Chapter 2 - THE BILL THAT SHOULD HAVE SAVED US
I turned toward Vincent.
Every person in the diner stopped breathing for the second time that night.
But I didn’t care about the broken cup anymore.
I held up the statement.
“You paid this?”
Vincent’s eyes stayed on mine.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silence.
I stepped closer.
“My mother nearly lost her apartment because I thought we still owed the hospital.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“That should not have happened.”
“Should not have?”
I laughed.
“You don’t get to say that like weather caused it.”
Luca moved between us slightly.
Not blocking.
Just ready.
Vincent noticed.
“So this is what we’re doing now?”
Luca said quietly:
“Yes.”
Something passed between father and son.
Old conflict.
Then Vincent looked back at me.
“The payment was legitimate.”
“Then why did collectors keep calling?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know everything else.”
His expression hardened.
Fair hit.
I placed the paper on the counter.
“Start talking.”
Dana whispered:
“Emily…”
I ignored her.
Vincent looked around the diner.
“Not here.”
“I’m working.”
“I’ll pay for the shift.”
“No.”
His eyebrow moved.
“One thing you should learn about me, Mr. Moretti.”
“I’m listening.”
“You don’t get to solve every problem with money.”
The room went silent again.
Vincent gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Apparently.”
Then he said:
“Your mother worked for my wife.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
My mother had never mentioned the Morettis.
Not once.
Vincent continued.
“My wife, Elena, ran a charitable medical foundation.”
Luca looked surprised.
“You never told me this.”
Vincent ignored him.
“Your mother handled patient records.”
I stared.
“That doesn’t make sense. She worked at a pharmacy.”
“After.”
The answer came too quickly.
He had known.
“How well did you know her?”
Vincent looked away.
That terrified me.
“Very well.”
My stomach twisted.
“Are you my father?”
Luca nearly choked.
Vincent’s eyes snapped back.
“No.”
Immediate.
Certain.
I believed him.
Then:
“But your father worked for me.”
The diner disappeared around me.
“My father drove trucks.”
“Yes.”
“For you?”
Vincent nodded.
My father died eighteen years ago.
Highway accident.
Jackknifed trailer in freezing rain.
That was what Mom always told me.
“What was his job?”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Officially?”
“Don’t.”
He nodded once.
“He drove freight.”
“And unofficially?”
“He carried documents.”
“What documents?”
Vincent did not answer.
Luca looked at him.
“Dad.”
Vincent exhaled.
“Evidence.”
Against who?
Before I could ask, Vincent continued.
“Your father found financial records showing someone inside my organization was stealing medical charity money.”
My blood went cold.
“Money meant for patients?”
“Yes.”
“People like my mother?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you paid her bills.”
“Partly.”
I hated the word.
“What happened to my father?”
Vincent’s face became still.
“He tried to give me proof.”
“And?”
“He died before he could.”
I stared.
“Accident?”
Vincent said nothing.
There was my answer.
Then Luca asked:
“Who was stealing the money?”
Vincent looked at his son.
“I never proved it.”
“You suspected someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Vincent’s eyes moved toward the photograph of my mother.
“Someone Elena trusted.”
Luca’s face changed.
“Mom?”
Vincent shook his head.
“No.”
May you like
He looked directly at me.
“Your mother.”
