Chapter 8 - The Inheritance Written in Blood
The first time I saw Josephine Moretti alive, she was sitting beside a window, knitting a yellow baby blanket.
She was ninety-one.
Small.
Fragile.
But her eyes were sharp.
"Claire Bennett," she said when I entered.
I stopped.
"You know me?"
She smiled sadly.
"I've been waiting a very long time to meet you."
Adrian stood beside me.
He hadn't spoken since we arrived at the private residence where Josephine had been living under the name Joan Miller.
When she saw him, her knitting needles slipped from her hands.
"Adrian."
His face changed.
"Grandmother?"
Josephine began to cry.
He crossed the room.
For a moment, the feared Mafia boss of Chicago looked like a little boy.
He knelt beside her chair.
"They told me you died."
"I know."
"Why?"
She touched his face.
"Because I refused to lie for your father."
Josephine told us what she remembered.
Thirty-five years earlier, Salvatore Moretti had been involved in a bitter dispute over the family's inheritance.
His older brother, Matteo, had been the legitimate heir to a large trust established by their grandfather.
But Matteo had disappeared.
The family claimed he'd run away.
Josephine believed he'd been murdered.
Years later, Thomas Bennett discovered financial records suggesting that assets belonging to Matteo's estate had been transferred through fraudulent documents.
"Your father found the records," Josephine told me.
"He wanted to expose them."
I swallowed.
"And Salvatore killed him?"
Josephine lowered her eyes.
"I believe Salvatore ordered it. But I never saw proof."
Adrian stood near the window.
His hands were clenched.
"Why did you disappear?"
"Because I tried to give Thomas's evidence to investigators. Salvatore threatened to have me declared incompetent."
"Did he?"
"He had doctors sign papers. I was moved from one facility to another. Eventually, a friend helped me escape."
"Why didn't you contact me?"
Josephine looked at him.
"Because Salvatore told me he'd kill you if I did."
Adrian closed his eyes.
Then Josephine told us about the photograph.
The little boy standing between her and my father.
Adrian.
"Thomas was trying to protect you," she said.
"From what?" Adrian asked.
Josephine looked toward me.
"From the truth about your birth."
My heart pounded.
Adrian stepped closer.
"Tell me."
Josephine's hands trembled.
"Your mother wasn't the woman Salvatore claimed."
Silence.
"Who was she?"
"A young woman named Elena Rossi."
Adrian stared at her.
"I've never heard that name."
"I know."
"Was Salvatore my father?"
Josephine looked down.
"I don't know."
The words seemed to empty the room.
Adrian sat.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Josephine continued.
"Thomas discovered records showing that Salvatore had arranged to change a child's identity. He believed the child was you."
"Why?"
"Because the inheritance depended on bloodlines."
I looked at Adrian.
His face had gone pale.
Josephine reached for his hand.
"I loved you as my grandson. Whatever those records say, that will never change."
Adrian nodded.
But he looked shattered.
We left the residence at dusk.
Adrian stood beside his car.
"Claire."
I turned.
"Thank you for coming."
"You needed to hear her."
He nodded.
"I don't know who I am anymore."
I looked at him.
"You're still the man who made the choices he made."
He flinched.
"But you're also the man who can decide what happens next."
His eyes met mine.
"I want to do better."
"Then do better."
I started toward my car.
"Claire?"
I stopped.
"Do you think Lily will ever know me?"
I looked back.
"I hope she knows a father who's safe, present, and honest."
Adrian swallowed.
"And if I become that?"
"Then she'll have a chance to know you."
I got into the car.
For once, I didn't feel the need to explain more.
Two weeks later, the divorce proceedings moved forward.
Vincent remained in custody.
Sophia's attorneys were negotiating with prosecutors.
Margaret had disappeared.
And Samuel was still investigating the original inheritance documents.
Then something unexpected happened.
Adrian publicly announced that he was stepping away from day-to-day control of the Moretti organization.
He appointed independent managers to oversee his legitimate businesses.
He retained criminal defense counsel to address questions about the illegal operations he'd once controlled.
He also began cooperating with investigators regarding Vincent's financial crimes.
The newspapers called it a power struggle.
Some called it weakness.
Others called it strategy.
I didn't know what to call it.
But I knew it was the first time Adrian had chosen something other than power.
One rainy Thursday, Samuel came to my mother's house with a sealed report.
"Claire, we found the original trust."
"The inheritance?"
"Yes."
He sat across from me.
"The trust established by Adrian's great-grandfather contains a provision that changes everything."
"What provision?"
Samuel opened the document.
"If Matteo Moretti died leaving a biological descendant, that descendant would inherit a controlling interest in the family trust."
I frowned.
"But Matteo disappeared thirty-five years ago."
"Correct."
"Did he have a child?"
Samuel looked at me.
"That's what we need to determine."
My heart began to pound.
"Are you saying Adrian might be Matteo's son?"
"It's possible."
I looked toward Lily.
"Then why was someone trying to take my daughter?"
Samuel hesitated.
"Because if Adrian is Matteo's son, Lily may also have an inheritance interest."
I sat back.
"How much?"
Samuel's voice was quiet.
"Potentially hundreds of millions of dollars."
I stared at him.
Then he placed another document on the table.
"A private laboratory received a DNA sample allegedly belonging to Adrian several months ago."
"Who submitted it?"
"Margaret Vale."
"What did it show?"
Samuel swallowed.
"The report indicates Adrian is not biologically related to Salvatore."
My breath caught.
"And Matteo?"
"We don't have a verified sample from Matteo."
I looked at the report.
Then at Lily.
And suddenly, I understood why someone had wanted control of her before she was born.
May you like
She wasn't just Adrian's daughter.
She might be the heir to an empire someone had spent thirty-five years stealing.
