Chapter 5 - THE FATHER WHO NEVER DIED
Lorenzo Moretti had been buried beneath a marble angel in a private cemetery.
I attended the funeral.
I watched Adrian stand beside the coffin without crying.
I watched Sophia hold his hand when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I had believed Lorenzo’s death was the moment Sophia returned permanently to Adrian’s life.
Maybe it was.
Just not for the reason I thought.
Evelyn hired an independent investigator.
Not anyone connected to Adrian.
By evening, we had photographs.
Lorenzo.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
Leaving a medical facility in Wisconsin three weeks earlier.
I stared at the screen.
“Why would Adrian tell me his father was dead?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“We don’t know that he knew.”
My first instinct was to say of course he knew.
Then I remembered his face at the funeral.
His silence.
The way he locked himself in his study for two days afterward.
Maybe he had been fooled too.
I hated that possibility.
Anger was easier when every piece fit.
Then my phone rang.
Teresa Moretti.
Adrian’s mother.
I almost ignored it.
But answered.
“Claire.”
Her voice sounded frightened.
“We need to talk.”
“About Lorenzo?”
Silence.
Then:
“You know.”
“Yes.”
She began crying.
“I thought he was dead.”
I sat down.
“What?”
“He was sick. We were told he died during surgery.”
“Who told you?”
“The family doctor.”
“Name?”
“Dr. Victor Lane.”
Lane.
Sophia Lane.
My stomach tightened.
“Her father?”
“Yes.”
The room went cold.
Teresa continued.
“After Lorenzo’s funeral, Sophia began handling several documents for the family.”
“Why?”
“She said her father had been entrusted with them.”
I closed my eyes.
Sophia hadn’t simply returned because Adrian was grieving.
Her family had walked into a power vacuum they helped create.
Then Teresa whispered:
“Claire, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I told Adrian Sophia needed him.”
My jaw tightened.
“I encouraged him to keep her close.”
That hurt.
But at least she admitted it.
“Why?”
“Because Victor told me Lorenzo’s final wish was to repair the Lane-Moretti relationship.”
I stared.
“What if that wasn’t Lorenzo’s wish?”
Teresa began crying harder.
“I know.”
Then there was noise behind her.
A door.
Footsteps.
Teresa gasped.
“Someone’s here.”
My heart pounded.
“Teresa?”
The line went silent.
Then a man’s voice spoke.
“Mrs. Moretti can’t talk right now.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
The man laughed softly.
Then disconnected.
I immediately called the police.
Then Adrian.
He answered on the first ring.
“Claire?”
“Your mother may be in danger.”
Everything in his voice changed.
“What happened?”
I told him.
He went silent.
Then said:
“I’m going there.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“Call the police. Don’t start a war.”
Silence.
Then, surprisingly:
“Okay.”
An hour later, police found Teresa unharmed but shaken.
The man had left.
But he had placed something on her dining table.
A photograph.
Lorenzo Moretti.
Alive.
Beside Sophia Lane.
May you like
And on the back:
“The wife leaves. The widow inherits.”
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