Chapter 5 - THE SECRET MARGARET MORETTI WOULD KILL TO KEEP
Vincent did not confront his mother immediately.
That frightened me more than if he'd thrown the photograph across the room.
He simply folded the page, placed it inside his jacket, and told everyone the meeting was over.
Then he ordered Marcus to follow Margaret.
Not to arrest her. Not yet.
To discover who she contacted when she believed nobody was watching.
I wanted to take Emma and leave the mansion before sunrise. Every new revelation made the place feel less like a home and more like a trap.
But when I told Vincent I was leaving, he didn't threaten me.
He opened his desk drawer and removed a sealed envelope.
"These are copies of the documents Daniel left with Elena."
I stared at him.
"You've had them all this time?"
"I received them from my attorney this afternoon. They were among the papers recovered from the sitting room."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I needed to understand what they meant before I put your daughter in greater danger."
I wanted to hate him for keeping secrets.
Instead, I looked at the first document.
It was a birth registration.
Emma's name appeared at the top.
Below it was Daniel's signature.
And beside his name was another handwritten notation:
Biological father confirmed. Maternal relationship to Elena Moretti to be established.
My fingers went numb.
"Maternal relationship?"
Vincent nodded.
"Elena had a sister. A younger sister named Lily."
I'd heard the name before. Elena's portrait collection included a photograph of two dark-haired girls standing beside a lake. The younger girl wore a crescent-moon pendant.
"What happened to her?" I asked.
"According to my family, she died when she was nineteen."
"According to your family?"
Vincent's expression hardened.
"After the attack, I discovered that several records relating to Elena's relatives had been removed. I never learned why."
I thought of Emma's necklace.
The matching pendants.
The key marked 417.
"Are you saying Emma might be related to Elena?"
"I'm saying we need a DNA test before we draw conclusions."
It was the first sensible thing anyone had said in hours.
I agreed, but only on two conditions: the test would be conducted by an independent laboratory, and nobody would take Emma anywhere without me.
Vincent accepted both.
For the first time, we stood on the same side of a mystery.
Then Marcus returned.
He carried a photograph from a security camera and looked as though he'd aged ten years.
"Margaret met someone at a private clinic in Manhattan."
"Who?"
Marcus placed the photograph on the desk.
The man wore a gray coat and leaned heavily on a cane. His face was turned toward the camera, but the profile was unmistakable.
Anthony Moretti.
Vincent stared at the image.
"Where is he now?"
"At the clinic. He left through the underground garage."
"Find him."
Marcus hesitated.
"Boss, there's something you should know. The clinic's records show a woman has been receiving treatment there under a false name for eighteen months."
Vincent gripped the desk.
"What woman?"
Marcus looked at me, then back at Vincent.
"Elena Moretti."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Vincent closed his eyes.
For eighteen months, he'd walked past his wife's locked sitting room, believing grief was the only thing left to accompany him.
Now there was evidence she might have been alive the entire time.
"Get the car," he ordered.
I caught his arm.
"You're not going alone."
"Claire—"
"If someone has been hiding your wife, they'll know you are coming. They may know about Emma, too."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
We left Emma with Mrs. Alvarez and a security detail we trusted. Vincent insisted on taking me because Daniel's records might help identify whoever was behind the deception.
The clinic occupied an unmarked building behind a private hospital.
A receptionist denied knowing Elena. Vincent placed a photograph on the counter.
The woman's face drained of color.
"I can't tell you anything."
Vincent leaned forward.
"I'm not asking you to betray a patient. I'm asking whether my wife is alive."
The receptionist looked toward a closed door.
Then she whispered, "Room 417."
We hurried down the corridor.
The room was empty.
A hospital gown lay folded on the bed. A glass of water stood beside an untouched meal.
On the pillow rested a silver crescent pendant.
Its letter was unmistakable.
L.
Underneath it lay a handwritten note.
Vincent, I'm sorry. If you find me, don't believe the woman who calls herself your mother.
A noise came from the service elevator.
Vincent spun around.
A figure in a dark coat disappeared behind the closing doors.
Marcus chased after him, but Vincent remained motionless, staring at the note.
Then his phone rang.
The caller's voice was distorted.
"You have twenty-four hours, Moretti."
Vincent said nothing.
"Find your wife, and you'll lose your daughter."
The line went dead.
For the first time, Vincent's grief transformed into something more dangerous than rage.
It became fear.
May you like
Because whoever was threatening Emma knew where she slept.
And they had just given us twenty-four hours to discover why.
