Chapter 4 - SOPHIA'S PERFECT LIE
Sophia Reynolds was waiting in the hospital lobby when Vincent came downstairs.
She wore a cream-colored coat, diamond earrings, and a carefully arranged expression of concern. Her ankle was wrapped in a bandage that looked far more dramatic than the injury required.
The moment she saw him, she hurried forward.
"Vincent! Thank God. I've been calling you for hours."
He didn't embrace her.
"How's your ankle?"
She blinked.
"It's painful. The doctor said I should stay off it for a few days."
"Did you have an X-ray?"
"Yes."
"Was anything broken?"
"No, but—"
"So you were never in danger."
Sophia's expression faltered.
"Why are you talking to me like that? I was hurt, and you left me alone at your grandfather's party."
Vincent stared at her.
"My wife was bleeding in an operating room while you were asking me to stay."
"I didn't know it was that serious!"
"Marco told me."
"He said she was having the baby. He didn't say she was dying."
"He said her condition was critical."
Sophia's eyes filled with tears.
"You're blaming me for your decision?"
Vincent felt something twist inside him.
For years, Sophia had used tears to soften his anger. He had learned to respond before asking whether her distress was justified.
Tonight, he simply watched her.
"Did Claire take my grandmother's ring?"
Sophia's hand flew to her chest.
"I knew you'd ask me about that."
"Answer me."
"I saw her near the bedroom earlier. She was upset. I thought she might have taken it because she wanted to hurt the family."
"Claire was already at the hospital."
"Maybe she took it before she left."
"She was in labor."
Sophia looked down.
"I don't know, Vincent. I'm just telling you what I saw."
He stepped closer.
"Where exactly did you see her?"
"In the upstairs hallway."
"What time?"
"I don't remember."
"Who else was there?"
Sophia's lips parted, then closed.
Vincent had spent years teaching his organization to distinguish a mistake from a lie. He knew the difference between uncertainty and carefully manufactured confusion.
Sophia was doing the latter.
"Give me your phone," he said.
Her eyes widened.
"What?"
"Your phone."
"Why?"
"Because I asked."
She clutched her handbag.
"You can't search my personal belongings!"
For the first time, Vincent understood how often he had allowed Sophia to ignore boundaries that he enforced ruthlessly with everyone else.
He stepped back.
"You're right. I can't."
She looked relieved.
"But if you accuse my wife of theft again, you'll need evidence. If you have any, give it to Marco. If you don't, stay out of my family's affairs."
Sophia stared at him as though he had struck her.
"Your family? I've been part of your family since we were children!"
"And Claire was my wife for five years."
He turned away.
Sophia grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't do this. She's manipulating you. She's always been jealous of me."
Vincent looked down at her hand.
"Let go."
She obeyed.
Then she whispered, "You know she never wanted you to have a life outside her."
He thought of Claire sitting alone at dinners while he answered business calls. Of her birthday passing unnoticed because Sophia had wanted to celebrate a promotion. Of the nursery Claire had decorated herself after he dismissed her ideas as impractical.
He remembered every moment now.
Not because he had suddenly become wise, but because he could no longer use Claire's patience as proof that his behavior was acceptable.
"Go home, Sophia."
"Vincent—"
"Go."
She left with her head bowed, but her eyes were dry before the elevator doors closed.
An hour later, Marco returned with preliminary information.
"Boss, we checked the security footage from the estate. Mrs. Moretti left at 6:12 p.m. The ambulance was called at 6:19."
"And the ring?"
Marco hesitated.
"The footage shows Sophia entering your grandfather's private study at 6:31. She left four minutes later carrying a small velvet pouch."
Vincent's face went cold.
"Did she return it?"
"No."
"Find her."
"There's something else."
Marco placed a tablet on the desk.
A bank transfer had been made from one of Vincent's private accounts three weeks earlier. The recipient was a shell company registered in Delaware.
The amount was $2.4 million.
"Who authorized this?"
"The transfer was approved using your credentials."
"I didn't authorize it."
"We're checking the authentication records."
Vincent studied the transaction.
The recipient company's registered address belonged to a building that housed dozens of small businesses. Its listed director was a woman named Sophia Reynolds.
He looked up slowly.
"Freeze every account connected to this company."
"Already done."
"Notify my attorney."
"Which one?"
"All of them."
Marco nodded.
Vincent's phone rang.
This time, it was Dr. Patel.
"Mr. Moretti, your wife is conscious."
Vincent was on his feet before the doctor finished speaking.
"Can I see her?"
"Briefly. She's weak, and she may not be able to speak for long. Please don't upset her."
"I won't."
He reached Claire's room and stopped outside the door.
She looked smaller than he remembered, her face pale against the pillows, her hair tangled around her temples. A monitor tracked her heartbeat. An IV line ran into her arm.
Her eyes moved toward him.
For a second, neither spoke.
Then Vincent approached the bed.
"Claire."
She looked at him without smiling.
"Where's my baby?"
"He's alive. He's in the neonatal unit. The doctors say he's fighting."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Did you see him?"
"Yes."
"Did you touch him?"
"Just his hand."
Claire closed her eyes in relief.
"Good."
Vincent swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
She turned her face toward the window.
He had imagined this moment countless times during the drive. He had prepared explanations, promises, and desperate declarations.
None of them mattered now.
"I should have come sooner," he said.
"Yes."
"I should never have stayed at the party."
"No."
"I can make this right."
Claire opened her eyes.
"Can you?"
He couldn't answer.
She looked at him for a long moment.
"Vincent, did you bring Sophia with you?"
"No."
"Did she come to the hospital?"
"She did."
Claire's expression changed, but only slightly.
"Then I need you to listen carefully. Don't let her near our son."
"I won't."
"And don't believe everything she tells you."
Vincent leaned closer.
"Claire, what do you know about the missing ring?"
Her eyes sharpened.
"Why are you asking me about a ring?"
"Because Sophia accused you of taking it."
Claire let out a weak breath that might have been a laugh.
"Of course she did."
"What does that mean?"
She reached for his hand, then stopped before touching it.
"Vincent, the ring isn't the reason she wanted me gone."
Before he could ask another question, the monitor beside her bed began to beep faster.
A nurse rushed in.
"Mr. Moretti, you need to step outside."
Vincent backed away as the nurse adjusted Claire's medication.
Through the closing door, he saw Claire struggling to remain awake.
May you like
Then he heard her whisper something that made him freeze.
"Ask your grandfather what happened the night my father died."
