.
"That isn't enough."
"No," he admitted. "It isn't."
He told me that when he discovered my business proposal, he had been impressed by my intelligence. He had wanted someone who could build a legitimate business alongside him.
But after our marriage, his family began using my name in corporate structures.
At first, he had convinced himself it was temporary.
Then the arrangement became too complicated to undo.
And when I began asking questions about the hotel, he deliberately discouraged me.
"You let me believe I had abandoned my future," I whispered.
"I know."
"You let me become dependent on you."
"I know."
"You made me believe I was incapable of running my own business."
His voice broke.
"I never believed that."
"But you made sure I believed it."
He had no answer.
I ended the call.
That afternoon, Sophia arrived at Rebecca's office.
She looked exhausted.
"I need to apologize."
"That would be a start," I said.
Sophia sat down.
"I didn't know Alexander was married when I first came back into his life."
I stared at her.
"Don't insult me."
She looked down.
"You're right. I knew."
"Then why?"
"My father was dying. He had spent his entire life working for the Morettis. Before he died, he told me Victoria had left evidence proving Isabella's involvement in the fire."
"And you thought pretending to be Alexander's girlfriend would help you find it?"
Sophia nodded.
"He trusted me enough to let me into the estate. I thought I could locate the ledger."
"You humiliated me to get access."
"I did."
At least she wasn't pretending otherwise.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I thought you would refuse to help."
"You were right."
Sophia reached into her bag.
She removed a small flash drive.
"My father left this."
Rebecca took it.
"What is it?"
"Financial records. Transfers made through Victoria Holdings. Names, dates, account numbers. Everything Isabella thought had been destroyed."
I stared at her.
"Why give it to me?"
"Because I finally understood something."
"What?"
"Alexander will always protect his family before he protects the truth. You are the only person who has no reason to keep their secrets."
Before Rebecca could respond, the office lights went out.
A crash sounded in the hallway.
Marco rushed through the door.
"Get down!"
The glass panel beside Rebecca's desk shattered.
He pulled Sophia toward the floor while I ducked behind a cabinet.
Two men entered.
One pointed a weapon toward the room.
Then another gunshot echoed from the corridor.
The attackers fled.
When the lights came back, Marco was standing near the door, his shoulder bleeding.
"Are you hurt?" I asked.
"Not badly."
Rebecca grabbed her phone.
"I'm calling the police."
Marco shook his head.
"Call them. But don't stay here."
Sophia was crying.
I looked at the flash drive.
It was still in Rebecca's hand.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
You have the wrong enemy, Claire. Isabella didn't order the fire. She was protecting the person who did.
Another message arrived.
A photograph.
Nicholas Moretti.
Alive.
Standing beside a woman whose face I recognized.
My mother.
I stared at the screen.
My mother had been dead for twelve years.
But the photograph was dated three months ago.
And beneath it were five words.
May you like
Your mother is still alive.
---
