Chapter 9 - The Sister Who Wanted Her Dead
Clara had imagined having a sister when she was little.
Someone to share secrets with.
Someone who would understand the loneliness of being an only child.
Someone who might look like her mother.
She had never imagined that sister would be Victoria Moretti.
The woman who had ordered armed men to search the St. Regis.
The woman married to Lorenzo Moretti.
The woman connected to the people who had nearly destroyed her family.
“Are you sure?” Clara whispered.
Daniel Jenkins looked at his daughter with unbearable sadness.
“Your mother found the original birth records.”
Clara shook her head.
“But Victoria is older than me.”
“By eleven years.”
“Why didn't Mom tell me?”
“She was afraid Victoria would hurt you.”
Clara laughed once.
A broken sound.
“She already tried.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart.”
Clara sat beside him for a long time.
Then she asked the question that mattered most.
“Does Victoria know?”
Her father hesitated.
“Yes.”
Clara felt something inside her go cold.
“She knows I'm her sister?”
Daniel nodded.
“And she still wanted me dead?”
“I don't know what Victoria was told about you.”
Clara stood.
“I need to leave.”
“Clara—”
“I love you, Dad.”
She kissed his forehead.
“But I can't stay here right now.”
Maximilian found her sitting alone in the hospital chapel.
She wasn't praying.
She was staring at a small stained-glass window.
He sat beside her.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Clara said, “My sister tried to kill us.”
Maximilian looked at her.
“We don't know that she knew you were in the closet.”
“She ordered them to search every room.”
“Yes.”
“She said to leave no witnesses.”
He didn't argue.
Clara looked down at her hands.
“I spent my whole life thinking family meant safety.”
Her voice broke.
“But my mother used me. My father kept secrets. And my sister…”
She couldn't finish.
Maximilian gently took her hand.
“Clara.”
She looked at him.
“You don't have to make excuses for them.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Then why does it hurt so much?”
“Because you loved them before you knew what they did.”
She leaned against his shoulder.
Maximilian remained still.
Then he wrapped an arm around her.
For the first time, Clara let herself rest against him without worrying about what it meant.
That evening, federal investigator Rachel Morgan arrived at Samuel Whitaker's townhouse.
She was forty-two, sharp-eyed, and had spent six years investigating organized financial crime.
Maximilian had requested the meeting through his attorney.
Rachel placed a recorder on the table.
“Mr. Russo, I need you to understand that cooperating does not automatically protect you from prosecution.”
“I understand.”
“Anything you tell us may be used as evidence.”
“I understand that too.”
Rachel studied him.
“Then why are you here?”
Maximilian glanced toward Clara.
“Because the people I trusted have been using innocent families as weapons.”
Rachel nodded slowly.
“Let's begin with Anthony Carbone.”
For the next three hours, Maximilian described the financial structures Carbone controlled, the shipping companies used by the syndicate, and the suspicious transactions he had previously ignored.
He did not pretend he was innocent.
He admitted that he had benefited from a criminal organization.
He acknowledged that his authority had allowed people like Carbone to operate.
And he agreed to provide records that could expose the network.
Clara listened from the adjoining room.
She had expected him to protect his empire.
Instead, he was risking it.
When Rachel finished, she closed her notebook.
“There is one more person we need to discuss.”
Maximilian looked up.
“Victoria Moretti.”
Rachel nodded.
“We believe she has been operating independently of her husband.”
Clara entered the room.
“What does that mean?”
Rachel looked at her.
“Mrs. Moretti controls several medical holding companies. We believe she inherited access to the falsified birth records.”
“Does she know who I am?”
“We believe so.”
Clara's throat tightened.
Rachel continued.
“We also believe she knows where the original archive is stored.”
Maximilian frowned.
“Isabella has a copy.”
“An incomplete copy.”
The room went silent.
Rachel opened a folder.
“The drive Isabella brought contains transaction summaries, names, and encrypted references. But the primary evidence archive is missing.”
“Where is it?” Maximilian asked.
Rachel looked at Clara.
“We think Victoria has it.”
At 9:40 p.m., Victoria Moretti walked into a private restaurant in downtown Chicago.
She wore an ivory coat, diamond earrings, and the calm expression of a woman who had never been told no.
She sat across from a man whose face was hidden beneath a baseball cap.
“You're late,” she said.
The man removed the cap.
Anthony Carbone.
He had been released from custody pending further proceedings after investigators determined that the initial hospital incident did not support every charge authorities had anticipated. He was still under investigation and subject to strict conditions.
Victoria looked annoyed.
“You were supposed to keep Daniel Jenkins quiet.”
Anthony poured himself water.
“Your sister complicated things.”
Victoria's expression hardened.
“Don't call her that.”
“It's what she is.”
“She is nothing to me.”
Anthony smiled.
“Funny. Your mother said the same thing about you once.”
Victoria's hand tightened around her glass.
“Careful.”
Anthony leaned forward.
“Maximilian is cooperating with federal investigators.”
Victoria went still.
“How much has he given them?”
“Enough.”
She stared at him.
“Then we accelerate.”
Anthony's smile faded.
“Accelerate what?”
Victoria reached into her handbag.
She removed a photograph.
It showed Clara and Maximilian outside the hospital.
Maximilian's hand rested gently against Clara's back.
Victoria tapped the image.
“His weakness.”
Anthony looked at Clara's stomach.
“No.”
Victoria raised an eyebrow.
“You're developing a conscience?”
“She's pregnant.”
“So?”
Anthony stared.
“Lorenzo won't approve.”
Victoria laughed.
“Lorenzo hasn't approved anything important in years.”
She leaned closer.
“I want Clara brought to me alive.”
Anthony frowned.
“Why?”
Victoria's eyes hardened.
“Because she knows where Evelyn is.”
“And?”
“And Evelyn knows where the original archive was hidden.”
Anthony considered.
“What happens after Clara tells you?”
Victoria returned the photograph to her handbag.
“Then we decide what happens to her.”
At the townhouse, Clara was helping Isabella prepare tea when the teenager suddenly asked a question.
“Do you think my dad was a good person?”
Clara looked at her.
“I think he tried to do something good.”
Isabella stared into her cup.
“Sometimes I worry that people only remember how he died.”
Clara sat beside her.
“Then we should give them something else to remember.”
Isabella looked up.
“Like what?”
“Who he was. What he loved. What he wanted for you.”
The girl smiled faintly.
“He liked terrible jokes.”
Clara laughed.
“Apparently that runs in the family.”
Isabella looked at her stomach.
“Can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Is your baby going to be my cousin?”
Clara smiled.
“Yes.”
Isabella's eyes brightened.
“I've never had a cousin before.”
“Well, now you do.”
The teenager hesitated.
“Can I be part of the baby's life?”
Clara reached across the table.
“I'd like that.”
Isabella squeezed her hand.
For a brief moment, Clara felt something she hadn't felt in months.
Peace.
Then her phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A message appeared.
IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH ABOUT YOUR MOTHER, COME TO THE OLD ST. AGNES CLINIC TOMORROW AT NOON. ALONE.
Below the message was a photograph.
Evelyn Jenkins.
Bound to a chair.
A bruise beneath her eye.
Clara stopped breathing.
A second message followed.
TELL MAXIMILIAN, AND YOUR MOTHER DIES.
Clara stared at the screen.
Then another photograph arrived.
It showed a young woman lying in a hospital bed.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were closed.
And she looked almost exactly like Clara.
May you like
Beneath it were five words.
ASK WHO THE REAL CLARA IS.
