Chapter 6 - THE MAN WHO OWNED THE PAST
Anthony Moretti's estate stood behind iron gates on the outskirts of Chicago, surrounded by old trees and armed guards. Vincent had grown up there learning that a family secret was more valuable than a bank account and that love was a weakness best kept hidden.
His father waited in the library.
“You look tired,” Anthony observed.
“Where is Noah?”
Anthony poured himself a drink. “You have no idea what you're asking.”
“I asked a simple question.”
“No, you asked a dangerous one.”
Vincent crossed the room and stopped in front of him.
“Rachel's child survived. You told me he died.”
“Because I believed that was the safest thing for everyone.”
“For whom?”
Anthony set the glass down.
“For you.”
Vincent laughed without humor.
“You let me mourn my son.”
“You were twenty-two. You were about to inherit a war between three families. Rachel had become a liability, and the child was a target. I made a decision.”
“You stole my child.”
“I protected him.”
“By hiding him from his father?”
Anthony's face hardened.
“You were not fit to raise him. You were drinking, fighting, and trying to prove you were more ruthless than I was. If you had known the boy survived, you would have brought him into this world before he could walk.”
Vincent wanted to strike him. He wanted to tear the library apart and force the truth out of every locked drawer in the house.
Instead, he asked the one question that mattered.
“Where is he?”
Anthony looked away.
“I don't know where he is now.”
“Then why did you tell me to come here?”
“Because the woman you married has begun asking questions that should have stayed buried.”
Vincent froze.
“Did you arrange for someone to contact Emily?”
“No.”
“Did you send her the photograph?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Anthony walked toward the fireplace.
“Someone who wants you to lose control. Someone who knows your wife is the one person capable of making you reckless.”
Vincent stared at his father.
“Who?”
Anthony's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, and for a fraction of a second, fear crossed his face.
Vincent noticed.
“Answer it.”
Anthony ignored the call.
“Get out of my house.”
Vincent didn't move.
“Tell me the truth.”
“Your wife is in danger,” Anthony snapped. “If you care about her, stop looking for the boy and bring her home.”
Vincent's expression became murderous.
“You don't get to use Emily to control me.”
He left without another word.
In Paris, Emily was learning that the truth could be as dangerous as the lies.
Julian had disappeared after their meeting. His phone was disconnected, his apartment had been cleared, and the clinic's caretaker claimed never to have seen him. The photograph of Vincent with the child was gone from Emily's bag.
Someone had searched her apartment while she was at work.
Nothing valuable had been taken.
Only the old photograph of Rachel and the copy of the birth certificate were missing.
Emily contacted the police and informed Daniel. He arranged additional security, but he couldn't explain why someone would risk a break-in for documents that could easily be copied.
That evening, Eleanor arrived with a new lead.
“A former nurse named Patricia Wells worked at the clinic where Rachel delivered,” she said. “She's living outside Lyon. She agreed to speak with us.”
Emily was reluctant to leave Paris, but Patricia had reportedly been the last person to see Rachel alive.
They traveled the next morning with a security escort.
Patricia lived in a modest house surrounded by a garden. She opened the door, saw Eleanor, and began crying.
“I wondered when you'd come.”
“You knew Rachel's baby survived?” Eleanor asked.
Patricia nodded.
“I held him. He was healthy. Rachel named him Noah before they took him away.”
“Who took him?”
Patricia looked at Emily.
“Your husband's father.”
Emily felt anger rise in her chest.
“Did Vincent know?”
“Not then. Anthony said the boy would be raised safely, away from the family. He paid the clinic and arranged a placement with people who were supposed to protect him.”
“Who were they?”
Patricia's eyes filled with tears.
“A couple who worked for the Morettis. The woman was kind. The man was not.”
She led them to a cabinet and removed a small envelope.
“Rachel gave me this before she died. She made me promise to keep it until someone came looking for her son.”
Inside was a hospital bracelet and a folded letter.
Emily opened it.
My beautiful Noah, if you ever read this, I need you to know that I did not abandon you. I loved you before I knew your face. I loved you when they took you from my arms. And I will love you for every day I am not allowed to see you.
Emily couldn't speak.
At the bottom of the letter was a name.
Not Vincent's.
Not Anthony's.
Sophia Bennett.
Eleanor looked up sharply.
“Why would Rachel write Sophia's name?”
Patricia's hands trembled.
“Because Sophia was there the night the baby disappeared.”
The room went silent.
Emily read the letter again, then noticed a final line written in a different ink.
If Sophia ever comes near my child again, don't let her take him.
Before Emily could ask another question, the security officer rushed inside.
“Dr. Moretti, we need to leave. Now.”
Outside, two black vehicles had stopped at the end of the road.
A man stepped from the first car.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark coat. He looked directly toward the house.
Then Emily's phone rang.
Vincent.
She answered.
“Emily, listen to me. I know you're investigating Rachel. I know about Noah. And I need you to get away from that house.”
“Why?”
“Because Sophia isn't the only person who wants the child found.”
Emily looked through the window.
The man outside raised a phone to his ear.
Vincent's voice dropped to a whisper.
“My father just told me Noah is alive.”
A gunshot cracked through the quiet street.
May you like
The lights went out.
And someone began pounding on the front door.
